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Tag Archives: punishment
The Challenge
Emily understands how people could sell their souls. There is a
kind of wanting that is so severe that the possibility of its being unfulfilled
is unthinkable. Any price is reasonable, any demands will be met, and failure is not an option.
That is why it took roughly fourteen seconds to smile at, befriend and plead with the girl at the table next to her to provide a cigarette. By the fifteenth second she was inhaling, and with her exhale came the first genuine relaxation she had felt all night.
It was a perfect moment. The gin and tonic had a neat slice of lime in it, the evening was politely cool, and the river flowed beneath the edge of the pub providing a perfect view of the city she was being introduced to.
Earlier in the evening they had walked along the edge of the river, dipping in and out of streets, finding a path to the water and back again. He had pointed out buildings that he had shown her days before from a distant hill, the major landmarks of a great city. She had tried her best to commit each detail to memory, to build an inner map; she wanted to know what he knew, she wanted to know him as he knew the city.
Emily knew that no matter what happened between them, this city would forever be him. She would see its towers and streets as tales from his life always. And as she walked she was finding her own story in this place.
The view in front of her as she smoked was an illusion. It had taken Stephen ten long minutes to explain how the river twisted behind the buildings she saw in front of her.
He had not said that at first. He had said, “That is not the other side of the river.”
She had squinted and laughed. It had taken time, but eventually she managed to wrangle meaning from his explanation. They laughed at themselves and each other, each thinking the other slightly silly for not being clearer in the first place.
Each time she touched the glowing stick to her lips, a delicious sensation ran through her. It could have been the nicotine easing itself into her cells, it could have been the relief of getting her own way, or it could have been the final element of a perfect evening slipping into place. She briefly toyed with the idea of flicking the cigarette into the river after three drags, but realised that there was no hiding this from him. Vehement anti-smokers were always excellent detectors of smoke, so he would smell it on her. Emily’s smile slipped from her face as she realised she could not kiss him for at least an hour. It would take that long to get back to his place and to her toothbrush. No pushing herself up on tip toes and reaching for his lips, no tempting him into returning her passion. She dejectedly put the burning stick to her lips, a poor substitute for his mouth. But still, she inhaled the smoke into her lungs and exhaled the pale cloud into the indigo night.
Stephen came back far more quickly that she could have ever expected. The bar had been busy, she was sure. He should have been at least ten more minutes. She sat stock still, her hand holding the cigarette right by her face as she smiled at him. It took him a full five seconds to see it.
They were good seconds, but too good to last. He looked at the smoking evidence and incredulously at her. Emily smiled a hopeful smile.
“It is a lovely evening, isn’t it?” she said. “No, you can’t …” as he reached across the table and took it from her hands. She looked briefly at the next table, “They will see …” she started and stopped as she watched him inexpertly stub the cigarette out.
He looked at her, holding her eyes with his as she struggled to free herself. After a few moments he let her go, a subtle gesture that allowed her to wrestle her eyes away from his and look at the river. It was dark inky blue now, with the yellow and orange lights of the city reflecting on its moving waters. She glanced back at him.
He had not moved. “You are in so much trouble.”
Stephen did not even bother to lower his voice, and blushing as she was she could not look at the girls on the next table for fear they had heard him. Emily wished she could hold his hand and hide from him. She wished she could find a switch somewhere and turn him off, or down, or something to alter this part of him. She tried twice to explain why she had succumbed, but each time he responded that he did not care, and Emily let it go because she knew he would have no qualms about explaining loudly and clearly just how much trouble she was in.
And that is how she found herself later with her chin in his hand, trying desperately to avoid looking at his hard blue eyes as he spoke in a calm, quiet voice about her attitude. He told her she had been childish, and his words twisted into her. He always treated her like a woman, like the woman she had always wanted to be, and yet here he was, telling her how childish and silly she had been.
It was only then, when he spoke, that she wanted not to behave as she had. She wanted to have been better, she wanted to separate herself from the girl he described, but it was too late. He had her.
Hideously he tipped her forward, over his knee so she faced only the carpet. He always spanked her like this when she was in trouble. She much preferred the bed, where she could rest her legs and her top half in comfort. There was more dignity in that, unlike this tentative position, this (she squeezed her eyes shut with the realisation) childish position. The first strike of the heavy, long leather paddle made her screech out.
