Write me a story...

Sometimes it's hard to convey your fantasies.  I don't just mean the embarrassment, or coyness (As Not an Odalisque puts it) of actually saying the words. 'I want to be spanked', 'Will you cane me?', 'Will you put me over your knee and spank me?'. None of these are words that are easy to write or say, so often we don't. We start by saying we're kinky, we might even say we're into CP, backed up by various references to Roald Dahl and Enid Blyton. There, that's enough to start with; I didn't actually have to say the squirmy words, spank, or bottom or over the knee but we're on the same wavelength now.

And even when arranging play, again we often return to the abstract. I need to be dealt with, at a push you might admit needing punishment. But we don't talk of the detail, of wanting a bottom bared and placed over someone's knee to be spanked. Below is an abstract of my first email to HH, in response to a Fetlife message he sent me and it's a text book example of abstract talking!

"...I'm sure we do indeed have a lot in common. I'm still exploring what I am into, but spanking, CP and roleplay are core for me. I LOVE rolepay and I LOVE playing with people who get as into as I do; I get totally lost in the scene and it's amazing..."

(Of course sites like Fetlife make the whole business easier, we list all the kinky things we think or know we're into, for easy perusal by interested parties.)

Once we've satisfied ourselves that the person is someone we'd like to actually play with, we by necessity need to get into the detail. Of scenes and limits and squicks and potential minefields. Not just because it's vital for safe and responsible play, but to also give the scene the best chance of actually being fulfilling.

That naturally raises the confusion of trying to figure out what you're actually into, and to know what your limits are. But as painful as it is, the limits list can he helpful. Little ticks on carefully compiled lists, in the privacy of one's own personal unease that can be sent off with a bright and breezy mail. Trying to convey nonchalance whilst we squirm inside and give thanks it wasn't a conversation had face to face.

But even if none of the above phases you, even if you can easily talk about your kink, your limits and what you want and need in detail, it's still very hard to convey your own personal fantasies. Those that are constructed and refined over weeks or months, played out over and over, whilst you both direct and perform not only your role but also the top's too. How do you convey all this to the top? And how realistic is it that you can ever play a scene that you've put so much thought into? How can the top ever deliver?

It's an issue top of mind for me at the minute as I plan an upcoming weekend with HH. In our early correspondence I mooted the idea of a particular fantasy I'd had forever. A very dark and potentially squicky fantasy. We discussed it at length at the time before I pulled back from it, not sure it would work for me.

That was almost two years ago. Now I find it on my mind once more, and again we're talking about possibly doing it. Although HH conscious of the potential minefield it may be, will make the final call on the day as to whether we proceed.

So now I find myself fantasising about this scene, with HH in role, using dialogue I know him capable of, but scripted by me. I can clearly see his face and his expressions, I can guess what he might do, how he might react to my character and almost what it would feel like. This is not a good thing. Partly because it's so hard to share this level of detail, but mostly because HH cannot and will not be dictated to for the entire scene.

Therefore we've agreed I'll write the fantasy in a story that we can draw inspiration from. And instead of using the story to dictate the nuances, I need to convey what makes the fantasy so compelling. What are the things that make my character tick, what is likely to trigger a deep scene, what are the key things she needs to hear or see. And for him, what is the context for his character being in this situation, what motivates him, what is his general attitude and tone.

I've used stories in the past in the same way, with both HH and Abel and whilst the stories have been generally too badly written to share with anyone else, they achieved their purpose. Thus, that is my homework for the weekend, write him a story.

To Darlings we are sent...

There is just so much to say about Finishing School that it will take several blog posts, so this is just a teaser. The introspection and analysis comes later. For now I'm just going to give you a taster of what came to pass.

It all begins with the wonderful world of Twitter and a conversation between a few girls (one of which was me) and Lucy of Northern Spanking, on which she half joked about hosting a finishing school and we all thought it was a fantastic idea and begged to be allowed attend.

