Olivia's secrets

The belt

2012-01-29T01:03:00.000+01:00

Since I can’t sleep and this is the first time in weeks that I have had time to write, I will spend the time that I am breaking the rules and staying up past my bedtime writing a post. This first picture has nothing to do with what I will write about but I love it so I am posting it anyway.

There is so much I want to tell you, but first this: the past few days I have not been able to stop thinking about one particular implement: the belt. I have been constantly fantasizing about it, asking for it, craving it.

It’s gotten even worse since a couple of days ago, when his parents were home but he offered to spank me anyway. I got a couple of hard strokes – just enough to make me want more. He warned me, right before he started spanking me: “this will be more teasing than a real spanking”. I didn’t mind. I just wanted to feel the leather on my bare skin again.

I think it’s because there’s just something different about a leather belt. You can buy all the sex toys, paddles, whips and canes in the world, but nothing quite beats the authentic, almost old-fashioned feel of a belt. There is nothing I associate more with spanking. It’s classical conditioning, really: I hear his belt buckle and immediately feel horny. He doubles it over and I raise my hips a little, trying to tell him: I want this, so much. Please don’t be gentle. I don’t get spanked with a belt very often; maybe that’s why I like it so much. It’s special. It’s the kind of implement that I love to hear, to see, and to feel. The one that helps me go into subspace that much faster.

So that’s what I want. One long, hard spanking, with no other implements. Just my bare bottom and his leather belt. Maybe a hand spanking, as a warm up, though that doesn’t seem necessary right now. Maybe some lotion to keep my skin intact, so he can spank me longer and it hurts just a little bit more than it does without lotion. I don’t want him to be gentle, or to show mercy. I want him to spank me hard, long, until I am crying out and my pussy is beautifully wet and he can pull my hair and shove his dick in me; pounding, hard, saying dirty things to me. Make me moan, make me beg, make me your little whore. Because yes, the candles and the rose petals are lovely, and romance is wonderful, and a week ago I only wanted softness and cuddles; but right now I want the belt, and I want subspace – it would be the perfect relaxation after I am done with my exams.

Torture: a fantasy

2012-01-12T12:32:00.000+01:00

"It hurts.”

“Of course it hurts. It’s supposed to hurt.”

“Please, please take it off…please…”

“No.”

I feel tears coming up, a knot in my throat. I open my mouth, trying to keep calm, to breathe, but most of all trying to stay still.

“Honey, please…”

“Stop begging.”

It’s silent. He doesn’t want me to speak so I am quiet. My eyes beg even louder than my mouth can, so I close them and I wait. I don’t want to think about the pain. I try to think about my pink bottom, about how my knees hurt from sitting on the floor, about how he’s looking at me. For only a moment I think about how I can feel my pussy – wet, soaked, throbbing.

I wish he would take it off and just fuck me.

He breaks the silence.

“If you ask nicely, I’ll take them off.” I don’t open my eyes, I don’t want to see him smile; though I can hear the pleasure in his voice.

I struggle to find the courage to speak. I try to open my eyes, look at him, but his eyes make me shy and I look at the floor. I immediately regret moving. It pulls at me and I curse at gravity.

“Will you…please take them off, sir?”

“Take what off?”

I sigh, frustrated, desperate, but he waits. “The…” I can’t say it, I just can’t.

“What do you want me to take off, Olivia?” he insists.

“The…nipple clamps, sir.”

He smiles. “Good girl,” he says, and removes them; his torture device.

But I can’t deny how wet I am. He releases me from the ropes, too – I couldn’t have stayed still if he hadn’t bound me. Thankful for my freedom, my fingers stroke my breasts, my hands cover my sore nipples. I start to complain, softly, but am interrupted by his fingers stroking my pussy.

“Naughty girl…always complaining, but nevertheless, always wet.”

I blush. He smiles.

Bad girl

2012-01-11T10:09:00.000+01:00

There is something glamorous about smoking.

I know I am wrong to say it. Smoking used to be glamorous, but then we got all worked up about health issues and how it smells and now, looking at a girl and realizing she look sexy, glamorous, cool, is wrong, because she is a bad girl and she is not allowed to smoke. Smoking is wrong.

And what if I like to be a bad girl? I like how it looks – a cigarette between two fingers, a slightly opened mouth to let out the smoke. She seems so relaxed, so unashamed. She knows it is wrong too, how could she not? Everyone keeps telling us what a terrible habit it is. It’s cool how she doesn’t care. There’s a quiet rebellion in smoking, not just rebellion against the strong man that tells you you’re not allowed to, but against society. It’s like she’s saying “fuck you, I can do whatever I want.” And she can say “fuck you” because she is a bad girl, and she uses bad words, and she should be spanked.

