Day 6: Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.
Whilst others are dreaming of romantic walks on desolate beaches that end with passionate love-making in the surf; I’m dreaming of romantic walks on desolate beaches that end with jolly good spankings before passionate love-making in the surf.
Whilst others are dreaming of candlelit dinners with their lover before heading to the bedroom for a night of wild, carnal abandon; I’m dreaming of candlelit dinners that end with a sound spanking for forgetting to do the dishes and being made to clean them with a red bottom on display before heading to the bedroom for a night of wild, carnal abandon.
However much I love all the things vanillas love; the kissing, the massaging, the canoodling, the foreplay, the sex, the lying in bed for hours feeling scrumptious with lots of after sex chat. I also love a lot of the things vanillas never think about; the scolding, the biting, the smacking, the paddling, the orgasm denial, the blindfolds, the lying in bed for hours feeling scrumptious with a hot, sore backside.
In order to properly reflect my personality I feel I need to write about two fantasies. As I mentioned at the beginning of this series, my spanking desires are not strictly limited to sexual play, but also delve into the realm of pure corporal punishment and discipline.
Erotic; adjective; of, relating to, or tending to arouse sexual desire or excitement
As I also mentioned in that first 30 Days of Kink post, my kink is fairly light compared to others interested in the field of BDSM. There are no nappies, pony riding or constricting leather masks guiding my arousal, just the two orbs of muscle that we all carry around behind us.
In terms of my strongest erotic fantasy, I’d be hesitant to use the words weird or interesting to describe it for it is something most couples have toyed with at some time or another. In fact, the first time I explored this fantasy in reality was only a couple of weeks after Louise (my first partner) and I got together.
It was her suggestion to be tied to the bed and blindfolded. Her desire to be dominated and teased. For nearly an hour she lay completely naked, restrained with a purple silk scarf tying her wrists and a green scarf blinding her eyes. For that entire time I teased her with hand and tongue, I covered her in whipped cream, left bites all over her body and drizzled honey on her genitalia before feasting on the sweetness.
Throughout the course of her bondage I tickled, bit, licked, stroked, massaged, squeezed, slapped, kissed and spanked. I playfully whipped her with a portable washing line cord. I denied her orgasm after orgasm until she was begging for me to be inside her.
The power I had over her was intoxicating. For the period Louise was bound she was ‘mine’. When she slipped free of her bonds to grab my chest I punished her with a smack. When she bit my lip as we kissed, I refused to give her another. By the time I entered her we were both screaming to climax, and over the course of several hours, we shared dozens as a result of the state we’d worked ourselves up to.
Although exceedingly dominant in her day-to-day life and work, Louise adored being tied up in the bedroom. Perhaps because for those hours she could relinquish control and bathe in the excitement of being worshipped; of someone loving every corner and crevice of her being, including the parts that even she didn’t know she had.
My most frequent sexual fantasy is this; to tie a woman to the bed, blindfold her and tease her in every way I can think until she can’t take any more. Sure, the control is a major excitement; anyone who has ever dominated their partner in this way knows how powerful it feels.
But my fantasy is not powered by control, but by my innate desire to deliver pleasure to those I love.
Discipline; noun; the practice of training people to obey rules or a code of behavior, using punishment to correct disobedience
In Fifty Shades of Addy I briefly mentioned my initial foray into the world of spanking through the use of spanking chat rooms. It was here that I met the only ‘Domme’ (or mentor) that I’ve ever had. Miss Beatrix was a thirty-six year old mother of two who worked in the advertising department of a local London newspaper. Her hobbies included; cooking, scrapbooking, walking her dogs on the Heath, Alfred Hitchcock movies, swimming and thrashing the living daylights out of men who wanted to be punished.
During the several months we communicated I shared numerous spanking fantasies with her, engaged in many cyber-spanking role-plays and, from time-to-time, received real-life punishments for real-life infractions. These punishments consisted of: lines (which I was to write and then mail to her for verification), the occasional essay (which was to be emailed to her for verification) or phone directed self-spankings. Quite often combinations of two, or all three, were used to teach me the required lesson.
In June of that year I admitted to her in an online chat that I had been given a written warning at work for failing to bank a cheque properly; a failure that had cost the company nearly £250. Following a phone-directed self-spanking (which FYI consisted of me smacking myself two-hundred and fifty times with a wooden hairbrush), Miss Beatrix issued me the task of writing a minimum 2500 word essay on the topic of “The Spanking I Have Always Wanted to Receive”. She told me it could be based on a real-life crime or an entirely made up fantasy, but should be as detailed as possible as to why I have always wanted that particular spanking and the exact specifics of how I would like it to occur.
The essay was to be properly edited (any grammatical mistakes would incur further punishment) and emailed to her by 5pm on Tuesday (two days from when she set the task).
After hanging up the phone (and soothing my warm posterior) I lay down on my bed and began work on the essay almost immediately. Before I even opening the notepad I knew what I was going to write about; it had been burning inside me for many, many, years.
Unfortunately the exact essay I wrote all those years ago has been lost to the sands of time so I am unable to reprint it here in full.