It had to be the fact that it was the first one, she thought. It will get easier.
But it did not get easier, and her position was not in the least tentative. She kicked and pushed against his calvesl she begged and bucked up and down; she cried out and tried to prise his left hand from her waist. The strokes were hard and each one burned her swollen bum. She twisted and turned as well as she could, and used all her strength to get away from his punishment.
“I can’t,” she begged at last, “I can’t take it.”
But Stephen said nothing, abandoning words in preference for the piece of leather that was an extension of his arm.
There was more afterwards. There was much more. There was time in the corner, an ignoble waiting room where she submitted, fidgeted, raged, and submitted all over again. There was a settling of an overdue account by the cane method.
The cane was long and wicked, and the strokes were more than she ever thought she could have taken. But she took them because he would not let her do otherwise. There was nothing complex about the situation.
But if you could have held Emily as Stephen did, if you could have let her head rest on your shoulder as he did and listened to her as he did, you would have heard her. She would have clung on tightly, tenderly whispering a thousand apologies and conciliations.
And much, much later, had you held her eyes with yours and looked deeply there, if you had silently asked what it was that had reached her, she would have blushed and smiled at the floor. She could not tell you, so deeply does the moment still hold her. She waits for the moment to release her.
She suspects it may never release her, but she does not struggle anymore.
XXX
*In two days I will write about this sort of thing, about what makes something take, in detail. I think I realised something about it all recently.*
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Tagged punishment, punishment spanking
Fantasy Monday
They had been lovers for some time. She still found his imposing stature and demeanour to be so desperately attractive that it could make her forget herself. Watching him when they were out together she found herself distracted from her conversation and let the coquettish flirtation with her new acquaintance, that had so amused her for a few brief moments, flicker out and die.
The man she flirted with was intrigued at first, and then realizing that he had all but disappeared from her awareness, smiled at a friend across the room and excused himself, leaving her to her own thoughts. Her lover saw this, caught her eye, and tutted at her. Blushing, she lowered her eyes and quietly gasped a breath, and experienced a feeling somewhat short of shame.
Two hours earlier she had sat at her dressing table with her lover standing behind her, his fingertips resting lightly on her shoulders, his eyes on her face in the mirror. He was ready for the party and looked dashing in evening dress, and normally the difference in their clothing, her in stockings and a slip, hair all done up, would have made her rest her small hands on his and lean back for a kiss. But there was no time, and there was tension in the air.
She flicked her eyes at him with annoyance. When he told her to remove her slip and role her stockings down to her knees she whimpered pettishly.
“But you will muss me all up,” she said. “I just need five more minutes and I’ll be ready, and if we do that I’ll have to start all over again.”
She slammed a perfume bottle on the table.
‘Men can be so thoughtless, so utterly useless. They have no comprehension of the pressure we are under. I have to look good. I have to be seen as good enough for him.’
The fear she felt about the evening, about bitchy comments from ladies who saw their age difference and the difference in their status, her with no money and no family and him with her and not their own daughters. Those ladies assumed her to be a nothing, worse than a nothing, she was an interloper, a thief, a cuckoo in the nest. Those ladies and their vicious whispers preyed upon her, a Greek chorus around her while she dressed.
She sat still. He stood still. There was a brief détente before he came to take her into the mood that he chose for her.
That is how she found herself, naked but for her stockings and a bow in her hair, in the half-light of the schoolroom. Their relationship had its quirks; that they had a schoolroom was simply a manifestation of their particular type of love.
He stood in the half-light of the single shaded desk lamp, cane in hand, and watched her. She shivered a little in the cold, but he knew it was the embarrassment more than the chill in the air. He watched as the haughty defiance left her,watched it become the honest fear of another’s judgment, and finally reach a more permanent truth.
All she felt now was the shame of being seen this way by him, the only true source of authority in her life. When he saw the change, he called her forward and positioned her, bent over his wooden desk, breasts on the smooth wood, light against the dark.
Soft instructions about how apart to place her legs and how to arch her back whispered like moths in the dark, and gathered along her flushed cheeks and made them glow even brighter.
A light hand on her back, he swept into her rounded bottom with a cane. The pain was only mercy, as it drove all except thoughts of him from her mind. She called out with each stoke, and each time he let her, never forbidding her the release. Line did not cross line, but rather sat close to one another, expertly placed by the man who knew just how to impress her.