Well, I don’t smoke. I don’t want to, either – but I can’t help but notice when a gorgeous girl lights a cigarette. She’s a rebel. Sometimes I’d like to be like her.

Then I remember that I am a good girl (most of the time), and I would never want to disappoint him. I choose him over glamour. And I want to be healthy and I don’t want to rebel against society. But still – you have to admit. Doesn’t she look gorgeous?

The corner

2012-01-11T03:48:00.000+01:00

It is not about the corner.

I could say it was. I could claim it was about the embarrassment, about being treated as a child, but I would be lying. I am a woman, I am not a child, and I don’t appreciate being treated as one (That is a lie. I do, under the right circumstances, but not like this). No, it’s not about that. It has, in fact, nothing to do with that.

It’s not about boredom, but it is not about punishment either. It’s not about staring at the wall, feeling numb, but it is not about “thinking about what you’ve done" either.

I could say it is punishment and maybe, at the surface, it is, but that’s not what it’s about. It is not about being still, either. I am not a puppet; I move, I breathe, I fidget when I have nothing else to do.

It’s the distance. It is knowing that he can see me, but I cannot see him. He is close, yet far away. He could stand, come closer, he could pull my hair and lecture me, but he chooses not to.

It’s the silence. I don’t speak because he doesn’t want me to. He doesn’t speak, although I need him to. He teaches me patience. He teaches me the beauty in anticipation.

It is not about the corner. He could put me anywhere else, place me where and how he likes, and it would have the same effect: anticipation. Time goes slowly when he isn’t touching me. But he wants it to; he wants me to wonder, and to savour the wait.

It’s about surrender. He does not care if I am bored, or shy, or frustrated because he will not let me speak, or see him, or touch him – and I so badly want to touch him. It is about waiting, patiently, and accepting that this is not my choice. I do not decide anything. I do not demand anything. I have no other choice than to stand there and wait. I surrender.

It isn’t punishment. It may feel like it, as so many things can feel like punishment, whether they are or not. It is, if anything, a reward: waiting for something makes receiving it that more enjoyable.

Bruises

2012-01-08T22:38:00.000+01:00

There are bruises, beautiful bruises on my bottom that will be there for a very long time. He spanked me a couple of days ago, harder than he ever has before, and it helped both of us. It hurt – I cried quickly, but he didn’t stop. It was a lovely experience.

But let me start at the beginning. I was tired. I have exams soon, so I have been studying a lot. My muscles start to ache because I am always sitting in the same position – I was tired, I had been in pain for days, and I had absolutely no patience. I had been badly behaved, stressed out, too sensitive to take a joke. I asked him to have patience with me, but I knew I was annoying him…I felt guilty, and I knew that if I wanted to feel better, less stressed, I needed a spanking.

So I asked for it. We were in the living room – he was sitting on the couch and I was sitting in front of him on my knees, on the ground. He smiled. “Okay,” he said, “On one condition. Go get your paddle right now.”

I went upstairs and noticed that my hands were shaking a little bit. I think it stopped when I got downstairs in the hallway and he stood there and ordered me to take off my pants. Bottom bared he made me walk in front of him, back up the stairs, and spanked me with the paddle all the way to my room.

I started crying a couple of minutes after he had put me over his knee. He ordered me to stand up, and I thought for a second he was going to stop, but he pushed me down on the bed again and continued. With his hand, with the paddle, with a leather belt, with a riding crop. It was hard to keep still, but his hand on my back kept me in place, kept me calm. It feels good when he holds me while spanking me. It makes me feel protected, safe, loved, and I need that even more when he spanks me that hard.

At one point he stopped and we hugged and kissed. I thanked him, he dried my tears, and he asked: “do you think you’ve had enough?” I knew he would stop if I would say yes. But I shook my head, and we kissed, and I got in position again.

Not long after that I finally relaxed. I could breathe again, even though I was still crying a little. He stopped. “Now you’ve had enough.” And he was right. We kissed, hugged, and he said I should look in the mirror. My bottom was very badly bruised. It was amazing – it made me gasp and then smile. I’ve never had bruises this bad and it proved to me that I had taken a very severe spanking. It makes me feel strong…and submissive.

