Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Archive for the ‘my_fantasies’ Category

Lexie was happy to be coming home from school for summer holidays. Daddy had sent her off to such a strict school – the head, the teachers, the matrons; they all watched you like a hawk. Even Lexie was hard-pressed to get up to trouble there, and, anyway, the slightest infraction was far more soundly punished than she thought reasonable – or worth it. So she was looking forward to being able to relax a bit during the summer, get away with a few things. She had forgotten how strict Daddy could be….

The station was near Daddy’s house, and her luggage had been sent on ahead, so Lexie walked home, delighting in the early-summer late-afternoon. Freedom tasted so good! Ideas lazily meandered through her head for shopping trips, visits to friends, days at the beach … and some less wholesome activities – although honestly, all of the former could be combined with the latter to make them all the more fun!

She felt a pleasant nostalgia when she turned up the drive. She couldn’t wait to sleep in her own bed. And maybe Daddy would take her to dinner at her favorite pub to welcome her home.

She entered the house and called out, “Daddy! I’m home! Did you miss me!”

“Come into my study, Lexie,” he called back. Suddenly, things didn’t seem as bright as they had seemed moments earlier. She started to remember just how Daddy could be, but it was too late, now. She let her legs take her into the study, while her mind went over the possibilities, and what might now, even at this late date, be done to prevent them.

Daddy sat on his leather desk chair. He swiveled it to face her as she entered. She pretended everything was fine. “Hi Daddy! Everything went fine – the train was on time, and I had a nice walk home!”

“That’s nice, dear, but we need to talk.”

“I’m hungry, Daddy. Can’t we go get some dinner?”

“Later, Lexie. We need to discuss this first.”

She didn’t reply. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t get her in more trouble.

“Now, I’ve a letter from the head. It’s a summary of all the disciplinary actions they’ve had to take with you over the last term.”

What to say? “Yes and I’ve already been punished and there’s no need for more!” was courting disaster. “Yes, and I’ve learned all the lessons from them,” was too pert. “They were unfair!” wasn’t even an option. But while she was pondering these, he continued.

“There a good deal more on this list than I could have hoped, Lexie.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. Learning the new rules was hard.”

“I imagine it was, but you still don’t seem to have applied yourself very diligently.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“You don’t just answer to your teachers, Lexie, you also have to answer to me. Or did you forget that?”

“But, Daddy –”

“No ‘buts,’ Lexie. It’s time I reminded you of that. Get over my lap.”

“Daddy! I’m too old now!”

“No you are not, my girl, but even if you were, that would be all the more reason you’d have shown you need it. Now, get over here.”

There was no denying that tone of voice. Lexie obeyed, praying it was just a token spanking in her future, just a little reminder.

Daddy’s desk-chair had leather arms, and it made things a bit awkward to bend over, as well she remembered. It was not tall enough to bend over easily, so the only way to do it made her feel off-balance. She had to reach to the far arm, and pull herself forward while putting the crease of her hips over the near arm, then she had to let go and adjust herself so that her upper body was angled down to the floor. Once she was there, she felt Daddy’s hands on her, adjusting her. She felt every touch very intensely. Even more intensely, she felt him pulling her skirt up her back.

“Now, my girl, consider what you have done to end up like this, and what you could have done to prevent it,” he told her, and commenced the spanking. It was over her knickers, put they never afford much protection from blows. His hand hit one cheek and then the other, knocking the wind out of her on the first blow, and then she started breathing in time with them, and making little sounds to let Daddy know they hurt. Not overdoing it, but perhaps a bit exaggerated – it wouldn’t do to encourage him by being stoic!

He kept it up for a good long time. After a while she wasn’t overplaying her noises, they were all quite genuine, especially when he hit his hand like it was dead center on a target; the target in question of course being her turned-up bottom.

She noticed everything during times like these. His rhythm, or if he went off it, she could often guess right before his hand came back down just how hard it would hit. She felt him breathing. And, a hardness rising up against her stomach. She had forgotten about that. But her memories all came back now, and made her cry out louder at the next hit.

After that one, Daddy paused. But not to end the spanking. No, he reached to his desk and grabbed the lone leather slipper that sat on the edge. He sat back in the chair, and repositioned her slightly, making sure her bottom angled up as high as it could in the air. Then, she felt his fingers at either sides of her panties. Well, leaving the panties on had really been too good to be true. He tugged them down and she shivered and moaned quietly.

He heard it. “Now, girl, you know they must come down.” She didn’t answer, and he proceeded to use the slipper on her, getting long full slaps on each cheek, the upper part, the lower part, and those whacks that hit dead-on in-between the cheeks. Somehow, as the slippering progressed, more and more whacks hit right there. They always did.

She was panting and crying out with each hit by the time he stopped. He dropped the slipper. Was it over?