A few months later cue 10 girls heading to Scotland to Darlings Academy under the care of Mrs Darling (aka Lucy) and Miss Hammond-Grant (aka Amy Hunter.) The scene is thus set. Some of the action unfolds as follows:

I wait nervously at the airport to be picked up, along with three others until we are met by Miss Hammond-Grant, who cuts a terrifying figure in her smart clothes and her strict voice. Having never met Amy before I am shocked that we go straight into role. She announces Parker our driver and we trail about 5 metres behind them along the airport out to the bus, all shocked into silence.

Once safely on the bus Caoilfhionn and Jemima find their voice and keep up a  monologue of questions, singing and giggling the whole hour long journey to the academy, torturing both their escort and Parker as we go. It's not until after dinner that night when we relax out of role briefly that Amy finally tells us Parker wasn't a kinkster at all, but a regular hired bus driver. Eliane and I don't quite get over the mortification of this the entire weekend!

Admittance to the Academy (a spectacular castle) is dramatic. We wait in the cold night as the bolts are slowly and noisily drawn back and then Mrs Darling herself bades us enter. Once shown into the Drawing room to be inducted to the school rules we collapse into nervous giggles. We are, as was the desired effect, completely unnerved.

The only lesson of the evening is Grooming and all 10 girls listen in raptures as Mrs Darling and Miss Hammond Grant demonstrate make-up and hair techniques, genuinely wanting to learn. The next morning I try to bouff my hair and although some unkind girl (Tombola) says I look like Elvis, it makes my day when Miss Hammond-Grant compliments me on my efforts.

The day starts with Assembly and we are taught the school song and sing it with enthusiasm! My room mate Catherine Thomas is pronounced as head girl, a role she carries out perfectly, leading all the way, and very much a girl to be looked up to. She was also very capable of mischief, although generally of the more subtle variety.

Caoilfhionn genuinely tries hard to be good, but mischief is never too far away! And along with Alexandra, Tombola and Jemima is soon vying for the worst placed pupil award!

Her first prank pantygate as it is christened in discovered in the first assembly. All dressed in our matching uniforms we are meant to be wearing suitable ladylike underwear. However, some advanced plotting (aided by Abel no less!) means we are all wearing matching Little Miss Trouble knickers. A scheme of which our teachers have already found out about! We are all bent over and soundly lectured and spanked for breaking the rules. However it's just the warm up to the day that's needed and we all visibly relax.

Lessons are devoted to preparing for a Gala evening of entertainment for our bachelors. My class prepare songs to sing as well as flower arrangements to decorate the rooms. We also learn to prepare cocktails for cocktail hour. Whilst there was much spanking and mischief in our first music lesson, we are concentrating too hard in the second for anyone to get spanked at all!

Flower arranging also passes by, almost without incident. On a trip outside to collect foliage, Caoilfhionn is egged on by Cate to jump on the snow covered trampoline. It's tremendous fun until Mrs Darling catches her and spanks her in the snow. She is also given a stern lecture about fool hardiness that evening which reduces her to tears (more on this later).

That evening the girls have 15 mins to dress for the visiting gentlemen, in their prettiest dress. Each is assigned to escort a gentleman to his rooms and show him around the castle. Mrs Darling has impressed on us the seriousness of not letting her down and every girl tries hard to be the perfect hostess whilst we also prepare and serve dinner. Only Tombola can't contain herself and is the first to be in trouble at the dinner table.

Caoilfhionn conspires again, this time with the Head Girl no less, to serve the gentlemen their after dinner coffees with 'willy' shaped mints on the side. Our heads are not impressed, and poor Tombola is at first accused. I soon own up and my protests that I thought they were plain after eights are ignored, with a scathing put down from Mrs Darling.

I'm sentenced to a caning in front of all assembled and to my horror both heads stand either side of me with a cane each. What follows is the most painful of the punishments meted out to me, a double caning form either side, 12 agonising strokes delivered at a blistering pace. I still have the 12 clear lines on my bottom.