We both relaxed. I stopped being a bitch – he stopped being annoyed by me. I felt tired, but happy, and so very much in love. I apologized and thanked him again. And right now, days after that spanking, I am still sitting on a pillow. It amazes me that he was able to push me that far. And I loved it. I love him.

I’ve also had time to revise my view on the position that I talked about last time. I have been thinking about it, especially because he has not stopped doing it now and then, even just for one or two swats. It still makes me feel a little uncomfortable, shy, but also…thrilled. It’s new and a bit scary and when he does it, deep down, I want a little more. I couldn’t take an entire spanking in the position – it’s bad for my back and neck and it’s just a little strange. But…it’s not awful. It’s not wrong. It makes me feel vulnerable, like a little girl. It actually…turns me on, just a little bit. Don’t tell anyone though…it’s a secret.

A fantasy

2011-12-30T01:05:00.000+01:00

She could not keep her eyes off him. He was watching TV, but he had his arm around her and she wanted to crawl closer to him, on his knee – over his knee. She didn’t think he knew, and she hadn’t said anything, because part of her – a very big part of her – was just happy to be with him. His hands were warm. She felt sheltered, safe, loved. She never wanted to leave his embrace.

She made a cheeky comment or two, but got shy when he looked at her. He could look at her in a way that made her want to fall to her knees. He made her blush. She wanted a spanking, secretly, but not in the erotic, soft, wonderful way. He probably thought she was horny; probably thought she just wanted to have sex, when all she wanted was to be tied up so tightly that she couldn’t move an inch and then whipped, hard, long, till she cried, relaxed. But she was ashamed. She didn’t want to say things like that. She didn’t want to write it, or even think about it, but she could not stop thinking about it.

“What’s wrong?” he said, smiling. “What do you need?” She blushed and avoided his eyes. She needed this, though. She had to tell him. Had to. She would never be able to let it go if she didn’t tell him how she felt – no matter how stupid or embarrassing it was.

So she stood up from the bed, left his embrace en walked to the closet. She knew where he kept his leather belts. He had made her choose one before. That was lovely – choosing the implement with which he would spank her. He knew the things that made her submit. She wasn’t feeling very submissive, though. But she wanted to.

She picked his heaviest belt, a brown one that she loved and feared. When she turned around again to face him he was sitting up straight, looking at her with a rather surprised, maybe puzzled (?) smile. She walked to him and sat on her knees on the ground. She couldn’t look at him but she handed him the belt – he took it from her. “Please?” she whispered, afraid that if she spoke too loud this would all fall apart. Maybe she would wake up and realize this was all just a dream. A stupid, stupid, embarrassing dream. The real her would never, even ask to be spanked, not like this, submissive and begging and not even trying to be a brat.

He lifted her chin with only one finger. “Look at me”, he said, kindly, softly. She almost cried, but instead she blushed and smiled stupidly at him. “Stand up.” She obeyed. “Take off your clothes, and lie on the bed.” Face down, exposed, aware of the butterflies in her stomach. They made her feel nauseous; was she sure she wanted this?

He seemed to sense her hesitation. “Olivia?” “Yes?” “Are you sure you want this?” She paused, sighed, closed her eyes. “Yes, sir.” It was silent for a second, and then he hit her. The blow surprised her, and she suddenly sat back up and put her hands on her bottom. “I-I’m sorry…” she couldn’t look at him, this was too embarrassing. “Will you please tie me up?” He only nodded.

It hurt, it hurt so much and though she wasn’t counting, she knew he had given her many strokes and she knew he was pushing her limit. She thought she might cry, and she tried to avoid the belt with each stroke, but when he suddenly stopped she wanted to scream. He came closer and looked her in the eye. “Are you okay?” She nodded. “Yeah.” “Do you want me to stop?” She shook her head. “No…no. Please don’t.” He frowned. “Okay.”

He gave her ten more. She started crying with the third. He freed her from the ropes, kissed her cheeks and lips and she fell into his arms and breathed. Calmly. She was tired. She couldn’t think. She was in pain, but also aware of how wet she was. She didn’t feel shy anymore. Instead she kissed him, embraced him, thanked him in every way she could think of. He laughed and called her a slut. She said “I try.” And they had amazing sex – as always – and before they fell asleep she thanked him again. “Are you okay?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine what he had to go through to spank her like that. He smiled. “I’m great.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m glad I could help.”

When I am not on this blog I am not very much like this. I don’t think I could ever do this; ask to be spanked like this, though sometimes I might want to. But it sounded lovely in my head; I wanted to try it, if only in fiction.

