Fantasy and life

My husband and I were exchanging thoughts recently about fantasies and I made the comment that sometimes fantasies were merely fantasies. I didn't necessarily want for all my fantasies to become my reality. He disagreed. He felt that sexual fantasies were dormant desires. We didn't say much more than this, but I have been quietly thinking about the conversation ever since.

My fantasies have a theme about them. I don't fantasize about a renovated house, a trip around the world, or a romantic dinner,  but I routinely fantasize about finding myself in very strict, tightly controlled situations. I'm either at some sort of institution where I've been sent, not so much to procure an education and have a career, but rather to understand my place as an owned (but precious) possession, or, under the control of an extremely strict man who has the support of a housekeeper whose main task it is to supervise me when he is busy. Let's deal with the institution today. There are many rules at this institution but they all boil down to one rule in essence: that I obey.

There is absolutely no leniency at this institution and what I find interesting (and just realized this very moment) is that there is a dress code. Like the other girls sent there I wear the same style dress every day, one that accentuates the figure and provides ready access, but certainly fashion trends are not part of our lives here and we don't spend any time at all in wondering how to dress.

We are kept in a state of arousal. Anal plugs are a part of most of the day and all of the night and when we shower, or go to bed, or eat...all of this is pre-ordained and set in stone, except in highly exceptional situations. Owner tags are pierced through our nipples and pussy lips early on and a chastity belt is ordered for each one of us as an important part of our limited wardrobe. We are never to touch ourselves without permission, we are told. Rather, what we must appreciate is that we are there to adapt to the headspace that our satisfaction is immaterial and quite secondary to the pleasure of our Owners. This is the purpose of the chastity belts, for us to understand and accept our containment and purpose.

Corporal discipline is an integral part of our experience there - punishment for the slightest misbehaviour and routine maintenance paddlings and whippings. The whistle of the wind as the cane bears down on bare bottoms is a regular sound to our ears as we pass the master's study on our way to another part of the large house, discreetly tucked away behind high brick walls and surrounded by a lush garden. We fear the Master's cane without a shadow of a doubt and do all we can to avoid it, but meetings with it are so inevitable that we go close to making our peace with it. Pain is our lot.

If I am looking to arouse myself, not necessarily even orgasm, but simply 'edge' or let time stand still for ten minutes, I go to these particular thoughts. They centre me, relax me and, of course, arouse me. But, it's a big stretch to say that I would like to have them acted out. It's the harshest of institutions where my every move is observed and determined. I have no privacy there at all. Even showers are nearly always taken as a group in a bathroom with mutiple shower heads and the Mistress remains to observe this, inspecting us for cleanliness when we step out of the shower, inserting our anal plugs that we will wear throughout the night. Naked we will kneel by our beds to say our prayers and the Master will come to hear these prayers where we offer our good wishes to our authority figures at the school and thank God that they will guide us well. I can't begin to imagine such a situation in real life, the relentless discipline and rule following.

Maybe, the fantasy is simply the extreme scenario of a real life situation where I am indeed subject to some rules determined by an authority figure; where there is no breaking of rules without punishment, and where my joy and happiness comes through an understanding of my place; a place which is secure, a life which is relatively simple - challenging in ways but deeply spiritual and restful to the mind.

Truthfully, I still think of an intense orgasm as the happiest of experiences, the experience that feels to me very close to Godliness; the experience that lifts my spirits like nothing else can. But, my experiences have been such that I have been more willing to entertain the notion that this isn't my right at all, but rather a treat that I am given on rare occasions at the behest of an Owner; the owner of my body and my spirit. Truthfully, it's a huge surprise to me that I could think this thought at all, but if fantasies are a guide, there is no doubting the fact that I get off on the thought of containment in all its manifestations.

Fantasy versus reality

I'm sent emails on topics related to kinky literature newly published and to be honest I am rarely interested in it. It's a very rare day when I find a story exactly to my tastes. However, the blurb about this book suggested it had promise, being incredibly dark and dire. I linked over to Amazon and read the free preview first chapter. Oh yes, it was entirely to my tastes -  18 year old girls sent off to an 'institution' to be reformed in their behavior and prepared for a suitable marriage to a very strict man.

I didn't have much time to read it. Initially I was skimming the material. However, I  found myself tracking back over some paragraphs because I'd become engaged in the story almost immediately. In the end, I slowed down and thrilled to read of Masters and Mistresses so strict from the outset that there was absolutely no doubt in the girls' minds that it was best to obey all instructions instantly. For example, it took no more than one hard, sometimes two, hard beatings with a wooden paddle for them to learn to respond to a Master at all times by addressing him as "Sir". That paddle, with the word 'OBEDIENCE' painted onto it, had reformed their mindset in no more than two minutes.

Now, in real life, I'd be devastated: devastated for them and devastated for myself, should I ever find myself in that dastardly, despairing situation. There was no way out for these girls. They were going to be going through real ordeals; a nightmare. Affection or care, let alone love, didn't seem remotely possible there. However, in storyland it 'wetted' my appetites. I've been lost ever since in that story, in my mind, and when I need a little pick-me-up for a few seconds here or there, going about my day, I think about it.

Well, more than that, I masturbated to similar images this morning, noticing that the literature had had its effects on my body's arousal, but I added on. In my mind's images, the girls' training had progressed that they knew that when told to get on their knees and the Master approached them they instantly opened their mouths wide; instantly knew their purpose was to provide that opening for his pleasure.

Like any woman, I have my sensibilities and limits. I deplore rudeness. That's why, fundamentally, the scene is a fantasy for me, because in real life, my expectations are that I will be respected. That's not to say that I wouldn't be prepared to enact that scene myself but rather that as I go about my day and my life there is an expectation that my feelings will be taken into account; that any conversations I have will have a give and take aspect to them and that a man won't leave the conversation without a proper end to it. In other words, I expect, like all women should expect, that I'll be treated well.

Yes, we women who thrive in disciplinary settings/arrangements like to leave all the niceties of modern life behind. There are not too many please and thank yous in these disciplinary scenes and conversations and nor is the girls' feelings necessarily taken into account. The man is going to take liberties and she's going to feel vulnerable; put out; angry. I get all that. But it has to be counterpointed with a different kind of dynamic and interaction at other times. That's my point. Maybe I do get off by being barked at; told to do;  disciplined and punished. What's the point of denying it? I just do.

Yet, without some tenderness, some smiles, some laughs, and a little romance, where would a girl be? I'll tell you where she'd be. She'd be at that horrible reform school 24 hours a day and there's no girl in the whole wide world that would want that.

Scripting a fantasy

It's impossible to not write here right now because if I don't write here right now, nothing else of worth will get done, so don't mind me, just go about your business and ignore this piece of dirty writing.

It all began yesterday afternoon. Well, no, it all began yesterday morning when I was given one of those spankings that are given for my own good. We call them 'sensory integration spankings'. Then, some use; a lovely breakfast out. We slowed right down after that and I sat down with my tumblr scroll. I was allowing the photographs to roll down in front of me, looking for something juicy when, lo and behold, there before me was the full version of the film, 'The Story of O'. I didn't move for the next hour and half. It's very old now but it still takes me places that I adore.

The first time I saw it, and I haven't seen it since that day, I was about 16 and when I came home, alone in my bed, my body climaxed in a way it never had before. Of course, I must have read the story hundreds of times since then, but watching it on the screen was really something else again.

I used to wonder about this desire of some men to loan out a woman to other men. I had trouble totally comprehending what they saw in this but I think I see it now. What complete ownership of a woman is this that he decides that another man may have her for an evening, or even for a few minutes, because he has deemed that he may do so; that he is in such possession of her that he is comfortable that she will accept his command and that she will return to him afterwards. She does what he says to do, comfortable in the decision because she is that at peace in being owned by him.


I slept well; don't think I dreamed. However, upon waking I could feel my body on fire. I've been told that my fantasy life doesn't mean all that much. After all, it is I that controls the fantasy. Yes, I get that, but I still enjoy my fantasies a great deal; still get a lot of succor from them.

It went like this. I was owned by another one of those faceless men. I couldn't tell you if he was blond or dark, tall or short (although he did have a particularly long and thick cock...), only that he was my owner and that when he gave a direction, I complied. It was early Saturday morning when he told me that it was to be a weekend of silence and that I was not to look at him. There was no argument over this at all. Our agreement was such that he directed, I complied.