No – he stroked his fingers over her bottom. Of course it wasn’t over – not with that insistent pressure pushing up on her tummy. His fingers moved over her reddened flesh. “What a hot, red bottom you have now,” he told her, like she didn’t know, “A punished bottom.” She shuddered.

His fingers slid in circles ever closer to the area between her cheeks, and she knew what was next: a finger slid down to stroke the lips, and then slid slightly in between them.

“Girl, you’re wet.” It was all over now.

“I sent you off to school because I worried you were becoming a disobedient little slut. I see that my money and the good efforts of your teachers and matrons have all been wasted.” His fingers slid up and down the slit, moving her juices around, and then his thumb slid down and started pushing up into her. She panted with the effort of not making a sound. “Look at what a slut you are. Here I am trying to discipline you, and look at the result. What has turned you on, you slut? Was it having your naked bottom up in the air? Do you like that?” His finger started working inside her. He knew exactly what he was doing – his thumb curved right up to that spot, that place that when he stroked it she couldn’t help but respond the way he wanted. He kept it up until she lost control, and she couldn’t stop herself from crying out, and knew he felt her muscles spasm on his thumb.

“Well, that clinches it, my girl. You know you need to be punished. Get over the desk.”

She was still weak from the orgasm, and she was in no place to argue, or even respond. All she could do was drape herself over his desk, knowing what was coming next. She tried to relax.

“You know what happens to little sluts, girl,” he said, and his voice was very low and full of threat, “I’ve been trying to teach you, but you never learn.” She heard him open the bottle of lubricant, and then felt the cold lube being pushed into her bottom with his finger. “I’ve tried to teach you discipline time after time, my girl. But I will get the lesson across to you.” His finger pushed in and out a few times, and then withdrew.

“This is just to caution you, my girl, what happens to little sluts,” and she felt the slicked head of his cock pressing against her anus. Sometimes he would warm her up with his fingers for a while first, but obviously not this time. And he was so lubed up that he would slide in easily, no matter how tight and unready she was.

At the first thrust she cried out, as the discomfort increased dramatically. At the second, as the head of his cock pushed into her, she started crying. That was the wrong response, she remembered all too late. She felt the surge to his cock, felt it swell inside her, and he started moving his thrusts even faster. It always felt too big. She kept crying out, until she started hyperventilating, and then she just lay there and cried.

“That’s my girl. Oh, your ass is so tight. Take your Daddy’s cock into your tight little ass. That’s it. You’re learning what it’s like to be a slut. Sluts get it up the ass just. Like. This. Fucking your punished bottom, your hot, red bottom.”

He kept it up, pounding against her sore bottom, until she felt his rhythm change, and it got faster and harder. “That’s it, my girl, Daddy’s going to come in your ass. Just like a slut. All that hot come deep in your ass.”

His cock always swelled up a bit more right before he came, and of course she felt even the slightest change, felt him get bigger and harder, deeper inside her, and then felt him tense all over, and his cock jerk as, just as he promised her, his hot come shot out deep up into her ass.

[Daddy-and-me fantasies Part II ]

She waited outside of the Headmaster’s office. She was already near tears from fear and humiliation, so she did not know how she would ever get through what was ahead of her with any dignity.

She sat there, very still, very tense, wondering over and over, “Oh, how could something like this have happened to me?!”

It wasn’t her fault that she felt the way she did about the Headmaster. Lots of other girls supposedly had crushes on him, too. He had such piercing eyes, and an infectious smile – and he smiled often. And he was so smart! She knew how brilliant he was because the history teacher had suddenly gotten very ill and Mr. Sinclair had stepped in and taught the class for a few weeks. She had always loved history, but it had never been so sparklingly alive for her before. Oh, and he was so witty – his lessons were sprinkled with humor, and when he told a joke, his eyes got all twinkly.

But despite the fact that he was so much fun, he was quite demanding. She loved that, too. He had pushed the students much harder than the other history teacher, doing daily quizzes and weekly essays. She loved the work – not only was it interesting to study, but as she did her homework she thought about Mr. Sinclair and pretended he had assigned the work for just her, and that he was waiting to read her assignment with all his attention. She put so very much effort into her papers, making sure every word was spelled right, every period and comma in its right place, and of course, tried to make her writing interesting and her conclusions original so that they would catch his eye.

Every paper or test that got less than an “A” made her want to cry. Had she disappointed him? Made him think she was just like the other students, who didn’t care about school, about learning … about him….