If they were angry at my part in this prank, the involvement of our Head Girl is an outrage and she is given twice the punishment, 24 hard strokes delivered at the same speed.

The next day as we washed up over breakfast the thought struck me that we might be expected to know the school song off by heart. The head girl suggests we learn it off and one of my best memories of the weekend is singing it over and over with the other girls as we attended to our duties, delighted that we'd escape that punishment at least

Morning assembly, however brings punishments for nearly all girls for various misdeeds of the night before. (Mine is for tweeting after lights out!) Although Caoilfhioon is very sore, courtesy of the canings and several spankings by the gentleman the night before, and resolves to stay out of trouble it's a short lived hope.

The sexual etiquette lesson is a fountain of knowledge for the girls and several of us take detailed notes. I carefully noted, as instructed by Mrs Darling that I should not monopolise conversations during dates. However my real shame comes when I am ordered to demonstrate the furniture top dancing that I listed as a special skill on my application form! In front of the school and the gentlemen I have to dance on a stool, aided by Jemina and the girls singing the Trinian's theme. As I topple off my stool I am caught by Miss Hammond Grant and neatly out across her knee for a very sound spanking.

The snow interrupts my last lesson and I miss final assembly but am told on the way out that Caoilfhionn came bottom. Considering the antics of Alexandra, Tombola and Jemima this is quite a feat and although Caoilfhionn has the decency to be a bit ashamed I am almost proud!

There is so much more I could say, however the other girls must tell their own stories. I will be posting again about how deeply I went in role, and why I think the weekend worked so well for me.

But massive thanks go to Lucy and Amy for their ambitions and attention to detail that resulted in such a fabulous weekend. Having never met either of them before we easily fell into role with each other and  they both embraced, and let Caoilfhionn flourish.

All the other girls and tutors were also wonderful and added so much to the weekend too. And although, as with all incredible roleplay weekends like this and the Regency House Party, I and several of the other girls have been crashing terribly today, but it's certainly been worth it!

Fear

'Sophie Adams report to my study after morning classes'

The Headmaster's request delivered after a long and boring assembly barely registered with Sophie. She was tired, worn out from too many nights of little sleep. Her friends turned to her in dismay, 'Oh Sophie what an earth have you done?'

She blinked in surprise, a vague feeling of unease starting to settle over her. The Headmaster wasn't known for friendly chats beside the fire: this wasn't likely to be a social visit.

As she filed out of the hall with the rest of her class she quickly cast her mind back over the past week. She hadn't been caught doing anything too bad, well no worse than usual. Mr Matthews, her housemaster, had seemed pretty annoyed to catch her out of bed twice last night. So annoyed he'd just shouted at her to get into bed and 'bloody well stay there!'

Still at least he'd spared her the fake concern lecture he usually wheeled out. 'Was there anything the matter? Did she want to talk about it? So strange to see a good girl starting to slip up. We just want to help you.'

Did he really expect her to pour her heart out, just like that? About the continuous nightmares, being afraid to sleep because she couldn't block out the horrible images. How she was scared of what they meant. Dreams so awful yet so real, like something that had happened to her but she couldn't remember.

Maybe if she thought he could actually help she might have told him. Or any of her friends, who really were quite worried. She couldn't see light at the end of the tunnel. There was none. And at this stage she was too tired to care about good grades, or getting onto the lacrosse team or going on the annual ski trip.

Sophie muddled through the morning classes, the hour of her appointment becoming ever closer. Her friends were sympathetic and comforting. Whilst the others in the class whispered about what she may have done, speculating whether she would get caned and how many strokes.

Despite herself she trembled as she stood outside the Headmaster's door. Checked her uniform one more time: navy skirt to the appropriate length; white shirt closed to the top button; green and navy tie knotted neatly; navy jumper, white socks pulled up to her knees and even the proper regulation white underwear. She knocked before she was considered late.

