I’d planned this for a while, this realisation of an old prison punishment fantasy that had its origins in a strong caning scene I’d found online. I’d booked the venue, made the arrangements with the two girls and ordered the costumes I wanted them to wear.
“Get back here, you!” called the gaoler, as she neared the relative safety of the hallway, her bottom sore from the impact of his hand through the thin cotton of her bloomers. Her friend was already there, shaking in fear against the cold stone wall. “You didn’t think that was your punishment did you? HaHaHa! That was just me being all nice and caring and warming your arse up before I spanked you properly! Get over the table now!”
I’ve been seeing Mistress Elita for two years now. We’ve done some amazing things together and she’s taught me such a lot about myself.
It’s been almost exactly two years now! How many sessions? I suspect more than one a month. Thirty? Forty even? Are you bored of me yet? I’m so completely not bored of you. Nor of the things you do to me, the things we do together. For me, it still feels new and fresh, edgy and exciting.
There were only a few of us left after the impromptu staff party in the unused cellar bar of the out-of-town, out-of-season hotel. The snow had gone and the spring conference season hadn’t started so the staff at our Scottish ski resort were under-worked.
Many of my real fantasies, the ones I find in my head when I’m disturbed or stressed, are dark and non-consensual punishment scenes. Sometimes I’m the perpetrator and sometimes I’m the one being punished but the consistent components are an unwilling, tightly bound victim, and the authority figure handing out corporal punishment of escalating violence. I used to think these fantasies marked me out as weird or perverted but so long as they are just fantasies and stay locked away in my head, I can live with myself.
I wrote a few days ago about the recognition that performance anxiety about sex had been with me most of my life. I tend to blame any current issues on blood pressure medication but, in reality it’s much older. However, I’m starting to feel more confident about sex and even enjoying actual… you know…’intercourse,’ as well as hot BDSM scenes!
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‘S wonderful! ‘S marvelous
You should care for me
‘S awful nice! ‘S paradise
‘S what I love to see
I took Lilly to see the London production of An American in Paris, a wonderful fusion of a classic love story with Gershwin’s music and some quite stunning ballet. I had hoped that its 1940’s glamour would appeal to Lilly’s sense of period style.
I was away on business for the last couple of Sinful Sundays and composed shots around empty hotel bedrooms. It might have seemed a bit sad, but I was happy enough to be on my own.
I think that, for quite a long time, I have been hiding from sex. For years really. A situation where there is the possibility or, worse still, the expectation, of sex has carried with it, not the brash confidence of youth, but the performance anxiety of middle age.
I’m only staying at the 5* Mandarin Oriental Hotel because my local business partner is paying the bill, but I’m now bored of its bland luxury. It’s been a long trip and I was feeling lonely earlier, which is how I had come to be in the hotel’s cocktail bar.