I am having a great life. I am insanely busy, but I am getting spanked and loved and hugged and I am happy. I hope you are too. Have a very happy new year :-)

PS. This (picture below) is wrong. We should not be spanked like this. It might make me shy and it might make me laugh, but it is not acceptable as an official spanking position. Okay? Thank you.

48, thank you Sir.

2011-12-14T10:59:00.000+01:00

This morning, I woke up with a collar around my neck. I turned around to the man sleeping next to me. I was still feeling submissive. I could still feel a little like I felt last night. And that’s a great way of waking up.

When he spanked me last night with our new leather paddle, he made me count. I don’t know where he ever got the idea, because I avoided writing about anyone ever counting out strokes, but I think a part of me likes it. I like counting because it helps me concentrate and it keeps my mind off the pain. I like it when he counts because he’s mean and unfair and I like it when he spanks me for his own pleasure and not just for mine.

He was counting a couple of days ago. “31, 32, 32, 33,…” I interrupted him: “hey, you counted 32 twice!” “Did I?” he said, completely failing at trying to sound innocent, “I’m sorry, I’ll start over. 1, 2, 3…”

And that’s why I didn’t interrupt him again when he said: “47, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 49...”

And the collar…ah the collar. It makes me instantly more submissive. And I was floating last night. I could barely keep my eyes open, and if I did open them I could only look at him. He could have told me to do anything, and I would have. I told him that and he laughed and said: “kiss my feet”. “Is that a joke?” I asked. “Maybe.” So I kissed his feet. I had never felt more submissive.

It took me a while to recover. Looking back, I can barely believe how deep in subspace I was, when he didn’t even spank me that much. I lay in his arms for a while afterwards. “I feel pretty good now,” I whispered. He smiled and kissed me. “Me too.” “I love you.” “I love you too.”

Wireless

2011-12-02T14:27:00.001+01:00

He makes me stand in front of him and slowly strip naked. His eyes pierce through me, seeing every sign of rebellion or submission. He doesn’t even pull me over his knee; he only tells me, gently, to get in position, as if I wouldn’t dare refuse.

He spanks me, hard, and even though I asked for this, I can’t seem to stay still. A part of me wants to struggle, though. A part of me wants to be made to take it, no matter how hard I struggle or beg or cry.

He takes me afterwards in different positions. “Harder”, I whisper, barely audible. I don’t know if he heard it but he does what I asked for anyway.

In an exhibitionistic moment I ask if we can go to the night store – the wireless vibrating bullet we bought a while ago lies on the nightstand, just waiting to be used. I lie on my back, smiling at him, also wanting to be used.

It was a strange sensation. I felt the black bullet move inside me. He had the remote in his hand, his hand in his pocket. His other hand held me as we walked. He had complete and utter control over me, over my orgasms. I had to hold in my moans as a car let us cross the street. He let my hand go and slid under my coat, grabbing my butt, teasing, laughing as I tried to be quiet.

We bought condoms and chocolate in the night store. Back home, I almost jumped him, wanting to rip off his clothes. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked. “What I want is for you to fuck me, now.” He smiled, and turned on the vibrating bullet. I gasped. “If you can get up the stairs like that, I’ll fuck you.

I am writing this the day after the worst hangover of my life. A friend on Twitter said I could ask to be spanked for being such an idiot. Though the term “idiot” is a bit harsh, she might be right that it wasn’t incredibly intelligent to drink so much that I had to be carried home. I don’t remember a lot from that night. It’s one of those things that I don’t ever want to do again, but I know I will, because that’s just what people my age do.

I’ll probably be spanked later. Getting punished for drinking too much has been a fantasy of mine for a while, but I don’t think this will be a punishment – I asked for it, after all. Any excuse for a spanking is good enough, though…especially now that I’m not hung-over anymore :-)

Lesson learned (or not)

2011-11-22T00:31:00.002+01:00

When he stopped spanking me, I knew I was in trouble – more than I already had been in. When I saw him looking at me, I blushed and immediately stopped and looked away. “What was that, Olivia?” “What?” “What were you doing?” Fuck, I was in so much trouble. “I was…biting my nails.” “And didn’t I already spank you a while ago for that?” “Uhm…I don’t…” “You don’t remember?” “No.” “Do you remember that I told you, many times, that I don’t want you to bite your nails?” I tried to hide from his gaze. “Yes,” I whispered. “And then you do it *while* I’m spanking you. Not smart, little girl.” I didn’t say anything.