The Headmaster had never looked so imposing. The frown on his face accentuating the severeness of his gown. Nervously she looked around the study as he finished reading the papers before him; her files, it later transpired.

When he finally addressed her, he was mercifully brief in his lecture. 'Her recent underperformance had come to his attention....couldn't let it continue...standards...grades...achievement...'

She jumped as he picked up the senior cane, dark brown and so thick, and flexed it in her direction. Ordered her to bed over the arm of the sofa, with her skirt raised above her waist. Positioned her so her body rested on the sofa, her bottom high and vulnerable in the air, her toes straining on the carpet.

Now she was genuinely afraid. Clutching the sofa beneath her she prayed she wouldn't disgrace herself by crying. Hoped she could be brave.

Another few words: 'lesson...timely...better not happen again...brace yourself'

The whistle as the cane flew through the air, then the awful crack as it landed. A brief moment of blessed nothingness, then shock as the pain burned through her. She couldn't help crying out, her legs kicking up in protest. Quickly resumed the positioned and waited for the next and the next. Despaired as the pain became too much but could not stop it. After six she wholeheartedly assured him her behaviour would improve.

Tried nor to cry as another six were pronounced. Counted each painful stroke and swore she wouldn't get into this position again. Promised to go to bed early, to do her homework, to take pride in herself. And with every stroke the demons that plagued her were beaten back a little more.

Although a very sore and sorry girl left the Headmaster's office, inside she was more confident, more determined. An ordeal she never wanted to repeat, but yet for all its terror she had survived. She could survive anything. Finally, light at the end of the tunnel.



---
In response to Casey's Secret Saturday challenge and recounting a scene played with HH an hour ago! (My wildcard was tunnel)

Secret places

'It'll just be our little secret.'

How often she had heard those words. How they reduced to her cold sweats and stomach churning sickness.

Always followed by the tugging down of her trousers, then her panties. A long minute of having to stand there while he looked at her. Making her blush deep red with the shame of being bared and on display like this.

'Our little secret.'

Slowly pulled across his knee until in a suitable position. Small and defenseless, her arms and legs not quite reaching the floor, her head dropping in resignation. The awful anticipation. Enduring his soft caresses of her bottom while waiting for the pain to explode.

Jumps as his hand crashes down on her bottom, followed by several more in quick succession. Tells her what a naughty little girl she is. Smacks her harder and harder until she is squirming across his knee, her trousers and panties pooling at her ankles, her t-shirt riding up her back.

Soon the tears begin to fall and her pleas for mercy become louder and more plaintive. She knows he won't stop until she is properly sobbing, until the spanking becomes unbearable.

Tries to block out what is happening to her, to go to a happy place in her mind. If she could get on an airplane and go anywhere in the world, where would it be? Disneyland? An African Safari? To Grandma's house? Anywhere away from here.

'Our little secret.'

Her bottom is hot and bright red when he finally stops, breathless from his exertions. Pleased with the limp and sobbing state he has reduced her to. Another lesson learned. No need for a hairbrush this time.

Leaves her across his knee for several minutes, before gently lifting her up and setting her clothes to rights. She cannot look him at him. Says the words he expects to hear but hates him, and hates herself more. Leaves quickly once dismissed. The familiar words ringing in her ear. 'Our little secret.'


----

In response to Casey Morgan's Secret Saturday Challenge. My wildcard was 'airplane'. This is the first of her challenges I've responded to and it's great motivation to fulfill my New Year's Resolution to write more fiction!

A very dirty girl

The girls at St. Mary's Catholic School were well accustomed to corporal punishment, receiving it regularly from their class teachers. The ruler or strap across their hands being the usual punishment.

It was very rare for a girl to be sent to the Headmaster, and when they were, punishment usually took place after supper in his study. The miserable girl would then be seen slipping into her dorm at bedtime, with tears of pain and shame on her face, refusing to talk of her punishment.

Other girls wondered what he used; the cane, a strap, a switch? What was so terribly unspeakable?