Since it was to be a quiet weekend, it became a weekend of catching up on paperwork for him. He had me kneel by his side at his desk, naked, close enough that he could touch me at any time. He had a penchant for the riding crop that weekend, and as he laid it over my bare rump, three times each day (he had a tendency to be methodical and ritualistic), he would comment on how much he loved to see the marks, and how proud I must be to wear those marks of ownership.

Although I could not utter a word, and he put the ball gag in while whipping me to ensure that no words left my mouth, he spoke to me almost non-stop, telling me how beautiful I looked and how pleased he was with me. He caressed my body, told me often how delightful it was to see my asscunt stretched out by the big plug. In fact, he kept it in nearly constantly, only taking it out to wash me and to allow me to empty out, only to return it to stretch out the hole again overnight. He used me after a bath, and before he returned the plug, by the way, because that was convenient and that way his semen could slowly leak out. He told me that the plug was an extension of him and since he could not always be inside me, the plug took his place.

I remember him washing me particularly. He did it tenderly and I particularly remember feeling so proud of my status as the white washcloth gently was rubbed over my rings of ownership that were through my nipples and my pussy lips. I remember feeling beautiful. I remember feeling very happy and very deeply at peace. I rejoiced in it all; even the pain. 

As you can imagine, by the end of the fantasy (and there's a lot more detail since these fantasies can go on for a good hour) I was soaked in sweat. The silk nightie I was wearing was wet and sweat dripped from my face; was through my hair. Okay, it's just a fantasy. I controlled it. But, boy, did I ever have fun scripting it. Now, it's onto other thoughts, I hope.

Helplessness

Sub-consciously many of us are working on some sort of negative feeling (e.g. sense of abandonment) from our past, perhaps attached to it, playing it out over and over until we reach some sort of consciousness of what is happening; perhaps finding some sort of resolution of that feeling.

If you consider my fantasy life, there isn't much doubt about the fact that it is associated with a feeling of helplessness. The fantasy this morning was a very typical scenario for me. Disobedience had ensued and when the matter was brought to my "owner's" attention, he made the necessary arrangements for my correction.

Although he had to rush off to a meeting (in my fantasies my "owner" is practically always a busy man who avails himself of a woman in the house to instigate some discipline for me on his behalf), the housekeeper was given instructions to see that I was paddled very soundly, such that sitting would be uncomfortable for the rest of the week. Then, I was to sit on my meditation cushion facing a wall, so as not to be distracted. I was to sit my beaten backside directly on the cushion and to think about my behavior, until my owner returned when we would discuss the matter.

To put it another way, I am at the mercy of other people in my fantasy life and subject to their rules and regulations. I am contained quite tightly and many situations taken for granted by most people are privileges to me. I am acutely aware that I am owned, that I am no more or less than property, and that whenever it should be deemed appropriate, required or enjoyed, I am corporeally disciplined.

It usually goes much further than a good thrashing. Certainly, intense anal training is part of my fantasy life and so too is intense use of my body; my holes. It is not at all uncommon for me to be restrained in ways where my holes are made available for prolonged use, sometimes by more (many more?) men than just my owner (as per his requirements of me). It's a challenging life I lead in my fantasies and the more challenge I face, the more I get off. Used and degraded intensely in a fantasy rolling through my head, my body may be covered in a coat of sweat, because the sort of smut that enters my mind, turns on my body in a very profound and deeply arousing way.

Some psychologists may say that a person like me is locked in a cycle of helplessness; that I am "attached" to that feeling, and that although I don't want to feel helpless in real life, in my mind I am playing the feeling out over and over again, until I can find a way to overcome that feeling of helplessness and move on with my life.

I am aware of this possible situation and I don't reject it. For several years now, via this online journal and other strategies, I have tried to bring my subconscious mind into my conscious awareness. I realize that I have, at times, felt very helpless and subject to the vagaries of life's winds blowing me about and rendering me helpless.

The awareness has been a great help to me. Conscious now of the helplessness cycle I'm also conscious of the ways that this feeling has held me back in life. This is tremendously helpful because it is opening doors in my mind to new possibilities. I am beginning to feel much more a creator of my own life and future rather than subject to the decisions of other people and 'destiny'. I feel more in control of my own life and the power of my own mind. I feel much more hopeful and much less helpless.

However, the fantasy life continues. Awareness has done absolutely nothing to alter the extreme arousal I experience when I fantasize or experience this helplessness in a scene played out in the bedroom. The more contained I am, the more helpless I feel and the more the other person is in control, the more intense my arousal.

I remain unconvinced that if I were to make wads of money or become an overnight creative success, and/or to have absolutely no reason to feel helpless in any way in my real life, that I would cease to have these fantasies. These fantasies have now been with me for over 50 years. My arousal from them continues to grow. My desire to feel helpless in such scenarios is very real. When they are acted out I feel a sense of relief; satisfaction; elevation of spirit and intense happiness.

It is interesting to me that although I feel less and less helpless in real life that my inner life still holds onto and covets feelings of helplessness. These men (and women by extension) are sometimes owners who have my best interests at heart (sort of) but they are often mean and nasty Headmaster types who see it as their role to train young women to obey men; to train them to understand their place and purpose; to service men. It is not all beer and skittles. It is not all well intentioned at all.

There is my real life and my conscious understanding that it is my right and my responsibility to be all that I can be in this life at the same time as my fantasy life makes all such thoughts void. My goodness, in my fantasy life I'm there to serve; to obey; to do exactly as told and only that. How profound it is (and how confusing at times) that I'm never more happy than in those minutes, hours and days after a good hiding; extensive use of my body; containment of my mind; reminder of my 'true purpose'. I never said it wasn't complicated!   

Internal thoughts

So, there I was at the Club having my freshly squeezed juice sitting amongst about eight other women. They were getting loud which is never a good sign for me. I like women very much but when they get  together it can be like a gaggle of geese and I can easily just switch them off and think my own thoughts instead.

I was aware of this happening and willed myself to partake in the conversation. Perhaps, if I listened closely to the conversation and tried to drown out the overall noise being created, it would be better. So, one girl had just come back from what sounded like a lovely cruise up around the coast of The Kimberleys. Good on her. She's going through a divorce and she needs a lift. One girl is the past Headmistress of a private girls' school and she was talking about decorative arts; some lecture series she attends.

They wanted to know if I was attending certain events this weekend and we talked about that for a while. There was some mention about a book that I am actually meant to be reading..how the pilates class had gone...

It was all fine except for the fact that today I felt so terribly disengaged from them and their chit chat. My head was swimming with submissive thoughts; going down dark lanes and highways of my mind; desirous of flirting with the unimaginable - long term chastity combined with arousal; bondage; discipline; challenge. I may have looked like a free bird but if they'd taken off the top of my head and rummaged about inside they would have seen that it was all lascivious thought; nothing to do with frocks or decorative arts;  nothing the least bit acceptable or proper for a woman of my age, stage or place.

Restraint

Somewhere in my reading last week, I read of one woman who was told that she may not touch herself for a week. She was doing remarkably well when on the sixth day she succumbed and had a most pleasurable orgasm. Her thinking was along the lines of, "I need this today. I'll worry about the consequences tomorrow."

Well, first of all, I think being told not to touch yourself for a week is asking a great deal so I give her full credit for lasting six days! Delayed gratification is something I can find difficult, although I also find difficult the consequences too really. I'm not fond of people being very cross with me and on more than one occasion I've berated myself for not just doing as I was asked. However, I can certainly empathize with the thought process that six out of seven ain't bad.

I've been sleeping on my own for the past week and my sleep has been quite disrupted because there has been too much opportunity to let my hands stray. On one night I considered tying my wrists together so that I could get a good night's rest. Fortunately, my husband returned home last evening and whilst I woke up in a similar way in the early morning I mentally acknowledged the desire but also mentally told myself that it was a darn good thing that I couldn't succumb to my desires. I folded my hands together as in prayer, a testament to my resolve, and duly went back to sleep for a couple of well needed hours of sleep.

There's a big part of me that very much likes the idea of orgasm control. Chastity belts come up in my thoughts regularly and I love photographs of a woman restrained into a chastity belt. I read once that a Dominant kept his submissive in a chastity belt (apart from cleaning and so on) for a six month period and that was not a dreadful thought for me; not at all. I feed off such thoughts.