And so he stopped spanking me, and he starting walking towards the couch, and though my dorm room isn’t even that big, I suddenly felt scared. Where was he going? What was he going to do? It wasn’t until I heard him going through my purse that I realized he was looking for my hairbrush.

I didn’t even try to object. I submitted; I realized that I had done something I shouldn’t have done and I…accepted my punishment. It feels so embarrassing to say that. I feel like a little girl. I once told him, during a discussion: “I’m not a child!” He only said: “Of course not. I would never hit a child this hard.” That made me smile.

But anyway, back to the punishment. He grabbed my brush, sat next to me and started spanking me. It hurt – a lot. I tried to lie still, tried to take my punishment, but it was incredibly hard. And he just kept scolding me: “Okay, Olivia, we’re going to make a deal about this. Every time I see you biting your nails, I will spank you with this brush. More than you want me to. Understood?”

I managed to agree somehow, and he stopped spanking me, pulled me up by my hair and kissed me. I looked at him, pouting a little bit. “You do understand I’m doing this to help you, right?” “Yes. I’m sorry.” He smiled. “Good.”

He scolded me and spanked me even more after that, for many other things. I had done a lot of things I really shouldn’t have done – I also think I quite learned my lesson. I cried that day – the first time a spanking ever made me genuinely cry. Not that it’s the spanking that made me cry – I was PMS’ing, and I had been through a lot the days before, and the way he scolded me made me feel so absolutely embarrassed and guilty that it’s no surprise that I cried. I’m thankful, though. He took control. He punished me for everything I had done to bring harm to myself (even though that wasn’t my intention), everything that he told me I shouldn’t do. He took care of me. It was wonderful.

And…I will see him again tomorrow. I sent him a text asking (well, actually demanding) a spanking and sex, and…a part of me wants to bite my nails in front of him. I want to know if he will do what he said he would do. I know I shouldn’t, I know it’s bad to even think about it, I know he will spank me for it, but…well. I just want to know for sure. And a part of me also just wants to be spanked :-)

PS. I am so overwhelmed and so thankful. Since my post two weeks ago, in which I said "I'm not the kind of girl that gets Chrossed" I've been Chrossed...twice. Absolutely amazing. Thank you. :)

Mischief managed

2011-11-13T13:41:00.000+01:00

You know what? I think sometimes, men just don't understand what we want. Last Wednesday, I was so convinced that he knew I wanted him to spank me, but he was just refusing to. The fact that I was getting beaten with a belt barely ten minutes after my post, proves that he just...didn't know what I wanted. And of course, you'll never get what you want if the only one who knows what you want is you.

I had written the post on his laptop, while he was gaming on his xbox a few metres further. I told him I was done, but I closed my blog and went to sit on his bed. It's completely unlike me - if I write something when we're together, I'll always beg him to read it, whatever he's doing at that time. He smiled. "Can I read it?" "Sure. Whatever." (Nope, I'm not a very good actress) He sat as his desk and read the post. I lay on his bed on my stomach, turned away from him so he couldn't see my face if he would look at me, trying to read a magazine. I don't remember a word I read; I just remember blushing and waiting till he was done. I heard him chuckle a couple of times and when I finally dared to look back he was looking at my tumblr and not at me. I blushed and tried to concentrate on the magazine again.

He came for me a minute later, took the magazine from me and threw it away. He sat next to me on the bed, stroking my head and my back, and calmly turned off his xbox with his other hand. The nerves were killing me. Was he going to spank me or not?

"Honey," he said, "you really need a lesson in communication." I blushed. "I did communicate...in my own silly way." He smiled. "I won't communicate with an internet personality. If you can ask for it yourself, I might do it." I hated that he said 'might', but didn't say anything about it. Instead I buried my face in his pillow. "I can't...I really can't." "Yes you can. Just say it." "Noooooo."

He continued to try to make me say it for a while, and I think my face was bright red - the colour my bottom should already have been. "I can't, I'm sorry, please don't make me do this." I think he felt bad for me, because he gave up trying to make me say it and said: "Do you want to write it down?" My face was burning with embarrasment, but I didn't dare protest. So he gave me a piece of paper, and a pen, and said: "write down what you want me to do." I started writing in very small letters: I want... "Write larger." I started my sentence again, this time in much bigger letters. My hand was shaking a little bit. I wrote down: 'I want you to spank me.' And then I tried to hide under his blanket.