Maria's summons came as no surprise to anyone. Having been being caught outside with a boy at the annual local schools' social, it was inevitable. They had only been talking, not even holding hands, but the school curate Fr. Martin was enraged that a St. Mary's girl could be found unchaperoned with a boy.

She was almost glad the summons came so quickly, arriving the next day from her class teacher.

At the appointed hour she arrived at the Headmaster's door. She had taken extra care with her uniform, immaculately turned out in her grey shirt, modest green pinafore that fell well below her knees, long grey socks, green and yellow striped tie and grey jumper. A St. Mary's girl must look and act like a paragon of virtue at all times, how many times had she been told that?

On granting her permission to enter he stood her before him and lectured her on her disgraceful conduct. His disgust at her behaviour, her lack of respect for herself and her school. He spoke of Fr Martin's outrage and the need to reinforce the moral code. He spoke of her parents and their disappointment and anger at how she flaunted herself to that boy like a common tramp.

His words were harsh and at every utterance her self-belief and confidence wore away. Beginning to believe him, starting to agree she was a tramp, a disgrace to her family. Her cheeks burned in shame. She was too scared to argue back, to protest they were only talking, that she wasn't the dirty girl he was implying. She hung her head, succumbing to his lecture, starting to hate herself.

Finally his words ended and he signalled her punishment would start. She fearfully glanced around, was it a cane, a strap, a birch?

But no, he placed himself on a high backed chair and ordered her to come to his side. She stood where he indicated, completely confused. And before she could register what was happening, he pulled her over his knee.

Dropping her head in mortification her mind whirled: What was he doing? She'd never been put across anyone's knee in her life. Had never been so close to a man. Her face flushed deeper with shame, her feet barely touching the floor, feeling very small.

And he hadn't even started anything yet. Worse was to come. She couldn't help putting her hand back as he started to slowly lift her skirt, but he was having none of that, firmly ordering her to keep her hands on the floor and to stay in position.

Her humiliation intensified as he inched her skirt up, past the backs of her knees, past her thighs and up over her bottom. For the first time in her school life she was thankful for the thick cotton knickers that covered her bottom entirely.

The relief was short-lived however, and she whimpered as he hooked his fingers into the thick elastic at the waist and drew her knickers down. No man had every seen her bottom naked, it was too much, she tried to get up but he held her down, warning her it would be much worse if she didn't stay still and take her punishment. Threatening to bring Fr Martin in to witness it. This dreadful thought immobilised her.

With her knickers down to her knees, he rested his right hand on her bottom, his left holding her firmly by the waist. Seconds past like minutes as she waited for it to start, but he was in no hurry. The silence was unbearable and she was mortifying conscious of her position, imagining what she must look like, pinafore up, knickers down, bare bottom over this man's knee, any man's knee. It was too much for her and she began to cry softly.

As if in response to her crying he stroked her bottom slowly, rubbing each cheek in circles to the tops of her thighs. He seemed in no hurry to start the spanking. His rubbing embarrassed her more, his touch making her feel sick inside. What was he doing? Why was he touching her? And all the time not a word from him. Her tears continued to fall and she prayed it would be over soon.

Eventually he lifted his right hand, tightening his grip with his left hand pushing her down firmly onto his knees. She braced herself for the first smack, but the gentle pat that followed was unexpected. For several minutes he spanked her gently all over her bottom, moving in a circle, pat, pat, pat. It didn't hurt at all.

But still he held her firmly, stopping occasionally to rub her bottom. Then resuming his patting, all the time not saying a word. This continued for some time. Until finally the smacks got harder, and she was really starting to feel it, struggling to stay still. After making her bottom hot and sore all over, he moved to her thighs and the sharp smacks made her kick and squirm across his lap

In response he swung his right leg behind her knees, effectively pinning her in place. And resumed his gentle patting. She decided this was worse, at least when he was hurting her she could forget the humiliation of her position. And being trapped between his legs was even more mortifying. She was also becoming uncomfortably aware of a definite hardness pressing into her tummy.