I like the challenge of seven days without touching myself. I can't imagine my mind thinking of a darn thing other than my own desire for pleasure. Perhaps the need fades as time goes on. I very much doubt this myself. On the seventh day, I can imagine myself counting down the minutes. Maybe I'd get on with writing assignments and put pleasure out of my mind, or, maybe I wouldn't be able to write a thing so muddle-headed with the desire for pleasure I couldn't think straight.

Of course, the fact that I've been told that I can't have or do something is a truly enticing notion. I'd like to think I've progressed enough where the verbal instruction would be enough and I could exhibit restraint. On one level, it would be absolute torture but on another, deeply arousing. It would be an extraordinary act of grace to have my hands tied at bedtime and just give me a hand (by taking away my hands) but I do understand the idea is to use one's mind alone to show resolve sometimes.

When the woman in question told her Dominant of her transgression the whole time period started all over again. It lasted until they saw one another again which, I think, made it even a bit longer than seven days and I think she was starting to wonder if her life was truly worth living if orgasms were to be spaced out in this way. I so get that. On the other hand, what was he do? Well, I think he removed his Dominance from her, as I recall, and that's when the penny dropped. (Oh my, do I get this part...) She suddenly realized that delayed gratification was much, much easier than the removal of his services and I think it is this knowledge that allows her to move forward into this new time period of no touching.

I'm in a particularly desirous mindset; a desire to prove my mettle and to enjoy succeeding. I'm keen to get back in the hunt, out with pack and on with the game. I'm feeling decidedly playful and ready for challenge and I truly do think that I might be able to follow such a command, should be it ordered. I do little tests on myself, actually and I tell myself I can't do this or that for a couple of days and see what happens. Well, I can follow my own instructions with some degree of success but then again, I've never said to myself, "This time it is seven days" because I just couldn't do that to myself.

Dirty, dark fantasies

I've been doing a yoga breathing workshop all week that requires me to get up each morning at least 2 hours earlier than I normally do. Since I can't go to bed all that much earlier than I usually do, I am running on a deficit of about 10 hours sleep for the week.  It all must sound like torture but I've really wanted to do this and I have had some outstanding bursts of energy and clear thinking along the way. Today, I mentioned it to my regular yoga teacher and she said she did the breathing for 6 months and kept a journal. Apparently, after a few weeks into the breathing she couldn't bear the smell of alcohol or sugar. Her body was insisting on all things clean.

I can't say that sort of effect has kicked in with me, although I haven't even contemplated a glass of wine this week. However, that's not all that unusual for me and just now I have had a few blocks of dark chocolate, my first sugar for the week after an afternoon nap. I'm not entirely pure yet. Quite the contrary has occurred, I am sorry to say.

What I have noticed is that the sexual thoughts are running amuck; very intense, constant and with no end. I fell asleep thinking them and I awoke thinking them. Fundamentally, it is like a pornographic channel running in my head and nobody can find the controller to turn it off. I hesitate to talk about them and yet I feel a need to expunge them somewhat. If I can't talk about them here, then where? I rather doubt the ancient yogis would approve. I don't think this is the sort of benefits they had in mind at all but it is what it is, and here it is...

I'm in a big room. It's quite grand: think Eyes Wide Shut and that's about right. We've been blindfolded, about a dozen of us. We're naked. We've been told to kneel with our legs under us, so that we can pout our backsides and present our holes. (The word present is an extraordinary turn on for me always.)  Of course, our breasts (the men in charge call them our titties) flop on the wooden floor and we are told to hold our mouth cunts open, as if ready to be fucked. We form a circle and that means that when the man who is looking for a plaything  comes to see us, he can see all the holes easily. There are mirrors all over the walls, you see. There is  no place to hide.

The man we know is showing us off, much as a man might show off his horse to a potential owner,  talking up our good points, encouraging the stranger to notice various aspects of our bodies; broad hips here, a wide ass there, a particularly slutty hole there, and the unknown man is inspecting us closely. He looks more than touches the merchandise but he has stopped by me and is asking the man a question. He wants to know what size anal plug I am using at this time. The man goes to a cupboard and produces a plug of the relevant size and this seems to prompt him to want to inspect more closely.

I can feel his slightly cold hands on my buttocks. (As he requested, we've all been well warmed with a leather paddle so any slight coldness was going to be noticed by any of us.) Now, he's stretching my buttocks apart to look at the slutty hole, running his hands over and in my pussy cunt as well. Modesty would like me to be able to say that my pride is incensed by this but it just wouldn't be the truth. I am wet with anticipation of what this man may do to me should he choose me and the touch of his fingers is divine. I am virtually organismic already.

He makes his decision abruptly and within a moment I am hoisted onto a bench and told to rest in the same way as on the floor; kneeling with my legs under me and all holes accessible. Quickly and firmly I am tied to the bench so that any hope I might have of escaping is completely gone. (As if I would...)

The bench is the perfect height so that when the man releases his cock from his pants it can be easily and immediately placed at the entrance of my ass cunt. (The men use these words repeatedly.) As I feel his cock about to penetrate me he reminds me that I an nothing more than his play thing; his toy; just a hole. If this is meant to insult me or incense me, the ploy has backfired because I don't feel any disagreement in my mind. That is indeed what I am. I've been trained to know my purpose.

He enters me and I gasp with shock. He pulls out of me repeatedly only to thrust again and eventually he rhythmically fucks me, seemingly fucking deeper and deeper into my hole. With each thrust my mind and my body is disappearing into a space; a deep, dark hole of pleasure. The sensations are primal; earthy. I feel that my pussy cunt has expanded to be three times it size and from where the orgasms come it is hard to detect. Is it felt in the ass cunt or the pussy cunt or is the overwhelming pleasure coming from a place and a space so unidentifiable that I  no longer exist and have been carried away to some sort of orgasmic heavenly bliss?

My loud moans and groans are no longer wanted and it seems that the man riding me has asked the other man to fill my mouth cunt with his cock to keep me quiet. I accept the gift of his cock with lusty acceptance and I can only hope that this attention will go on and on; that they will not tire or desire to climax too soon.

Eventually, they must and do. I feel the cum filling my two holes and it fills me with satisfaction. This is, after all, the purpose of the two holes. (Here comes the squirmish part...) One of the men retrieve from the cupboard a jug and my ass cunt is milked of cum, leaving enough inside so that when they fill it with a large plug the rest of the cum will leak down my legs for the rest of the evening. (Our training has demanded that our holes are always scrupulously clean and now I understand why this is so.)

I am untied and made to sit on the hard, wooden stool and to place my hands behind my head. Of course, this leaves my breasts free to be tortured and nasty, tight nipple clips now bite at my nipples. It is just more containment for the plaything. It bites to be sure but there is pleasure in the pain; their devilment is her aphrodisiac. (I'm no longer an I. I'm just she at best; more like it, in fact.)

Just as she is about to pass out in a dreamy sort of head space that is unquantifiable they remove the clips. She screams and her mouth is immediately covered with a man's big hand until the desire to scream passes and she is passive; still. The stranger pats her on the head and tells that she has been a good fuck toy, a very pleasurable doll. She has done well. "Good doll," he coos.

This is enough for her. (Who, in fact, is using who here...?). She is returned to the circle and content in her child pose again, she drifts into a near slumber, eternally grateful that to day it was her turn to be used.

Perception

A few days ago, as part of the preparation for the holidays, I had my nails refilled. This event takes place every two to three weeks and I go to the same nail salon with the same Chinese girls. I sat down and put out my hands, as you do. She gasped.

"So long."

"Yep"

I've been through this so many times now I am almost oblivious to their reactions. They do a little shrug, maybe a few words about how I must "be careful" and then go ahead and do the refill. But, there have been times when I have been intimidated by these girls. Their 'encouragement' to "make shorter" my nails has had me agreeing to take off some length. I seem to be an anomaly to them, that I should want nails longer than the other clients, but I have learned to stand my ground.

It was more than irritating therefore when a young woman, about fifteen years younger than me, blew into the salon saying that she needed a new set of nails and could it be done immediately. They were frantically busy but squeezed her in - the woman with the very long dyed hair with a part in the middle of her head. I was curious about her and gobsmacked when I looked at the length of her new nails. Not a single word of concern or negativity had been raised about the length of her nails - almost twice as long as mine! She wasn't encouraged to "be careful" and nor did they shake their heads at the length she had instructed her girl to cut them. Quietly and without fanfare she was getting the longest set of acrylic nails I had ever seen, apart from photographs!