And it was this moment they both remembered, when he tutted at her hours later. She dipped her head and bit her lip. The ladies passing shook their heads in unseen disapproval at the beautiful young woman, dressed in her finery who did not notice them and only had eyes for her lover.
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Tagged cane, caning fantasy, punishment, schoolgirl caning
Good Day, Bad Day, Great Day
Just in case you thought I was getting too esoteric – I thought I would tell you about my day.
I woke up and knowing I had the day off, I ate porridge and snuggled my dogs.
I drove into town to buy an outfit for a party tomorrow night- a party which will filled with stunning people and then me, not stunning at all. I walked from shop to shop in increasing despair. There are some ghastly clothes around at the moment, lots of big sixties prints, yuk! I eventually gave up and tried on a cowboy style shirt which is supposed to look cool and sexy. I looked at myself and decided that I would have to crash the car on the way to the party. I explained to the shop assistant who, to her credit, agreed that the shirt looked like someone who hated me very much had dressed me.
But this being the kind of shops that has personal shoppers, a very kind lady suggested that rather than crashing my car (which I was not keen to do after losing my last car in a fire) I try on another outfit. I explained that I had been hit with the ugly stick and there was no saving me. But she … wait for it ladies … brought me a dress two sizes two small for me that I had looked at longingly and dismissed (mostly due to the two sizes thing.) She said, “Try it.” and me, being an obedient girl, did as I was told. It fit!
And then … wait … it was supposed to be £85 which is a lot for a Friday night party but I thought, heh ho, cheaper than the excess on my car and it was on sale which no one knew until I started to pay. It was (drum roll please) £25.
Two sizes below what I thought I was and £60 off. Happy Poppy.
Then I drove home and my computer stuck two fingers up at me and told me, “Hah! I am filled with viruses and I will eat all your words.” I was unhappy and tense. (This is called understatement by the way. I have thousands of words on here, stories, a half written book and about 5, 000 pictures. And that is before I even think about all my work stuff.) I put a program on to hunt out the little devils and went to see how much I could hurt the treadmill in a head-to-head-combat-to-the-death battle. The treadmill won but I gave a good fight.
I made dinner and with a great knife the cost lots of money, I almost cut the top of my finger off- the knife hit my nail which saved a lot of extra fuss and mess.
And then, and this is the best bit, I was a bit (very) grumpy and I spoke to Himself and he told me off. You know the kind of telling off when you think you might cry, you shrink down into yourself and you hold your own hand?
He lowered his head and his voice and did that with Toppy bells on. He told me not to be so stubborn (I was being) and to stop minding other people (I had been) and to mind him (I had not been.)
It was like being in a dark, dank, yucky place and being picked up in a King Kong style and put down somewhere much prettier and when I said, “But …” and looked longingly back at Miseryville I was told very firmly that I was to stay where I had been put.
Tops, I need to tell you this.
We need you to tell us what you think. If you are in charge of one of us and we are being naughty and difficult it does not help us if you are super patient and kind. We do not want to be always in charge of us. We do not want to be the one setting the tone. I know good manners tells you to listen endlessly and to mollycoddle us but could you please stop?
We do not like being told off but it can help us feel much, much better.
Calmly and firmly tell the one you are in charge of how it is and how it will be. It is not a bad thing if we cry and it is good if you see us shrink down a little bit. You are the one that makes a bad day great. You are even better than a dress that is two sizes smaller that you thought you were with £60 off.
Just so you know.
(Girls, if you get told off, it so was not my fault. I do not know how they come up with these ideas.)
((I may get told off for writing this late at night but I had to. It popped into my head and it would not let me sleep until it came out. Please don’t tell me off for it.))
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Tagged punishment, scolding
The Cat Is A Brat
PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSStttttt.
I wrote something I am rather proud of and you can find it here.
Tee hee
But he did as he was told. I think he should get away with it. I like that cat’s style. Catwoman could be a role model to many of us.
Isn’t she pretty? I think she is much more attractive than Batman. He should never have been able to outfox her in the series. She can run rings around him.
I have no idea how this could ever happen. I think that is why it is drawn and not a photograph. Batman would never be able to do this. 
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Tagged punishment, spanking



