He was also a severe disciplinarian. She had known about that, of course – everyone did – that the kids who broke rules or were otherwise badly behaved were sent to his office and were strapped or even caned! But she had only heard about it – she had certainly never had it happen to her! She didn’t see how people could be so stupid as to break rules when it was clear they were going to be caught and punished. She just didn’t understand why you would say impolite things to a teacher or not do your homework. And the school uniform – she loved wearing it! She felt so neat and well-turned out in it. When she looked in the mirror in the morning, she felt her ironed shirt-collar and pleats made her look so much more mature than those girls who wore their shirts and skirts all sloppy and un-cared-for.

While she had known all the rumors about the punishments for the disobedient, she had never witnessed any before. But, while he was teaching her class, several times a student got a bit out of hand. And, when they did … they got it on the hand. Immediately. Right in front of the whole class. With a scary-looking thing the Headmaster called a “tawse.” Three strikes on each palm, and oh, how much it must hurt, from the reaction of the soon-subdued students. Watching, she felt the strangest feelings. Fear, of course, and relief it wasn’t her up there. But at the same time, she felt all tingly down her spine and down … there. And she was jealous of the attention Mr. Sinclair was paying to those utterly undeserving miscreants. She would always feel strange for the rest of class. Even for the rest of the day; it would pop up in her mind at strange times and make her feel those feelings all over again.

It was a terrible moment when he announced that the old history teacher was now recovered and would be returning the next day. She thought she would burst into tears right there in class! She would never again get a chance to listen to him talk, no longer be able to try to impress him and get him to notice her by raising her hand first to answer a question, or by sitting in the front row with her best possible posture and earnest attentiveness to his every word.

But then … he said that he had really enjoyed teaching them for the past few weeks, and that he would start having a weekly study group for those who were interested. She had stopped breathing, so intent was she on listening. When he explained that this would involve extra assignments, graded by him, she nearly passed out. Now, she could really get him to notice her!

There were only six other kids in the study group – to be near him with so few others around was nearly too much for her – yet she wished they’d all quit the group and leave her alone with him! She started to make good progress, she thought, because now he knew her name. He smiled at her when she answered his questions in the group, or when she handed him her assignments. She nearly died of embarrassment when he gently teased her for raising her hand in the group session, when he had given them permission to just speak out with their thoughts, but, still, his eyes had been so very twinkly then, and she liked that she had made him smile. And then – he passed her in the hall, as she was getting books from her locker, and he had smiled and said hello and had even said her name – right there in the hallway! She’d stammered, “Sir…!” and blushed, sure that every person around her would have seen the interaction, would know how much it had meant – but, somehow, no one seemed to have noticed.

That night, when she had gone to bed, she didn’t just think about him until she fell asleep, like she did every night. This night, she just felt so … funny … that she had to reach down to the center of those feelings … and touch herself. She pretended it was his fingers touching her, and she replayed hearing him saying her name over and over in her head – and, as she exploded with sensation, she whispered his name into the pillow.

But then, just as everything seemed to be going so well, the disaster, the catastrophe occurred. It was a lovely day, and the courtyard behind the library seemed like such a perfect place to study during lunch. Usually, she had the place to herself, but today when she opened the door, she first heard voices, and then saw three of the “coolest” girls in school sitting around the table, in their messy outfits: the shirts unbuttoned in the front, the skirts not only un-kept but also somehow shorter than everyone else’s. And – they were smoking! She was just about to duck back in the building, unseen – when she heard them mention the Headmaster!

She had to hear what they were saying! She swallowed the lump in her throat, and, pretending to be braver than she was, she casually wandered over to the table and sat down at the empty side. The girls ignored her, as they always did. She made a pretense of dumping her books out of her bag onto the table, and searching around in them, like she was looking for something she had lost. Happily, the girls kept talking despite her presence – it was like she did not exist, and for once she was glad of it.

Susan tossed her head, concluding her tale of misbehavior and apprehension, and ended, “And so I had to go down to his office the next day!”

Becky laughed and said, “You must have been in soooo much trouble!” The other girl, Angie, just took a drag from her cigarette.

Susan tossed her head again, and flicked her wrist, ashing all over the table in the process. “Well, I wasn’t scared. And besides, it’s cool because then you get to be all alone with him!”

Hearing that, she swallowed hard, jealousy and hatred flaring through her, but she kept quiet and rearranged her pile of books and papers.

“So what happened?” Becky demanded, “What did he do to you?”

“What did I do, is more like it,” Susan started, “He gave the stupid lecture about being disappointed, blah blah, and then said that he was going to give me twelve from his cane.”

“Twelve?!” interrupted Angie. “He was really angry, then!”

“Yeah, but who cares.” Susan said, stubbing out her cigarette on the table and lighting another. “It’s worth it, because then you bend over his desk – you gotta keep your back arched so your butt looks really good – and then he pulls down your panties….”

By now she had stopped playing with her books altogether, and was just staring at Susan, mouth gaping. She hadn’t known all of this! He took down your panties?! And saw you … exposed like that?! Her hands were shaking as the new knowledge ran through her like wild-fire.