I have to think that my appearance led them to feel a certain way about me, whereas her appearance and her whole persona (I wondered if she might be a domme/switch) led them to feel an entirely different way about her. I really have no idea as to where the truth lies and can only speculate.

All my online friends are the most regular looking of people, really. There would be no reason at all for a passerby to feel that he or she is in the midst of kink. I think we are virtually undetectable. Yes, the wearing of a corset perhaps says something. Possibly, a few tattoos give a clue. A certain kind of shoe might suggest something. But I don't think anybody could be sure about any of the people I know, including me. There is nothing to suggest the thoughts that are racing through our minds; our desires for a certain kind of handling. People might wonder but they can't know anything by our appearance.

In the same way, I may be barking up the wrong tree entirely to call this girl with the very long nails a domme/switch, or into kink at all. She may, quite simply, love very long nails. Who is to say? Yet, I sense I am right about her; feel almost sure that she has a secret and that made her very interesting to me.

Here's what I think: The man of her life, a very dominant man indeed, has instructed her to get a set of nails of an inch in length and for them to be done by the end of the day. It was a work day for her and immediately collecting her child from school (she had a rather naughty little boy with her who she was having trouble controlling, which made it all the more interesting to me that she might be a domme/switch) she drove fast to the nail salon and without an appointment used her assertive style to get their co-operation. They sensed she was unlike their other clients and didn't bother to try to control her, rather fitting her in and doing what they were told. Upon leaving the salon, she would scoop up the naughty little boy and race home to tidy up the house, prepare dinner and await her man, who would be delighted to see the claws at the end of her fingers. Her top appeased, they would settle into a night of lovely debauchery.

Now, who in the salon would think that scenario of me? Who would ever believe that my instruction to them to have my nails a certain length came to me as a command? Who would ever think that I was going home to a night of slutty, kinky play? Who would ever look at me and think, 'There's a slut if ever I saw one!"

It has made people watching all the more fun for me. I look at the most regular of people and try to guess what is going on in their very private minds. Could they be thinking what I am thinking? What sluts!

Hard werk keepn up wif a bimbo

Cindi in a beri beri slutti frame of mind rite now. She nut sur y zactli but her totz beri slutti ndeed. She beri calm, reeeelaxd n she hab meni tots bowt yoos.

Cindi receeevd a beri notti moovn pikki az a prezzi n dat bimbo hab ull da holz yoosd at wuns. Der a man in front hoo hold her hed stil, n a man unda her n a man at bak her n da bimbo looki beri beri satisfyd. Dat reeeli did sumtin 2 dis bimbo n she alredi looki it sebril tyms dis morning n tot bowt it 2, whyl she Christmas shoppin.

Bimboz beri free, n feel beri liber8d 2 speriens ull sortsa tots. Of cors, dis bimbo only intimit wif her onnir but dat nut meen she nut hab beri slutti tots.

Now, y da bimbo feel so free, so calm n so happi rite now? Well, mebbe she jus progresd 2 sum new level of satisfakshin after lotsa hard werk. N also, her onnir njoyn yoosn her lots, n pluggiz njoy her 2 n dat make her mynd n her bodi beri redi 4ebin mor yoos n ebin mor slutti tots. Bimboz beri hungry lil tingz.

It beri inerestin 2 cindi dat ebin tho her tots so streeemli slutti, she consentraytn radda well n gettn trew all the tings on her ‘2 do’ list. Dat soooo pleeeezn 2 cindi – dat she reeechd da poynt wher she hav beri notti tots but she stil abel do her werkiz az wel.

Da kestun 4 cindi – wil da notti moovn pikki she sent ebr leef her myn? She strongli dowts it. But, def feeel bit sorri 4 da men sumtymz. Looki dis wun in da pikki abuv. He looki just exhaustd! Nut ez 4 onnirs n da men in da bimboz myn keepi up wif her. Oh wel! Spoz dat da prys dey pay 4 habin bimboz!

Daydreaming

This time of year is especially busy where I live. We've been through preparation for exams, the exams, the events that lead to the end of the academic year...the Carol Service....and so on. Finally, that all ended and my body said, "Enough!". It was time to get some good sleeps.

With some catch up on sleep, my body and mind moved into a new phase, that of resuming kinky thoughts with a new found gusto. I've barely slept at all last night between my lusty thoughts, my husband coming to bed late and getting up early to leave for the airport again. I had planned to return to sleep once I said goodbye to him but instead my thoughts had me in the most cuntstrained of situations...

Not only did I have an owner, and a very strict one at that, but since he was a very busy owner he had employed a woman to supervise me. In the past, such a woman (in my mind) has been a big boned, strong and ample sort of woman but this time she was quite petite, rather beautiful features and she wore her hair in a french twist.

I really don't feel that I can tell you everything they did to me. It is acutely embarrassing. Let me try...

His driver was on stand by to take him to the airport and he called me into his study. He checked to see that I was plugged, that I was well constrained and contained within my corset, and he had me kneel and pleasure him with my mouth cunt. (He always used those words and so must I.) The woman looked on. He took his pleasure and had me clear him up and as an afterthought he advised me that it was best that he mark me, so that while he was gone I had a constant reminder of my connection to him. He had her fetch the cane, and as I bent over the desk as told, and while my owner lifted up my skirt, she held down my head.

He delivered 12 swift strokes of the cane and before I could barely thank him and wish him adieu he was gone, but not without cautioning me that whatever Madam said was at his instruction. I was to do exactly as I was told.

Whether she was sadistic or merely following instructions is hard to say. The days were certainly challenging and containing with her. She kept me plugged night and day and insisted that I use the toilet when she deemed it proper to do so. She had determined that I should evacuate my bowel in the morning and when I could not do so, she said I would sit there until I did. An hour later, she thought the strap would assist me, and twenty five welts to my bottom later, I told her that I was, in fact, able to use the toilet at her command. The fact that there would be no reprieve had kicked my brain into action (and the threat of another 25 of the strap in half an hour's time also probably helped.) It seems her task was to make my day orderly in every way, and she was determined to fulfil her orders.

Each day I had certain lessons to learn and later she sat me down to write hundreds of lines to ensure I understood my lessons well. There would no permission to leave the seat and so I stopped bothering to ask. I learned as well that I must slow myself down and attend to my handwriting very carefully. She had given me a fountain pen with which to write and the slightest imperfection earned me another page of lines. I soon learned it was best to do the task and all tasks she set, properly and with pride.

I dressed and undressed when told, ate and drank what I was given, bent over to be plugged or unplugged, beaten or felt. I wore jewellery from my nipple rings to remind me of my position. I went to bed as directed, woke up when instructed and didn't dare to touch my own body in any way at all (she seemed to be always watching and tied my hands to the bed post at night). Eventually, with the assistance of Madam I learned that in my owner's household I had no say, no control, no power; no will of my own at all.

Upon his return, my owner noticed the changes in me immediately. He talked of a serenity that had come over me and a clear understanding of my place; my status; my position. I can only say that I was very happy; content and peaceful. I felt the strongest of connections to him. That he had ordered and directed this adjustment to my thinking made me feel that I belonged to him and I wanted nothing more and nothing less than that...

Sleep or no sleep aside, the day demands that I focus on business matters and there my dream must end. I promise to put up the next interlude between Agnes and Frederick soonest.

Owners know best

As I recently explained in a previous post, I asked my husband for a weekly ‘correction’ and this takes place on a Saturday morning. He’s taken to the scheme like a duck to water and if there is any backchat or bratty behaviour during the week, I can hear him talking to himself just loud enough for me to hear.

“Oh, that’s going to cost...”

This past Saturday morning we both slept in and found ourselves with precious little time to do a number of things before we were due at an event. When my husband assured me we could still fit the correction in, I assured him with an equal amount of vigour that we were already well behind schedule. But, it was clear he didn’t want to let it go entirely, and he turned me over and spanked away at my bottom. Deep down inside, I knew that the matter would carry on to Sunday morning and the thought wasn’t entirely welcome.