He grinned, took the blanket away from me, and then put the piece of paper in front of me, so I could look at it while he was spanking me. I was still wearing my jeans but he didn't let it bother him. He started spanking me, hard, but my jeans offered too much protection to actually get a response from me. "Take off your jeans", he said. I don't know what's more embarrassing: when he takes off my jeans, or tells me to do it myself. Either way, it makes me feel shy - and my face was already red as a tomato.

He used his hand first, but it didn't take long for him to stand up and use his belt, too. It hurt, but everytime I wanted to complain I saw my own written words: I want you to spank me. I want this. I need this. I asked for this.

A while later I was over his knee and he was using his hand and a hairbrush. Just when I thought I was about to cry, he make me lie on the bed again and used his belt again. I didn't cry - I begged and I screamed and I whined and when he put a hand between my legs I moaned. And when he was done, he pulled my hair and fucked me in several different ways - making me scream out from pleasure this time.

He hit my butt and my face and my thighs and even my more...intimate parts, which made me squeal and which made him decide that hitting me there is a very good punishment. Sometimes he can be so mean, and I always just love it. I'm such a masochist sometimes.

And so I got what I asked for. It was amazing. I sat uncomfortable all day, and even though all marks were gone the next day, I was a very happy girl. Sometimes, even though it's terribly embarrassing, asking for it is the best way to get what I normally just hope he will do. And I *definitely* got a lesson in communication.

Love Our Lurkers Day

2011-11-10T17:53:00.000+01:00

Hey you :-)

Yes I’m looking at you. You, the one who’s reading this. Odds are, if you’re reading this, you’re a lurker. How do I know this? Well, about 200 people look at my blog every day. People all over the world, and yet I do not get 200 comments every day. And you know what? That’s not a bad thing. I was a lurker not so long ago. And I still am, in a way, because it’s still scary to comment on everything I read.

Some days I come online, look at my stats, annd I smile when I see how many people, visit my blog every single day. It’s not as much as Erica Scott or Abel Jenkins probably get, but still, someone, somewhere, made the time to read something I wrote. That makes me happy.

I’m not the kind of girl that gets Chrossed. I never get messages from people telling me how much they would love to spank me. I don’t get a lot of comments. I’m not a big celebrity in the internet world of kink. Sometimes that makes me jealous. But I love the people who do read my blog. You make me happy. You remind me that I am not just writing for myself.

And you…you could write too. A comment, a blog, an opinion. Because you matter. Even if you’re not one of those famous people, even if your name doesn’t appear on Chross every week. You matter. Don’t be afraid. I love you for reading this. Thank you.

(Love Our Lurkers day was the wonderful idea of Bonnie of My Bottom Smarts. Thanks Bonnie!)

Asking for it

2011-11-09T13:02:00.000+01:00

It's my boyfriend's birthday and we had a great night. My gift for him was cheeky and sexy and led to amazing sex. We played with chocolate and whipped cream, he had a blowjob while driving to a park - and again in that park - and he spanked me...softly.

He said his hand hurts when he spanks me so I bought him hand lotion. He said he wanted a Ferarri for his birthday so I bought him a toy car. I have been cheeky and naughty and I have been begging for a spanking. And I can still sit perfectly comfortable and my butt isn't even pink anymore.

So you can see my frustration.

I don't even want to have sex that bad. Just...a spanking. A hard one. After giving him everything a guy could ask for (even a ferrari!), I'd think I've at least earned that.

I wrote this because I needed to get it off my chest. I know he will read this. It's still his choice if he spanks me today or not. But at least now, he knows what I want, because I'm too shy to tell him like a normal person.

PS. I've been playing around on tumblr. Come check it out: http://olivia-crowe.tumblr.com/

Dirty talk

2011-11-06T22:28:00.000+01:00

I don’t write about sex often. Words like “pussy” or “dick” make me shy, and using polite words in erotic stories seems so prudish. I can’t say “doggie style” because it feels degrading, and asking to “fuck me” is hard, even for my fictional characters.

Yet, I don’t consider myself to be a prude. I love sex. I love it with ordinary condoms and I love it with the special ones that make my insides tingle – literally (these). I love it when he pushes me on the bed and takes me, and I love it when I pull him towards me and we make love. I love it when he kisses everything from my forehead to my thighs before ever touching my clit, or when he gives me a long, erotic massage, massaging my entire body and making me moan with desire. I love it when he puts a hand on my mouth, forbidding me from screaming out, or when he pulls my hair while taking me from behind. I love it when I am on top. I love it when he’s on top. I love it when he pushes me against the wall, puts a hand on my throat, and says things that are too rude to ever write down.