Susan started to say more, and she was hanging on the words to come – but then the sounds of the door from the library opening cut across the barely started words. She panicked! She couldn’t be caught with these girls – they were smoking! She looked down at the pile of books with dismay building to terror – there was no way to get them all back in her bag in time! She had just started scooping them up ineffectually when she heard, from right behind her, the Headmaster’s voice saying her name, asking her, “What’s all this?”

She looked to the girls to see what they would say – and they were gone! They must have fled the courtyard while she was still flailing around with her books. And then she saw, on the table … several stubbed out cigarettes and scattered ash, blowing around a bit in the light breeze, as if to draw attention to themselves.

And so now here she sat, outside Mr. Sinclair’s office. She kept thinking about the way he had said her name in the courtyard. It wasn’t warm and friendly like he had said it before: when she turned in a neatly done assignment, when he praised her insight on a topic, or … in the hallway that time. No, this time his voice was cold and hard – it had chilled her, scared her, left her feeling alone and utterly friendless. The memory of it left her feeling the hard wood of the chair under her bottom all the more; the quiet of the waiting area was ominous.

Finally, the door to his office opened and he was standing in the doorway, gesturing to her to come in. She felt like she was about to be executed – she had never been so scared in her life! She had never, ever, been in trouble before!

He had only moved somewhat to the side, so she had to pass him quite closely as she walked through the door. He was looking down at her with such a distant expression that she thought she would loose control and start crying right there. She held herself together, though, because she didn’t want him to think she was a baby.

“Very well,” he said coldly to her. “You are in a lot of trouble, young lady.” She trembled. “Smoking on school grounds – in your school uniform – is simply disgraceful behavior. A student such as you should attempt to be an example to the rest of the student body. What kind of example do you think you were just now? A very bad one – brazenly disregarding fundamental school rules.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She should never have sat down with those girls! She knew they were bad news, she should have been strong and walked along, not listening to their vile gossip. Oh, she had indeed done badly, even if the Headmaster did not know exactly what her sin was, she still was in the wrong. It was the worst moment of her life.

“I must admit I am shocked and disappointed,” he continued, “I had expected so much more from you….” Now one tear leaked out – she could not hold it back. He had noticed her, had appreciated her! And now it was all over! He would never like her now. Never care for her….

He was looking closely at her. “I do not want to believe that you would do something like this. And indeed, you do not smell of cigarette smoke. It could be that you simply showed some very poor judgment in your study companions this afternoon….” Her heart jumped. He was so very wise! He would figure things out and then he would like her again! His voice seemed not-quite-so-cold as it had been….

“However, I did not see your companions. If you will tell me who they are, I will be able to speak with them and discover the truth of the matter.” He raised his pen, and looked at her, ready to write down the names.

The names rushed into her brain. She had hated Becky and Susan since they had started going to school together, years ago. They had used to call her names when they were all younger, but now they just acted like she was a non-person. Angie was new, but of the same mold, a girl who managed to act both snobby and slutty at the same time.

Their names were on her tongue, but she could not say them. That would be tattling, and she didn’t do that. She looked at him with mute pleading: that he would understand her situation, that maybe he could figure out who it was on his own….

“Come now,” he told her. “You’ll have to do better than that. I have to punish someone for smoking in the courtyard. Either you, whom I have caught apparently red-handed, or the real culprits. But for that, I need their names. Tell me them and I will let you off with only a warning not to get involved with troublemakers again. But if you don’t tell me …” his voice was suddenly sharp and very cold in her ears, “It will be the cane for you.”

Her jaw dropped. But – but – he knew she was innocent! How could he cane her for a crime she did not commit?! And – his eyes – even though his face was stern, his eyes were all twinkly, more than she’d ever seen before. Was he – happy? How could he be? What was going on?

There was no choice for it. She could not rat on someone, not even horrid creatures like Susan and Becky. She swallowed what seemed like a very huge lump in her throat, and managed her first words since she’d walked in his office, “Sir – I can’t – I am sorry.” It was all she could get out. She tried to express in the “sorry” exactly how regretful she was. But he didn’t seem to notice it. And for herself, she was suddenly hearing echos of Susan’s voice in her brain, “Then you bend over his desk – you gotta keep your back arched so your butt looks really good – and then he pulls down your panties….”

“Right,” he said, and got up very suddenly. She twisted her hands nervously as she watched him open a closet door in the back of his office, and she gasped to see a stand full of canes, and rows of straps hanging off the back of the door. He picked one cane right out stand, as if he knew among the multitude exactly which was which. He turned, and flexing the cane in his hands, he told her shortly, “Go to my desk. Bend over it.”