Do you ever wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Well, this (Sunday) morning was one of those rare mornings for me. I just didn’t feel like any attention at all. My bottom was sore from the previous day’s spanking and I felt annoyed with nothing in particular but everything in general. I saw with one open eye, my husband collect his cane on the way back from the bathroom (I just knew he felt that the correction process was not satisfactorily completed!) and I simply didn’t fancy a caning on an already sore bottom. I can be funny like that. I made a number of excuses as to why I really ought to get up. He let me and my bad mood go on our merry way but whispered in my ear in the kitchen shortly thereafter that by day’s end he would have his way with me. I put the thought to one side but remained a bit detached from it all.

Mid-afternoon I was surprised to see my husband put together a tray of nachos for the boys and one girlfriend. He took the tray over to them at the television as they watched a movie and then he moved over to me at my desk.

“Cindi, while the children are occupied I need to see you in the bedroom.”

“But...but, I don’t want to go to the bedroom.”

“Oh yes you do, cindi. It is in your interest to go there right now.”

He guided my body with his body towards the bedroom. It isn’t easy for me not to smile at such moments. One part of the brain really does not want to go, but there is another part of the brain that loves that he is insisting. Although I am very ‘in the moment’ at such moments, I was, in fact, aware of the change in my voice. It became rather little; like a little girl who says to her daddy, “But, I don’t want to go home yet, Daddy. Please, can’t we stay at the fair just a little longer?”

Once he had me in the bedroom, he told me to crawl around to his chair.

“I don’t want to crawl.”

I could hear a drawer of his dresser being opened and that meant, I thought, he was reaching for any one of several nasty implements.

“I’m crawling, I’m crawling!!”

When he had me where he wanted me, on my knees in front of him as he sat in the bedroom chair, he used the rope that he had in fact retrieved from the dresser drawer to tie my hands together. And, once he did that, he put the 0 ring gag securely in my mouth. The dribbling began almost instantaneously.

Once he had my wrists secured and my mouth gagged, he bent me over the chair and took off my sneakers and socks and panties and jeans (Oh, come on! I took the dogs for a walk in the rain and it is the first time I have worn pants in eons, I swear!). And, once he had my wrists secured and my mouth gagged and all the bottom clothing off, he proceeded to spank my bottom. And, once he had my wrists secured, my mouth gagged, my bottom clothing off and my bottom good and red, he covered my eyes firmly with a black, velvet blindfold.

“Feeling more submissive now, cindi? That’s the way!”

I simply slobbered a bit more (the juices from my mouth were just ridiculous) and nodded my agreement, as I was told to do.

“Time for your pluggi, cindi.”

He returned in moments and wasted no time in putting the plug in place and pushing away on it.

“There you go cindi. Doesn’t that feel much better for a little dolli like cindi?”

I nodded as I was told to do.

“I know what you need, cindi. You just leave it to owner to attend to you; there’s a good doll.”

I know readers would appreciate around about now knowing what cindi felt. Well, she did feel without a shadow of a doubt that it was in her interests to follow all commands very closely. She was very aware that her owner expected that and she never for a single moment anticipated that she would not now do exactly as she was told. She was very much in the mindset to be a very good, well behaved doll; cum what may!

“Up you come, cindi. Just move when I tell you. Over here. That’s the way. Climb onto the bed now, cindi. That’s a good dolli. Over the pillows. Arms out straight. Owner is going to fuck you, cindi. He’s wanted to do that all day. He’s going to fill that pussy cunt of yours with his cum and you are going to do exactly as you are told and feel his cock pounding away...”

Owner never stopped talking, in fact. He made it very clear that his doll had absolutely no say in what was to happen and that her pleasure was of no interest to him today at all. As her breathing pattern became rather short and even panicked, with the O ring gag making it impossible to register any sounds other than those such as “humph”, and her mouth dribbling out oodles of saliva, he took a moment to pull the top cindi was wearing over her head. The restraints around her wrists made taking it completely off impossible and so it dangled over the rope.

Now, he entered cindi’s pussy cunt and all her holes were filled. Cindi felt completely invaded and overpowered. Here was her owner on top of her, fucking her hard and telling her to take it, to accept it, to be a good doll and stay still while he had his way. Her mind returned to a film clip she had seen years ago when a woman is being raped in a hallway. She is upset, naturally, but at the same time she appears to be experiencing arousal (or was that just cindi watching it?).

Cindi imagined that the person on top of her was a stranger; someone to whom she had not given consent, and she experienced that thought as a very erotic one. She was being fucked and aroused and pleasured by an unknown man who had complete control of her and she was worried enough to be panting; taking short, panicked little breaths; but she was not troubled enough to not be very aroused.

And, then she felt the ‘mysterious man’ on top of her become very aroused himself. He was groaning and moaning and taking urgent, harsh and fast thrusts inside of her until she felt him cum inside of her and heard him gasp for breath as he climaxed. He lay on her for a while and then he gave her little bites on her neck and all over her upper back. Powerless, she stayed still and accepted the bites but she registered her complaints vocally with some squeals.

“Don’t you like pain, cindi? That’s news.”

And, then he left her; blindfolded, hands tied together, mouth dribbling and gagged; cum oozing out of her. She heard the shower and in no time she heard him return. She was surprised how quickly he returned to her but then her mind had been completely emptied and laying there as the fuck toy she was, it was not at all surprising that she had no idea of time. The stranger took off her blindfold, took the gag out of her mouth, and untied her wrists.

“Into the shower, cindi.”

When she returned, her clothes were laid out on the bed and she got into them and some slip on shoes (not the sneakers – dollies don’t wear sneakers).

“Crawl to owner.”

She did.

“What do you say?”

Cindi was momentarily confused. She gets particularly dumdum sometimes.

“Tank you?”

She felt a series of hard swats over her jean clad bottom.

“What do you say?”

“Tank you, onnir.”

“After all this time, cindi. You should know better, by now.”

“Cindi sorri.”

“All right, cindi, off you go. Return to your work.”

If the reader is in any doubt, cindi had a very relaxed late afternoon and evening and so too did her owner, who could be heard whistling about the house. The day didn’t work out exactly as cindi had anticipated but then again, it was long ago established, that this was what was best. Owners always know best.

Put away

It is the long weekend here and my husband is currently away. It seemed an ideal time to free myself of my need to experience control and I have wallowed in freedom - gone to bed when I wished, dressed when I wished, ate when I chose and just focused on me (and my boys).

It was interesting then, to wake this morning and discover that I had an urgent desire to write about something - anything - that would give me at least the illusion of being controlled. I felt absolutely exasperated that I was on my own with nothing but a pluggi to ground me to a sense of control!

The story was written in a little over an hour. It is the machinations of a kinky, submissive girl and perhaps only pleasurable to me. But, I put it here and if it should bring you pleasure too, then be my guest and have a read:

PUT AWAY

“Come and sit by me.”

She stood in front of him and with her eyes solicited further information.

“On the floor by my heel. Raise your skirt and part your cheeks; sit cross legged on the floor; palms down.”

She turned away from him and spread her cheeks so that he had a perfect view of her ass cunt, as she knew he wanted. She sat as instructed with her ass cheeks directly on the carpet. She felt pressure on the top of her head as he brought it forward so that all she could view were her own breasts. She heard him pick up the newspaper that he had put down on the table beside him when she had entered the room and then there was silence again.

She had no idea of how much time passed. There was no clock in her vision even if she dared sneak a peek but he was an avid reader and she never anticipated that this would be a short affair. Within several minutes she was aware of some discomfort as her legs became used to the position and as usual she found she had strong unrequited desires to move her hands to scratch an itch or adjust her hair. She spoke internally to herself regularly as a reminder to do only what he had told her. She wanted him to be pleased but on a practical level, she did not want to experience his displeasure.

At last, he put down the paper and his hands found her pert breasts. Her nipples were standing up for him since the room was a little cool for one so exposed. He tugged at the small rings in her nipples and the sensations went straight to her pussy cunt. There was nothing as predictable as her state after he had her wait for an hour or more; so close to him but untouched.

“Prepare for bed, darling.”

She raised herself off the floor and left the room. She took her shower and scrubbed herself clean; brushed her teeth. She applied her night time facial cream, rubbed a body moisturizer into her arms and legs and feet. He had yet to arrive. She sat on her wooden chair beside the bed and read on in her current novel, hoping that he would arrive soon. She longed to get under the covers.When she heard his feet on the floorboards in the hall outside she closed her book and put it down on her bedside table.

“Let’s inspect you.”