I love it when he puts a hand in my skirt when we’re on the tram. I love masturbating next to him in the car while we’re stuck in traffic. I love sucking his dick while he is gaming online with his friends, knowing that they can probably hear his moans. I love offering myself to him. I love being taken by him. I love fucking with him. I love being fucked. I love the smile on his face when I’m breathing heavily after a fourth orgasm.

I wish I could write erotic stories. I’ve found I’m not very good at it. But I do absolutely love sex – whether it’s vanilla, kinky, in the backseat of his car or in my bed, surrounded by candles. It’s all good and exciting and fun. It’s all with him, the best boyfriend ever. And writing this, all alone in my dorm room...well, it makes me rather horny, too.

Food and discipline

2011-11-06T19:30:00.000+01:00

I have always loved the way he looks at me when I’m in trouble. It’s a look that gives me butterflies and makes me shy and makes me want to curl up in his arms and try to forget whatever I did that’s making him look at me like that.

He often lifts my chin with his hand and makes me look him in the eye, as if I am a little kid. Yesterday, he made me feel like a little kid again, and it made me feel terribly shy.

I don’t know when he was annoyed by it for the first time, but I think I crossed a line. He told me off and I felt about an inch tall. He made me promise to eat more, and promised that he would, from now on, always check if I ate enough. It made me blush. No one has ever cared about it like that. No one has ever taken control like that, and I didn’t even ask for it.

“It’s not like I have anorexia”, I protested a little. “No, I know. But you don’t have to have anorexia to abuse your body like you are doing. You don’t eat enough, and I understand that you’re not hungry a lot, but what you’re doing now is not healthy.”

He’s right, you know. I’m not hungry a lot, but that’s not an excuse. I feel nauseous late at night and when he asks why I have to confess that it’s because I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I realize that it’s not good for me. I had never expected him to tell me off about it, though.

“If I can spank you and order you to do things, I want to be able to order you to do this too, because this is actually very important.”

I could hardly believe it, but he was serious. And I don’t think anyone has ever done something like this before. I think I kinda like it. I just don't know what he'll do when I fail him. Will he punish me? Will he spank me? I mean, I want to eat more and I want to make him proud, but will there be consequences if I don't? I don't know. He didn't mention it.

But I do like this. I feel safe, protected, loved. And I want to make him proud. So today when I was eating dinner and I had only eaten half of it, I wasn’t hungry anymore, but I thought of him and I ate all of it. Because I do need to be healthier. And I don’t want to make him worried, or – even worse – disappoint him. I know he means well, and I love him for that.

Playing truant

2011-10-24T13:36:00.000+02:00

One of the best things about university/college is that you are not obliged to go to most of your classes. I don’t feel like going to class? Well, then I don’t go. Simple as that. I am responsible for my own actions; they are not going to hold my hand and force me to study or go to class. You are free. All you have to do is pass your exams.

What about a girl that doesn’t pass all her exams? She would come home to her very strict boyfriend and admit that, though she passed all of other exams, statistics had been a complete disaster – and to be honest, her other grades weren’t *that* great either. And when he would ask her why she had such bad grades, she would have to admit that she had not gone to a lot of her classes – just because she hadn’t really felt like it, and partying was a lot more fun than studying.

A spanking, of course, would follow. A lecture about the importance of education. He would say how much he cared about her; how much he wanted her to succeed. She was such a smart girl, such a good girl, she just had to try harder. And she would try harder, he said, because for every hour of class she skipped he would punish her. She would be allowed to go to parties, but only if she went to all her classes, did all of her homework, and got her grades up.

She would cry; he would spank her, often, because going to all of her classes was not always easy – especially not if she was hungover or just too tired. But next exams would be a lot better; and she would be a happy, thankful, very sore girl – getting a congratulations spanking, too.

Of course, this girl is not me. This girl is very naughty, to go to so many parties and skip so many classes. That is obviously something I would *never* do.

The threat

2011-10-23T16:07:00.002+02:00

“One day,” he said in response to my bratty behaviour, “I’ll take you to the public restroom, spank you till your butt is deep red, and then send you back.” We’d gone to a pub with friends that night, and I’d behaved perfectly all evening (with the exception of a couple of cheeky comments). I laughed. “You wouldn’t.” “Is that a challenge, Olivia? I really hope it wasn’t.” He makes me blush when he says things like that. I always wonder if he’s serious. When we go out together, I always think he can’t spank me; he would never, not in front of our friends, right? He’s given me the occasional sharp slap to my butt when they could see it; most recently when I was drunk and literally asked to be spanked. Out loud. While other people could hear me. The things alcohol does to you...