She felt almost nauseated with nerves. Numbly, she moved to the desk, as he had told her, and made herself lean over onto it. She felt afraid to rest her weight on it – it was his desk, after all – he spent every day at it. It felt so strange to just lay across it so abruptly and uncouthly.

It also felt strange knowing he was looking at her backside. Bent over like this, her skirt must be showing a good deal of the backs of her thighs. She could feel him looking at her. Her fear was diluted for a moment with those feelings she always felt when she was around him, but now a million times stronger. Perhaps this was not quite so terrible….

His hands had reached out and pulled her skirt above her waist, tucking it up. She shuddered. This was the first time he’d ever touched her – and for it to be this intimate of a touch! She could barely get her mind around the fact that next he would be – he was! – putting the tips of his fingers in the tops of her panties – against her very skin! – and pulling them slowly down. She stopped herself from moaning, just in time. She didn’t want him to think she was a slut, like those other girls! But, oh, she did wish he knew how she felt about him!

She didn’t have long to deal with the turmoil of those thoughts, however, for he started speaking again. “Since you have obviously never had problems with obedience before, you will not get a maximum punishment. However, due to the serious nature of this offence, it should be a discipline you remember. Therefore, I will give you six strokes of the cane.”

Six! That was so many! She didn’t even know how one would feel, although she imagined it was pretty terrible. Again, she wondered, “How can he do this to me?” but at the same time some under-part of her brain was reveling in the fact that she was bent over his desk, panties down at her knees (and slipping ever lower), exposing to him her naked bottom. And – from the feel of the cool air on her most intimate skin – even more than that! But it was okay – he had taken her panties off himself. She wasn’t a slut. She tried to focus on the fact that she was about to get caned. But it was hard when she was so naked and exposed for him.

Suddenly, her attention was focused for her. A horrible swishing sound happened behind her. She flinched – almost jumped off the table – but then she realized that she had not actually been hit. Would he hit her that hard?

Then she felt the cold length of the cane tapping lightly against her bottom. “Hit. Right. Here.” is what the taps seemed to say. She almost started to speak – to beg him not to, to offer up the names of the undeserving girls for whom she was taking this punishment. But thankfully he did not give her time.

The cane slammed into her at some unknown speed, and all she could do was gasp. And then pain … came up out of somewhere deep, and she didn’t know what to think or what to do with it. She just lay there in shock.

Again – she heard it-felt it-PAIN! This time she made some sort of cry, and grabbed the desk’s side instinctively, the shock of the first blow knocked away by the pain of the second. She panted like an animal in pain.

And again! Now she had learned to fear not the initial blow, as startling as it was, but those moments after it. And there they came, a multitude of indescribable sensations that swept away all rational thought from her mind, leaving her just in her pained body.

He stopped for a moment, and she gasped to get her breath under control: it was ragged and unsteady, and she realized she was half-sobbing.

“How many was that?” he asked her, still stern, but with depths in his voice she’d never heard before. “Three, Sir!” she choked out. “You’re doing well,” he told her, “Just three more now.”

The gift of it rushed through her. He told her she was doing well! She was doing well! He was pleased with her! A deep pleasure arose that had never come from turning in a paper or getting an “A – good work!” in his handwriting. And then she understood. She was not taking this punishment for those contemptible girls. She was taking it for him. He liked doing this – she could tell, even though he had not said anything of the sort. And if he liked it – she would do her best to make sure he liked doing it to her best of all – better than Susan or any other girl who had lain across this desk!

Was her back arched? She should make sure her bottom looked good! She pressed her belly to the table, and tilted her hips up a bit. Was that it?

It must have been – because the cane bit into her with even more passion than before. She cried out without control – and then managed to get back down to panting, feeling ashamed of the outburst even as stars still burst behind her eyes. She rested her forehead on the desk, trying to stay in control of herself, although she had to admit, honestly, that she wasn’t really doing a good job of that. Her legs shifted to help deal with the pain, and she tried to force herself to tilt her hips up again. And then she felt it.

The wetness between her legs that shocked her, first, for being there at all, and then secondly in the betrayal of her own body against her. Oh, he would think she was a slut indeed if he saw that! He could not! Oh, how to keep her terrible secret…!

While she still struggled with that, the cane surprised her again, catching her low on her bottom. She yelled out, really getting out of control now. She tried to gather herself in – just one more now and it was all done – but she found she could not. She felt tears running down from her eyes up her face to pool on the table. There was nothing she could do….

She felt his hand, suddenly, stroking the weals. She felt his nearness with all of her self. He felt along each stroke, all over her ass. She shivered, and again held in a moan. She was getting wetter, too. Oh, if he just kept his hand away from ….