She immediately bent across the high bed. He had designed the bed himself and had it custom made so that she could be bent across it at the height of her hip. He spread her cheeks open and stretched her ass cunt as much as he could. He held it open like that for his own pleasure more than her embarrassment. This routine was common and she was used to it. He took a wet wipe from its packet and ensured that her ass cunt was scrupulously clean. Then, he opened her pussy cunt lips and breathed in her scent. He brought his hand to her pussy cunt and felt the slick surface; teased her bud with his tip of his thumb.

He had her stand and she raised her arms as soon as he indicated that she should do so; opened her mouth cunt when he touched her lips and stood still while he checked with a tissue that she had dried her ears.

“All scrubbed clean. That’s a good girl. Now, over the bed again.”

She tipped herself over the bed.

“Which hole would you prefer to be used?”

“The ass cunt, please.”

“Such a polite girl! If you wish.”

She was aware of him placing the rubber over his cock, a little lube on her ass cunt and he glided almost effortlessly into her. She let out a long sigh. She revelled in the luxury of having him inside her and feeling the fullness; no longer empty. But, he was hungry tonight and within moments he began to thrust, hard and fast. She grunted as his cock fucked her and with no restraints to hold her or a mouth gag to bite, she had no choice but to suck on the skin of the fleshy part of her arm near to her shoulder for some relief from his persistent grinding.

Without a word but with moans of pleasure he spurted wads of cum into her ass cunt until he was totally spent and lay down on her back. She was aware of his sweat and was grateful when he raised himself again and brought a tissue to wipe some of the cum away. He left her then and went to the bathroom and showered.

When he returned to her she first felt his hand lube her ass cunt and then she felt her night plug being placed into her. It was his way to fuck her with it – in and out, in and out – until with one deep push he inserted it into place. He had her stand and she moved to assist him as he put the chastity belt on her and locked her in.

“Time to be put away.”

He pulled the covers back. He watched her get into bed and settle herself on her side and place her palms together under her right facial cheek, as she was inclined to do. She may just have been fucked like a slut but now she was more like a little girl.

He bent over her, brought the covers up high and tucked her in; smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead.

“Good girl. Straight off to dreamland.”

He turned off the light and closed the door. He would work in his study now for at least an hour. Her pussy cunt throbbed but of course, touching herself had been rendered impossible. She squeezed as hard as she could but without his countdown, her orgasm eluded her and she gave up and drifted into sleep. What she dreamed is anybody’s guess.

The Training School - prelude

For as much as I do say here on these pages, there is so much that I can't say. How on earth can I type into this blank space for you all to read, the machinations of my kinky mind?

You surely would not be interested to know about the training school in my mind. How devilishly dirty you would think my mind if I were to detail what happens there.

As much as it will disgust you, I am prepared to reveal that what happens to me there is not at the hands of just one man. Not by a long shot! There are many men who train me at the school and in fact, this is an essential ingredient of the success of the training school. When my body is prepared for my owner, so too is my mind. My mind must become that of a fucktoy and so it is critical that the men have me understand that I may object to nothing.

I don't. I don't object to anything at all because I see what happens to other girls who object and I don't want that to happen to me. To be perfectly honest, I also don't object to my treatment because I have no reason to object. The men keep me in a state of readiness and desire that demands I receive a great deal of attention and it is beyond the scope of one man to fulfil my current needs once they have tapped into my hidden desires.

Sordid, despicable, dark and dirty things happen at the training school and all at the behest of my owner who has provided the men with a long list of requirements before I should be sent home.

Try not to think ill of me. I shall not share with you the demands made of me at the training school. Unless, of course, you want that.

Training

One of my big splurges over the years has been children's books. Most of them are packed away in boxes at the moment since they over ran the book shelves and eventually needed to make way for adult reading but as yet, I can't give a single one of them away. Both the children and I have such strong ties to so many of them. Does anyone know 'Patrick and the dinosaur?' One son was obsessed with dinosaurs and I have a large collection of stories about dinosaurs. But, no story was ever better than Patrick's wonderful imagination when his brother takes him to the zoo. Dinosaurs abound in his imagination, follow him home and even peek into his upstairs bedroom window. All the while his older brother is completely oblivious.

I was wandering about the house doing some housework just before when, for no reason at all, Madeline popped into my head. With three boys and only one girl, it finally dawned on me one day when my children were still young that I had many more books where the hero was a boy than I did a girl and I went about actively seeking out books that were about girls. Of course, I bought the Madeline series:

"In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.."

It is a completely adorable set of books about 12 little girls who are orphans in a Paris convent and Madeleine, bless her soul, is the hardest of all to contain. She finds herself in one scrape after the other. Fortunately, things always end well, as they should for such an adorable, robust and courageous little girl.

I have wondered, from time to time, why I so often conjure up the image of being in a strict boarding school. Although I do feel loved by my parents who send me there, it is a distant, formal sort of love. They don't believe in sparing the rod to spoil the child and it is for my own good that I am sent off to the school with a 'hard as flint' Headmaster.

Often, on the very first day, even before the ordeal has formally begun, I am a witness to what is in store for me at the official 'meet and greet' appointment with the Headmaster. The Headmaster seeks my parents (or often just my father's) confirmation that he understands that corporal punishment is the preferred form of discipline at the school. It never seems to bother my father (or both parents) at all, and they assure him that they are in complete agreement that corporal discipline is a very good thing. 'Headmaster', as they call him, should feel completely free to correct my behaviour in any way he deems effective.

To add to my misery (or should I say, entertainment) he often suggests to my parents that in order for me to understand that all parties are in complete understanding of the measures used to teach me my lessons, a few strokes should be meted out immediately. My parents don't blink at the suggestion and I am invariably told to bend across the Headmaster's desk where my parents can observe his skill at delivering stripes to my bottom that will ensure my compliance of all rules laid down.

There truly is no way out for me. It would be fruitless to send a letter home complaining of my treatment, given that my parents and the Headmaster are clearly in cahoots and I determine very early on that I must make the best of things and do my best to stay out of trouble.

Unfortunately, my best is never good enough. Trouble comes sometimes because my marks are not satisfactory. Interestingly, in this fantasy, it is my French that causes the most difficulty and as well as making regular acquaintance with the Headmaster's cane for the offense of not mastering the language, I spend many a long hour sitting in the detention room writing my vocabulary out, 20, 50, 100 times, until the entire list is committed to memory.

The Matron at my fantasy school in no way endeavours to shelter her girls from the perils of the Headmaster's cane. To the contrary, she makes good use of her wooden backed hairbrush and the slightest sign of untidiness, of a noise in the dormitory after dark, of running in the halls or eating a contraband lolly is met with a long and arduous trip over her knee.

Such offenses are recorded, of course, and a list is sent home to my father along with the academic report at the end of each term. It is customary that all strokes of the cane meted out by the Headmaster are also meted out by a girl's father over the holidays. Thus, a girl in week 1 of the term who receives 6 of the cane will know that she can receive the same amount in her father's study upon her return home a few months later. And so it goes...

Of course, I progress and I progress fast. No relatively smart girl is not going to figure out in short order that it is in her best interests to be outstandingly polite, well behaved and diligent if she should ever wish to sit down again without it being the most awful chore. She understands quickly as well that excuses and complaints will get her nowhere. A girl who tries to justify the unjustifiable quickly discovers that things get so much worse. Much, much better to agree that the behaviour is unacceptable, acknowledge that the behaviour most definitely requires correction and most importantly, offer one's heartfelt thanks for receiving it.

One of the mandates of the school, of course, is to prepare a girl for her fate; that of marriage to a strict man, usually a good ten years older, who will appreciate a well trained girl. My mother was such a girl and my father a man who understands the importance of such training for his daughter as well.

As is the case with Madeleine, the story ends well. I come to appreciate the training I have been given and recognize the importance of it. I meet and marry a man who believes in weekly correction for his wife, adherence to dress code and all his whims, as well as exemplary manners and behaviour. I am blissfully happy with my new life and revel in his attentive care and encouragement.

In real life, I wouldn't be without my family for all the world, but I so often wondered growing up and for many years after that what it might be like to not have a family; to live only with a lovingly strict man and for him to be my world. Of course, I can only wonder and perhaps this is from where this fantasy stems; my efforts to explore that other world that I can only wonder about.