The essay I wrote for Miss Beatrix was titled after a John Keats quote, and inspired by the time I escaped a spanking after stealing nearly £30 from my family. In the years since that event I’d replayed the endless possibilities on dozens of occasions and always ended up returning to the same position, scenario and sequence of events.
After being caught stealing by my mother, she delivers the same scolding and threat that she did on that day, thus forcing my mind to constantly think about the approaching spanking all afternoon. When I return home she has not forgotten what happened and immediately informs me that she has spoken with my father and they are both in agreement: I have earned a sound spanking.
She sends me to my room where I am to get ready for bed and await my punishment. An hour later she enters my room with her wooden hairbrush in hand, scolds me, before taking me over her knee to deliver a long, painful spanking with her vicious brush. Once I am bawling my eyes out, once I am begging for forgiveness, once my backside is swollen scarlet red, she ends the spanking and orders me to remain in my room for the remainder of the evening to think about what I’ve done. She gives me a cuddle, deposits me on the bed, and leaves; fully aware that I will never forget what just happened, nor even consider stealing from anyone again.
Although as I grew older the event and spanker changed to suit the time – in 1997 my running away was the crime, in 2000 leaving Annie’s house keys in an unlocked car was the crime, in 2005 my resuming smoking was the crime, in 2008 letting Grace down was the crime – the actual spanking has remained identical; an over-the-knee bare bottom spanking with the hairbrush. A spanking that leaves me swollen, bruised, blistered and deeply repentant of my crime.
In my essay to Miss Beatrix I talked about how half-way through the spanking, the spanker pins my legs down with their own to control my squirming. I wrote about how particular attention should be paid to the sit-spots, how there should be no sexual touching before, during or after the spanking and how, no matter the fuss I made, it should end only when the spanker deems I’ve learnt my lesson.
To illustrate the spanking I had envisioned I included a passage from a story I’d read online:
“Sitting on the edge of the bed, Martha tapped her lap with the hairbrush. Choking back tears, Betty walked to her mother’s side. “I’m sorry, Mommy.” she muttered just before Martha bent her across her knees. The girl gasped slightly as she felt the back of her skirt being lifted and the hem placed almost at her shoulders. The angry mom inserted her fingers inside the waistband of the nylon briefs and pulled them all the way down to Betty’s ankle socks, exposing the snow-white buttocks and thighs. They would not stay that way for long.
With her daughter’s slim bottom bared and properly positioned, Martha lifted the solid oval wooden hairbrush and began administering a spanking Betty would remember the rest of her life. Not one inch of her behind and upper thighs escaped the brush’s fiery wrath. She was crying softly well before the skin started to purple and the wet, sticky blisters began to form. Ugly, painful welts covered the formerly-smooth backside. The heat was unbearable. Betty started drumming her shoes, forcing Martha to clamp her leg across both of hers. By the time the spanking ended almost ten minutes later, the 20- year-old was reduced to sobs.
Martha helped Betty to her feet and ordered her to the corner, not allowing her to pull up her underpants. “Leave them where they are and hold the back of your skirt up. Don’t you dare move until I tell you to. I want you to think about why you just got spanked for a while.”
Tears streaming down her face, Betty stared at the wall. Her hands held the back of her skirt about the waist, displaying a very bare and very discolored white-hot bottom. Her mother looked at the swollen buttocks with a great deal of satisfaction. There was one young lady who would think twice about lying and disobeying again.”
From Betty by Carolina Jim
At 6pm on the Tuesday Miss Beatrix phoned me to discuss the essay and admit her ulterior motives in setting it. Following our growing connection she suggested that we meet and, if I felt comfortable, allow her to punish me as I desired. She said she would be happy to administer the spanking I described as long as I realized that in real-life – and with her spanking me, not me spanking myself – the pain would be unlike anything I’d ever imagined.
“Will it kill me?” I asked her.
“No, but it will be excruciating. You do understand that?”
“Out of life’s school of war: what does not destroy me, makes me stronger.” I quoted.
Over the coming weeks we arranged to meet. As I had decided to leave work and go traveling I would spend a weekend in London before heading to Scotland, so we could have a drink and get to know each other in person before deciding whether I trusted her enough to discipline me. Given the communication we’d shared, neither of us envisioned a problem in this respect. However, neither of us took into account a pesky little thing called mental health.
As the day drew closer I lost my nerve over the meeting (and guaranteed spanking of my dreams). I hastily changed my plans at the last minute and traveled direct to Edinburgh. Within hours I regretted my anxiety fueled decision but couldn’t bring myself to contact Miss Beatrix to explain what had happened. Over time, my shame and regret over letting her down prevented me from contacting her and we never spoke again.
My best chance of experiencing the spanking of my dreams was shattered by social anxiety; a disorder that I have fought hard ever since in order to prevent it from ever controlling my destiny again.
One day, however ridiculous it sounds, I still hope to experience this discipline spanking. I tell myself I won’t cry, that I will be strong and prove my masculinity, but deep down I hope that if it ever happens, I end up bawling my eyes out.
For this is how it always ends in my fantasy.