Too late! He gave a muffled sound of surprise, and his fingers dipped into the crevice between her cheeks. “What’s this?” he asked her, as his fingers spread the sticky juices around. She did moan now – just like a whore, but it was too late – he knew it all now. “Well – you have quite a secret you’ve been hiding there, don’t you?” His voice was definitely warmer, and it gave her hope. Maybe it would be okay, somehow?

“You’ll like this last one then,” he promised her, and she wasn’t at all sure of that, but she didn’t care anymore – if he would touch her like that again. He stepped back, leaving her feeling all swollen with desire – and, taking a moment to line things up, gave her the worst strike of all. She screamed shamelessly – but wasn’t she shameless now, anyway? She didn’t understand what was going on, but that was not an issue anymore because he had put down the cane and come back to her with both hands running over the raised lines of aching flesh, telling her how good she was, what a good job she’d done taking all that. She luxuriated in both the touch and the words – she didn’t think she’d ever been so happy. She was crying, and she kept right on – not really making much noise beyond an occasional sob prompted by a rougher touch of the weals. She didn’t move – she was so scared he’d stop – so she lay there and let him touch her all he wanted.

His fingers slid over her cheeks again, and one hand played idly over the welts while the other hand’s fingers moved right to where the wet was coming from, and then slide inside her.

She moaned again, uncontrollably, and came on his fingers. She could hear his breathing speed up, and his fingers started moving deeper and faster, making her come over and over. “Oh! Oh –” she cried out, as shocked by these sensations as the ones she’d just experienced from the cane. “Oh?” he asked her, and deftly made her come again.

It was a question that was still in the air as he withdrew his fingers and pressed himself against her. She could feel under the rough fabric of his trousers how hard he was. She felt herself pushing back against him to let him know her answer – and while she shocked herself, she was glad that she was completely out of control so that she could freely let him know how she felt – what she needed.

She heard the belt unfasten, the zipper pulled down, and the rustle of fabric. She felt what must be his cock – his cock! – slide across the welts on her ass. It was so silky, yet so hard – she had never known that cocks felt so smooth!

He placed himself at her opening, and she had a moment of hoping he had felt – that he knew what he was going to do to her. She had of course dreamed of him taking her virginity, yet she had never really dared to think it would happen.

He pushed the head of it inside her – she was tight, but the fingering he’d given her had lubed up her labia enough to let him slide in. But as he pressed his cock further inside her, she started to feel a burning sensation, of being stretched too much. The pain rose, with her gasping as much from the pain as from the excitement of being penetrated for the first time – by the only man she’d ever wanted to be doing just that. She was so tight that he had to pull out and get a better angle – and then he thrust in again – hard – with the intention of getting his full length inside her. Oh! The pain shot through her and she started to cry, again.

This only seemed to swell his cock all the harder. He groaned, and started up a rhythm. The pain decreased, and the thought that he now had taken her virginity aroused her so much – and that he was even now sliding his cock in and out of her while she lay over his desk, marked by his cane – that she could not help but feel the pleasure increasing inside her and mingling with the pain.

He grabbed her hips and moved faster, and she moaned as his body slamming against her ass sent shootings of pain up from the weals. But all sensations were one now – pain and pleasure both combined to make her orgasm on his cock, first once, in a sudden start of sweet rushing pleasure, and then again and again, squeezing him within her.

She was gasping for air, unable to cry aloud anymore, by the time he sped up still further and made the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. She felt him go rigid for a moment – everywhere – and then he let his body fold down onto hers. She listened to him breathing and started crying a little more, no sobbing now: just tears of happiness streaming down her face.

Through the tears, she looked over and saw the cane. She hoped her next paper would get not only an “A” but a “Please see me after school to discuss,” as well. Why shouldn’t girls get disciplined for being good as well as bad?

-I – Opening

Being “taken” (or, occasionally, “taking” someone) is a huge part of my sexuality. All of my earliest sexual fantasies involve some elements of it. When I starting becoming aware of my interest in BDSM the first thing I turned to was “rough sex.” In the years that I haven’t had proper play partners I have counted on playing with rough sex or fantasy role-play involving being taken as the thing that got me by, that gave me some measure of fulfilment. When I masturbated, it was the thing that made me come.

Now, the thought of being taken by you is almost overwhelming. Our play is already beyond my wildest imaginings. To add this most fundamental fantasy to the mix is … well, I do not have the words.

So let’s turn to something I do have words for….

II – “You’re just too physical”

For years my fantasies have encompassed every form of non-consensual or semi-consensual sex I could think up. The Victorian ones of course spring first to mind. The innocent young girl, who, forced by the mores of her time, cannot admit to wanting to be fucked. So she must cry out things like, “No, please, I beg you! Do not – Oh! Not in there! Please! Anything but that!” beforehand, and sob fun phrases like “Oh! It’s is too large – it will kill me! I cannot bear it!” during. (Happily, sounds of protest and pain can be easily interchangeable with orgasm.) It doesn’t take much work to over-power the Victorian lady: the corsets keep her from getting enough air to run far! And under the socially-approved protestants, one can see she is only putting up a token fight.