It is interesting though, is it not, that for zillions of years before I entered a power exchange in a formal sense that I was thinking these thoughts, over and over. In some way, it had entered my mind that strictness equalled love and care. And, perhaps more interesting still, that for me, nothing has changed.

For her own good

My husband and I arrived home late on a Thursday evening and this has been rather wonderful timing because we have had time to lull about at home and get over our jet lag and exhaustion. Even better, my cough is virtually gone and I feel kind of cheeky again, which means I feel like my old self. Good news, right?!

Believe it or not, I spent most of Saturday fast asleep which is some kind of miracle. But, in and out of sleep I must have been, because in my thoughts I was constantly being spanked, in one scenario or the other.

Sometimes, I was back at school. It was a very strict school (what a surprise!) and on my first day my parents and I were taken in to see the Headmaster. He wanted to confirm with my parents that they understood that he believed strongly in the benefits of the cane for his girls. My parents assured him that they were in total agreement.

Then, he wanted to check that I had not brought to his school any panties. Girls in his school, he said, were forbidden from wearing panties because they were inconvenient for Masters and gave a girl the impression that she had rights, which she did not. Again, my parents assured the Headmaster that they agreed and that no such panties were in my suitcase nor on my body. When my parents had waved us goodbye, the Headmaster escorted me back to his study to initiate me in his ways. Better, he said, to begin where he meant to end.

Whilst the idea of receiving discipline from a woman in real life holds zero appeal for me, in my dreams there is often a very strict Matron who works in conjunction with the Headmaster, and so it was yesterday. Whilst the Headmaster handled issues of a serious nature, it was Matron who dealt with minor matters, such as girls giggling in the hallway, or talking after lights out. She had one of those expensive Mason Pearson hairbrushes I saw all round Europe in pharmacies and she used it liberally. Being stout, she had no problem in taking a girl over her knee and it was her way to issue a sentence of so many minutes; say, two minutes of hard spanking with the brush for not making one's bed with the specified corners.

It didn't end there. The Headmaster had all sorts of rituals for his girls and one such ritual was a monthly enema, which he considered good for "our health", followed by an inspection of our "holes". Once a week, we were given a class on our "true purpose" and we needed to get good grades in this subject, along with all our subjects.

No girl was allowed to do poorly and when a girl received a low grade, she was given a second chance. True to form, Masters at the school dealt with poor grades in a traditional way. A girl was soundly whipped and once that was completed, she was given time to review the lesson, after which she was allowed to re-sit the test. It was with pride that Masters noted that all girls performed to a most satisfactory standard when given this personal attention. The school maintained an exemplary academic standard and as well, graduates of the school were considered to make outstanding wives. It makes sense, doesn't it?!

I was beaten consistently all Saturday - all for my own good. Such a lovely way to spend a Saturday!

Bimboz dey dreem: part 2

Wun mornin daffi wokiz n she asoomd dat soon wun of da men wood cum long as yoozuel n poot in her pluggi. But, 2dey a speshel dey, dey tol her, n 2dey she nut wer her pluggi. Dey tel her dat durin 2 dey, she shood jus relax - reed da paper, or a book, mebbe walkiz in da garden; whatever she wans. 2nite da bimboz inishi8shun in2 bimbohood, dey sed 2 her. Daffi littel apprehensif but also beri xsitd! Her ownir told her dat wen she haf her inishi8shun, she unnderstan mor bout her troo nashur, n nut fite agenst it eni mor. Daffi waytin 4 dis dey 4 lung tym!

L8 in da aftanoon, da men tel da udder gurlz 2 prepar daffy. Dey bathe her kerfoooli, n maki up her fays n her herr beri prettili. Dey poot on her wot da men tell dem - just her stey up stockinz, a pretti colla on her nek, sum high heelz n a mask ova her fays.

Wen dey finish dey sey 'bye bye' 2 daffi n she sit in a cher in da loveli drawin room n wayt. Of cors, nut onli daffi xsitd but beri arowsd. She nut no wat 2 happen 2 her xactli but sittin der on da luveli comfi cher wif no garmen over her bottom, she bcum most arowsd. She awar of da goosebumpz da form on her skin and da wey dat her nipplz so hard. But, she weyt lung tym it seemz 2 her n she start 2 drift in2 sleepiz.

Quite unexpectedli, wun of da men, also wif mask over his fays cum to get her and he attach a leed to daffy's pretti collar. He leed her down da hall in2 a bootiful room where she c 2 udder men wif maskz. Da lite beri dim so nut reeli no hoo doz men.

Da man dat leed daffi talkiz wif her. He tel her dat she beri gud bimbo n she close 2 gradu8shun n goin home 2 her onnir. She onli need akt naturel here 2 nite. She 2 do wot cumz naturalli n dey observ her n c if she ken let her bimbo hart run free or nut. If nut, der bit mor traynin. She nut 2 worri eida way.

Den, da man hoo haf her leed, takiz her 2 a loveli antik wooden bench n dey aski her 2 bend ova da bench. Soon, ull da men touchiz her - her her, n her bak, n bottom; her legs, n feet, liftin up wun at a tym; den her pussi cunt. Dey talkiz mongst demselvz dat she alredi satur8d down der; such a gud bimbo! Dey tel her dat 4 speshel treet she yoosd beri well 2 nite: all her cuntz yoosd well.

Daffi alredi in sum udder plays in her myn. Da tuchin of her bodi n da tot of wot dey do fill her wif lust n she beri relaxd. Momentz l8r, daffi feel fingerz tuchin her asscunt, n spredn her cheekz, n den she feel a hoooj cocki filln her cunt. She beri well traynd n dis nut hert her at ull. In fakt, da cocki feelz wunderfool 2 her n she begin 2 cum.

"Such a gud slut," she heer wun of da men sey.

Da man insyd her reeli njoyin da experiens n afta few minutz he cum insyd her, fillin her ass cunt wif lotsa cum. Immedi8li afta dat, she feel a big pluggi poot in2 her ass, n she told dat slowli da cum wood leek owt of her ass cunt n down her legz. Dis tot nut seem 2 worri daffi et ull. Gin, da men tuchi her bodi n it obvius she beri, beri arowsd. Dey feel her titiz n da feelin sens8shnel 2 her. Sum tym goz by; she not no how lun. She in spays.

Now, a man, she nut no hoo, wanna taki her pussicunt n he cum behin her n enter her. Da pooshin on her pluggi n da cocki in her pussy cunt combine 2 gif her orgasmz liki she neva had b4 in her lyf, n involuntarili she start 2 maki noysez. She sown liki a cow, eben 2 her eerz.

Daffi begin 2 stick owt her tung, as if she lookin 4 sumtin, n she start2 chew 2, desperet 4 sumtin 2 fil her last hole. Da men taki mersi on daffi n wun man poot into her mofcunt a larg cockigag dat fil her mofcunt n whyl she experiensin lung n deep orgasmz she sucki, sucki, sucki on da gag. She troo fucktoy.

Daffiz myd empti. She tink nuthin. She is in a spays n a plays in her myd wher she free flotin. Her myd compleetli peeceful. She nut a gurl. She nut a hoo. She a wat. She jus objekt: totalli peesefool n happi.

Eventualli, wen daffi completeeli satisfyd n spent, da man in her pussy cunt cum insyd her, n collaps on her bak. She feelz a litenes of bein but der a momen of sadness 4 daffi bcoz she wish dat she haf dis moment wif her onnir. She a troo bimbo now n she wish her onnir der 2 prayz her n luv her.

Da man on her bak begin 2 recover n he start 2 cuddel daffi n hold her tite. She notis dat da man's hans liki her onnirz hans. Den, she heer him sey,

"My darlin daffi, finalli u akept yor troo natoor. Yor onnir sooooo beri prowd!"

It her onnir ull dis tym! Da cocki in her ass cunt n in her pussy cunt da cocki of her onnir ull lung.

Daffiz hart fill wif luv n happiness. How hevenli dat dis inisi8shun happen wif him!

Soon, daffi taken 2 cleen her bodi, n 2getha she n her onnir sher a delishus suppa. Dey sleepiz da nite 2getha in a speshel room n da next mornin dey sey der bye byz 2 da udder bimboz n 2 da men, n dey go home 2getha.

Daffi n her onnir live happili eva afta 2getha. daffi no now 4 sur she bimbo n she lif accordin 2 her troo natur. She threw wey da gurl mask 4 gud 4 now she free. She bimbo.