As her confused brain tried to process the sensation, he once again increased the tempo of the spanking, harder now; much harder. It was impossible to stay still and she squirmed and wriggled against him. Her cries growing more frantic as the pain intensified. There was no respite, no more rubbing, no more gentle patting: no sound except his laboured breathing from his exertions.

As her cries turned to sobs she began to plead with him to stop, it hurt so much, she couldn't take it anymore. For the first time her spoke to her, telling her over and over that she was a 'very naughty girl', a 'very, very naughty girl', spanking her harder and harder, until he gave a strangled gasp and stopped suddenly.

She felt him shake beneath her and didn't know what to do. Was he ill? Had he taken a turn? In terror she lay there, afraid to move or talk.

'Get up and get out' he finally told her, pushing her off his knee. 'And don't ever let me see you in here again or you won't get off so lightly'. In total bewilderment she fixed her clothing, not daring to look at him, as she crept out of the office.

And returned to her dorm in tears, feeling sick at what just happened. Knowing that is was all her fault. She was a very, dirty girl.

Promises

She hovered outside the door of his study. Trying to get up the courage to knock. She could hear him tapping away at his computer. Could imagine him concentrating hard on his task. He was always so focused in everything that he did. She wished she could be so determined. So disciplined. But then that's why she was here. He had promised her he would help her with her studies. Promised to give her the encouragement and motivation she needed to succeed. To retain her scholarship and to graduate with honours. Make her parents proud. Be the big brother she never had.

She wished she was here to share good news. She loved when he was happy with her. Like last month when she got the highest mark in her class for her history essay. He was so pleased with her and treated her to a nice dinner out. Or when she got elected captain of the debating team. Again so generous with his praise, although also reminding her not to take on too many extra curricular activities. That had almost been her downfall in her first year of college. So many distractions proved overwhelming, making her lose sight of her studies. But he had been there. Focusing her. Helping her maintain her scholarship. Keeping her grades up. Pushing her.

They had made a deal. She had to tell him when she was struggling and he would be lenient. Had to tell him when she missed classes or when she was close to missing a deadline. He couldn't help her otherwise.

She painfully recalled that first time she had missed a deadline. Not only the agony of the 12 strokes of his senior cane on her bare bottom, but the force of his disappointment. She had wept bitterly afterwards and swore to make amends. He had comforted her, promising to give her the discipline she lacked. Warning her to ask for help before it was too late or face the harsh consequences.

Of course she'd felt that cane many times since but never as hard as that first time. She learned to trust him, confide in him, and hadn't missed a deadline again. Had come close of course but always asking him for help in time and taking her punishments bravely. He was always proud of her for being brave.

His disappointment was always the worst thing. He had such high expectations of her, she hated let him down. frustrated at her own short comings. And here she was again. Going to that party at the weekend and drinking too much. A whole day of study wasted on Sunday as she recovered. And he had cautioned her to take it easy. Told her she could go, as long as she put in a full day of work afterwards. How could she tell him she'd done nothing but feel sorry for herself. That her essay due on Friday wasn't even started.

The door opened, startling her. He looked at her ruefully and invited her in, letting her know he had been expecting her. She didn't ask how, just relieved she didn't have to tell him herself. He shook his head sadly and reached for the senior cane. '18' he pronounced quietly. 'A serious reminder as you head into your final semester. I will not allow you to lose your focus now.'

He pointed to his desk and she slowly assumed the familiar position. Stretched across the top, skirt flipped up and knickers pulled down to her knees. Her heart beat faster as she anticipated the awful pain to come. She'd never had so many before, it would be impossible to be brave, to show him how sorry she was. She turned her head to look at him, fear in her eyes, pleading silently. In response he placed his hand on her back, a reassuring touch, calming her. And she knew it would be ok. He was just keeping his promise.