But the Victorian-type fantasies (and they can really be just about any period, with variations in dress, names, and locations) can also get rougher: the fine lady who condescends to flirts delicately with a handsome stable-hand and finds herself in an out-of-control situation in the hay: she does not want to get fucked, she might get pregnant by this lower-class brute! But there is nothing she can do when he throws her down and has his way with her! Or the virginal maid who has the misfortune to work in a boarding house where a rake has taken rooms: she was trying to “keep herself” for the “right man,” but this scoundrel catches her interest with fine words, persuades her to have a glass or two of champagne, and then takes sudden brutal advantage of her (probably right over the table, knocking over the wine glasses) only to discover, to his delight, that he has popped her cherry!

This last scenario leads right into another aspect of these fantasies: the pains of sex. The defiled virgin is a fun game (And, Sir, if I could grow my hymen back so that you could breach it yourself, I would!) and also a potent one for me because it mixes pain and pleasure in my favorite place for both! One of the things I love most about rough sex and un-consensual fantasy play is that there is no foreplay: things are thrust inside me with no warm-up … which adds this lovely element of pain to the pleasure. Another way to add pain to sex for me is positions. I have a cervix which is tilted “funny” (to use the technical term my gynaecologist used) and it means that doggie style is my “best” position for minimizing pain during sex. Not that I want to! The position that leads to cocks uncomfortably bumping my cervix the most: me on top – and what that comes down to meaning, Sir, is that unless I have been well-primed by your fingers first, I will almost always experience “discomfort” when I ride on top of you. “Cowgirl” therefore becomes a true sexual “service” to me, despite it’s more obvious connotations of being in control.

(In an aside, Sir, the “discomfort” is really just that – you will not injure me from it [although I may walk funny afterwards…] However, unfortunately, because of the odd tilt of my cervix, I do tend to come hardest in doggie style, so I don’t get to enjoy the pain *and* the best orgasms all in one position. Of course, doing more than one position during sex is always a recipe for success, even for gals with normally tilted cervixes….)

But this gets us away from the topic directly at hand. Let’s bring it back with a snipped of fantasy that I might think up to make myself come…

He forcibly pushed her legs apart. She whimpered through the crude gag he had tied in her mouth. She could feel him getting his cock out, and she tried to pull her legs free, but he wrenched them back with such force that she froze in pain. He took advantage of her momentary shock to get the head of it centred at her opening. She realized what was going on and started to beg him, trying to speak through the gag, not to do this, but he only pushed the head inside her. He didn’t get far – she wasn’t open enough for him to slide all the way, so he pulled out and tried again, ramming harder this time. She felt an ache of being stretched, of her most delicate skin being pulled so harshly, and she tried to fight her bonds, his hands, but they were both too strong. A third time he tried, and this time he pushed in far enough that he could slide all the way in, and she felt the burning ache of every inch. He started a rhythm that suited his pleasure, too fast to give her time to get used to the sensations, so the burning grew hotter and more terrible. She could not help but cry in pain and fear, and try to struggle away from it – but in a horrifying realization, she understood it was arousing him further. She stopped, and tried to lay still, to deny him at least that, but the pain overwhelmed her and she started moving and crying again, mindlessly, like an animal. Now he was driving as deeply as possible into her, and with every thrust she felt a stabbing shock of pain at her center. She could not recover from that before he had thrust again, and again. Her tears rolled down her face…

That is a variant of my most “standard fare.” By the time he comes inside her (well, me) I’ll be more than ready to come, too.

A completely incomplete list of some non-consensual fantasies:

• Involving your straitjacket, Sir: I am put into an “institution” for some terrible reason or other (perhaps, going back to Victorian times, being put away for “nymphomania”) and the guard/doctor/orderly takes advantage of me (could involve beatings or other torments as “therapy” which then gets said guard/doctor/orderly excited….)
• Girl goes to stay with her uncle for the weekend. She wears sexy clothes, feeling “all grown up,” but finds out what happens to girls who dress slutty… (Many variants, mostly along Victorian lines….)
• Spy is captured and tortured. This is a much bigger fantasy of course, but forced sex is a great way to make ‘em talk. Okay, well, maybe it isn’t – but it sure is fun! Uniforms are vital! Cold war stuff is perfect: female American spy falls into the hands of Evil Soviet Officer. The U.S. denies knowledge of her and leaves her in his all-too-capable hands….

I could go on for pages, Sir, but I think it would be a bit redundant. You can just ask me for more, anyway. And there is another aspect I want to talk about.