Cindiz deydreem

Dis mornin when cindi wakiz, she ull alown in her bed, n her myn wandered 2 a rather dark scenario. Dis daydreem 'B' rated; dat meen 'bimbo rated' so if nut in2 da thoughtz of a bimbo, best 2 leef now. It beri beri hard 4 cindi 2 write in gurl langwitch wen she in her bimbo head but she tri as best she ken. She beri sorri bout da mistakiz:

Bimbo Daydreem

Once upon a time, der a gurl hoo had a ownir and he feel dat she reeli a bimbo undaneeth her gurl mask. He try 2 haf her taki off dat gurl mask and reeli live but she 2 scared. But, neverdeless, he trayn her 2 sum extent. She began 'anal traynin' wif him and she reeeli quite liki dat but nut wanna admit 2 much.

One day, the onnir sed dat it tym dat she go to 'traynin school 4 bimboz'. She shood nut feel scared or frayd coz da peepel at da treynin school, dey do nottin 2 her dat he nut no bout n aprooov. She shood jus try as hard as possibel n he prowd of her effortz.

He taki her der n introdoos her 2 da men der n he tell her to jus kell dem ull "Sir". Der no need 2 no der nemz.

At da skool der five udder gurlz traynin 4 bimbohood n dey ull beri nys gurlz n nys 2 her 2. Dis maki da gurl feel much betta.

Eberi mornin wun of da men cum rown afta da showerz n pluggi da gurlz 4 da dey n b4 bed tym, dey pluggi dem gin, but dis tym wif bigga pluggi.

Beri soon, ull da bimboz der beri yoosd 2 da pluggiz n trooffooli dey njoy it. Wun dey, da bimbo hoo cum der on her onnirz orderz, letz kell her 'daffy', she complayn bout da pluggi n she had fit at da man. She sey she sik of da pluggi. She in beri bad mood. Da man sey she may nut haf pluggi 4 3 dayz. Oh, how much she miss her pluggi!! She realiz at end of 3 dayz dat she luv her pluggi n njoy da yoos. She mor n mor bimbo eberi dey n she feel sooooo much mor happi; so much mor hersef.

Da traynin of da bimboz go on eberi dey n der lotsa lessunz bout wot bimboz do n feel n dress n akt. All sorta lessuns. But wun dey, at da end of da munth of lessunz daffy haf her initiashun in2 da werld of bimboz wuns n 4 ull.

Oh gosh!! Mebbe dis 2 rood 4 peepel nut unnerstan bout bimboz. Wel, let cindi do dis. She finish der 4 2 dey, coz she so beri shorta tym rite now 2. But, mebbe, wen she cum home gin she finish da stori. If wan, looki 4 'bimbo daydreem, part 2'.

Boarding school life

Regular readers would know by now that I have both a rich fantasy life and a soft spot for a spanking scenario and/or story. I left school a long time ago but I remain faithful to the fantasy of being a student at a very strict boarding school. My parents, most particularly my father, is in full agreement with the philosophy of the school that a young lady requires training in the finer arts of being a good wife for her to soon to be husband. To that end, lessons at the school go beyond the normal curriculum offered at most other schools and a Master or Matron has full access to a girl. Naturally, there is no sexual contact between a Master and a girl, but nonetheless a girl's nakedness is necessary to impart many of her lessons.

Girls sleep four to a room and each girl has a bed just like the one in this photograph. Such a bed is invaluable in the school of my fantasy life. Girls often wait for Matron standing at the edge of their beds, and of course they are naked when they do so. On some evenings, Matron will wish to inspect the girls. Not only will she be inspecting that their fingernails and ears are scrupulously clean, but their entire body.

"Spread your cheeks, girl," is an instruction she will often give the girls. Not only is she checking for cleanliness but also for progress, for at this school a girl is trained such that all her openings will be readily available for her soon to be suitor and husband.

And, of course, Matron, in conjunction with the schoolmaster, will have made notes on a girl's behaviour and progress for the day, or lack thereof. Should a girl's behaviour found to be wanting, and heavens knows, it so often is, the bars of the bed will be perfect for Matron to tie the girl to whilst she takes from the bedside table a wooden hairbrush with which to admonish her. Many is the night when the girls are sent off to sleep with brandished bottoms in hope that the following day will see improvement in their abilities to please.

Sometimes, Matron chooses to leave a girl bent over the edge of the bed for an hour or more prior to bedtime before she is untied, in order that the other three girls may make note of her marked and bruised backside. There is nothing so salutary, she thinks, than observing another's punished bottom and doing one's best to avoid a similar outcome.

Sometimes, Matron also uses the frame of the bed as the perfect place to bend a girl to insert a plug into her ass before the girl is tucked into bed for the night. But, perhaps I've shocked you enough for now with my fantasies. So many of you read the perversions of my mind; download the photographs, but still, I worry that it all too much. The comments don't exactly fly into my email inbox. Or, do you want more and are too shy to say?

I wonder...

Can you stand it?

I am inclined to think that when someone writes on a blog, they develop a certain kind of persona. You, the reader, gets to see them in a particular light. It is not that the person writing isn't telling the truth, but rather that they are, possibly, only telling you what they think you want to hear.

The reason for this might be that even though our blogs are often anonymous, our true identity not disclosed, there is a part of us that worries about disclosure, and/or worries that the reader might not be able to handle all the facets of us. When one considers that the number of people interested in our mindset is very small, comparatively speaking, to write of dark fantasies might be too much.

I wonder.

On any given day, in any situation, you are probably surrounded with people with dark fantasies. The difference is that they will never admit them. I'd like money on that belief. Alas, I will never prove it.

I have dark fantasies. When I masturbate (yes, yes! I admit it!) I go to those dark fantasies, often. I fantasize about men who behave in the most ungallant ways. They are so often men in positions of power; headmasters and husbands of yesteryear. However, the rules of society, even olden day society do not exist. They can do as they wish.

The headmaster of my fantasy is the most severe of men. It is not his way to dispense with six of the cane and send me on my way. More likely, he will lecture me of my disappointing behaviour and order me to return to his study on Sunday evening. He is not interested in ending the ordeal. Not at all. In fact, he wishes to prolong my experience.

Of course, I can think of nothing else for several days and each time I sit down at my desk I think of what is to befall me on my return trip to his study. It doesn't end there. When the time finally arrives, he is never ready to proceed, asking me instead to kneel on the wooden bench in his corner, my skirt held up and my panties taken down, so that I can feel the cool breeze on my bottom. He may well leave me there for an hour.

Finally, when he calls me to stand in front of his desk, he makes clear the gravity of the situation. I won't be running in the corridors any time soon, that's for sure! He goes to his implement cupboard and tries out a few canes. He slashes them through the air, whilst I watch; heart stopped.

He tells me that since this is the second time I have been to his office this term, it is clear that I have the hallmarks of a girl that requires severe punishment and thus it will be twelve hard strokes this time. He says the word "hard" with particular emphasis.

He has a whipping bench, thank God. Without restraint, I think my fantasy might have come to an end too soon. It is possible to scare oneself too much! He has me lay across it, and he pulls the leather belt tight across my back; secures my wrists and ankles firmly to the legs. He bares the buttocks he is about to thrash and he delivers the strokes slowly, firmly; with the resolve of a man who means to change this girl's errant behaviour, forever.

He likes to talk. Before he delivers the next stroke he talks of the necessity for discipline in a girl's life. He talks of his responsibility to see that all girl's at his college are well prepared for a life of submission to their husbands. He assures me that the whipping is for my own good.

Upon completion of his task, he returns the cane to its place beside his other canes, and he inspects my bottom, ordering me to report to matron that evening for a salt water wash. It seems that there is broken skin to be attended to.

Once standing, he asks what I have to say, and naturally, I thank him for punishing me; apologize for taking up his time. He says that he has done no more than his duty. I am his charge, after all.

He writes a sentence on a piece of paper and hands it to me. He has me go to the detention room to write the sentence 500 times.

"Young ladies of Sufferidge College must not run in the corridors."

He tells me that the work must be in my best handwriting or else I will be told to do it again.

As I open the door to leave, trying desperately not to rub my stinging backside, he reminds me to be sure to sit directly on my bottom.

"There is to be no squirming, young lady, if you know what is good for you."

"Yes Sir," I say.

And, that is not the half of it. There is so much more. But, can you stand it?