There is also the consensual. Being used for my Master’s pleasure. My Master fucking me as a way of showing me I am his. These are not entirely new fantasies, but they are certainly new realities. (Or, will be a new reality!) Before, these fantasies were mostly set in the harem; a long-running serial fantasy of me and this cruel, dominant, yet loving Sheik, with me building up from the newest addition to the harem, fighting my way up to head-wife. Not only do I have to please my Sheik the first time, to catch his eye, but I have to be very inventive to keep it….

But that is all fantasy and role-play, which is lovely and has keep me going lo these many years, but now I get to have the real thing! You have a real sexual submissive on your hands, Master. Unless I am so sick (flu-sick, not CFIDS, which is helped by sex) that you’ll probably want to keep a safe distance anyway, I will be happy (this is not the perfect word, but my thesaurus doesn’t seem to have the right word) to be taken by you at any time. That is not an idle promise – try it and see!

III – Mental Challanges

The above fantasies were all fun, but lacked a certain component that makes for great non-consensual sex: coercion!

As fun as it is to be held down (or tied down, or strapped up, or what-have-you), it is perhaps even hotter to be put in a compromising position where you are “forced” to have sex you “don’t want” by all-too-clever argument, inorexible persuasion, or blackmail. You have already mentioned a similar fantasy the other night (the Chauffeur and haughty rich-bitch!) Which would work equally well for headmasters and various other authority figures poor a girl might find herself dealing with. (How did her reputation become so tarnished that all of these pitiless men can use her so vilely?!)

This is where that Cardinal fantasy I told you about in our emails comes in. Does the poor Lady want the Cardinal to do degrading things to her? Of course not! She is a woman of virtue and high birth! But to get back those ancestral lands, he leaves her only one choice … and in her desperation, she cannot find reason with his slippery rationalizations swimming in her brain, all she can do is give in to his depraved desires!

To be taken this way is far more humiliating than to submit by being physically over-powered. And, for me, the fighting with desperate words not to yield, and then the moment where I can see no option but to submit – that is incredibly erotic foreplay!

But again, this is all fantasy and role-play, when now reality is here! And, Sir, I have been appreciating – awed by – how you are taking me. I know I am in the hands of a Master (as in, “one who has honed his craft”) and I am a delighted observer at your skillfully making me yours. I would have thought that being aware of it would have gotten in the way, but it is not so: understanding your mastery makes me appreciate and trust you all the more (which then makes it easier for you to play me like an instrument; if I am a harp, you are Taliesin!)

IV – Closing

In conclusion, Master, I just want to tell you how lucky I feel that I have found someone who wants to take me as much as I want to be taken. Someone who will not only make real my darkest dreams, but also play fun (if perhaps disturbing) games with me as well.

Since sex is such an significant component of submission for me, being taken is of course vital: it makes the moment of submission, if that is part of the play, into a high point that we can both revel in, as opposed to always starting with me submissively offering myself to you (which if fun too, of course, but becomes boring if that is the only thing.) In the cases where you are “just using” me, my body, to satisfy your needs (whether within a role-play scene or just what you happen to want to do after coming home from work), we are in a consensual, give-and-take relationship under it all, and I want to be taken by you just as much as you want to take me.

In the end, it comes down to the thing that everything seems to come down to in our relationship: I am yours, Master – take me!

Lexie walked down the empty school hallway filled with excited anticipation. All the other students were gone for the day, but Mr. Sinclair had asked her to come see him when school was over … and she couldn’t have planned things any better if she’d tried!

Ever since her parents had moved her to this stupid country, everything had sucked. It was always gray and rainy and cold – not like California. The food was all wrong, and she missed burrito shops and gourmet pizza and vegetarian food (it had been really fun to make her dad suffer through tofu for a few months while she went through her “vegan” phase.) And she missed all her friends – she’d had lots back in California but here she hadn’t made any. Everyone spoke with those stupid accents, and way too fast at that, and when teachers asked her a question or other kids said something to her, she always missed some important word or two, and then everyone treated her like a total ‘tard when she asked what they’d said.

And the school! She’d been in twelfth grade back in America and somehow now she was a “sixth former” – what the hell was that about? And the classes were way harder than the ones back home, where she could spend class gossiping and checking out the hotter guys in the class, and still get straight “A”s. And her friends back home – at first they listened to her tales of misery and the suck-ass-ed-ness of it all with sympathy and a “Wow – that blows!’ at every pause. But now they didn’t seem to care anymore – they were dating hot guys that should have been hers, and they didn’t even have time to catch her up with the vital 411 – like they didn’t even care anymore.

And the teachers! Back in CA, she had some hot teachers. That guy who taught health class wore these really tight jeans…. But here, all the teachers were old and gross. Well … except for Mr. Sinclair. Read the rest of this entry »