I’ve been spanked drunk. It’s a strange experience. Alcohol makes me sleepy (and I tend to give away details about my sex life that are WAY too much information for most people), and though I suppose a spanking could wake me up or even sober me up a little, when you’re as far gone as I was at that moment, only sleep and a lot of water helps. It felt good, though. It’s kind of like getting spanked when you’ve had a couple of painkillers; it doesn’t hurt as much, it makes you horny, and it could go on for hours. I like spankings like that. I’ve had a lot of spankings lately that didn’t hurt a lot, but made me want to rip of his clothes (I’d say “my clothes”, but if I’m getting spanked, chances are I’m already naked). Spankings like that always end in sex. Spankings like that make me moan.

It’s been ages since I’ve been over his knee, though, spanked for something I actually did wrong – spanked for actual misbehavior, and not just because we’re feeling horny. Do I miss it? Maybe a little. There was a strange sensation in how he threatened to spank me in the restroom next time I behave like that around our friends. I suppose I also have a punishment kink; I guess it’s not all about spanking. But I’m happy. I’m sore (well not now, unfortunately, but at least I am often). I’m insanely busy. I have a job now, and a lot of homework, and a party almost every day. And still, his threats resonate in my thoughts. I wonder, how much would I have to misbehave? How much would it take for him to spank me, hard, in public? And how much would it take for him to punish me again at home, with his belt (I miss the belt), before pushing me down and taking me from behind?

In other news, my sister now knows I’m kinky, and I’m sure that she is, too. Not as much as me, I suppose, but kinky enough for me to be happy that I don’t have to keep secrets for her anymore. My boyfriend has given her various hints that he would like to have a threesome with her and me, and he enjoys seeing me blush when he says things I don’t want her to know, and smile when he tells her she’s a bad girl. It’s always fun to see someone else get in trouble...even if the threats are idle ones.

Poker night: attempt #1

2011-10-23T01:03:00.001+02:00

It was a poker night. He'd invited her, but not to participate in the game. “You can leave your underwear at home”, he’d told her. She didn’t object; she never did. She knew she would sit at his feet and wait till the boys wanted more beer. She knew she would obey any order he would give her, but hesitate if one of his friends told her to do something. She knew she would probably be punished in front of them.

She didn’t know poker wasn’t the only game he had planned. She didn’t know they would play with her, too. But she would find out soon.

…and that was all she wrote. Literally. I have officially lost my ability to write. Please enjoy this picture that made me wish it was summer and want to beg for bruises.

Then I will enjoy having sex and getting spanked and feel bad because I can’t write about the wonderful things I have experienced the last few weeks. I will feel even worse because even simple fantasies about a girl being used at a poker game can’t be translated into a decent story anymore. And I will ask for “motivation” and get spanked even more and then I will be the happiest, naughtiest, sorest girl in the world. It will be amazing. And I will still be frustrated, because I miss this blog.

If you are still reading this blog, I love you. I do. Please be patient with me. This writer’s block will pass soon. I hope. In the meantime, please enjoy these lovely pictures.

Hi, this is me

2011-10-16T12:01:00.000+02:00

So I’m the worst blogger ever.

I am SO sorry! You will not believe how busy my life has been – I haven’t had the time to write, and in the rare moments that I did have some time to myself, I was simply too tired. But I am home now, and I don’t want to do anything but write.

I have so much to tell you, so many fantasies to share, but I want to post something else first. I regret not having posted the picture my boyfriend took of me a while ago. He doesn’t believe anymore that I would post it if he would take another picture, something naughtier, even though I do want him to photograph me.

So…Here it is. I edited it a little, but this is me. Spanked, not hard, just out of bath, and well…terribly shy.

This makes me nervous, but it makes me blush. And maybe if I post this, we can do other naughty things with a camera…and I can think about whether or not I’ll post it for three weeks again ;-)

At his feet

2011-10-07T22:26:00.000+02:00

She felt perfectly happy, sitting on the ground next to him. He was holding his book with one hand and stroking her hair with the other. He didn’t look at her, but that was okay. She felt perfectly submissive. Sitting hurt a little bit, but it reminded her of the things he had done with her and she enjoyed that. She lay her head on his lap and closed her eyes.

She remembered being tied to the ceiling beam. He spanked her, hard, but she knew he was holding back. Standing was difficult while being whipped: her knees were shaking and she stood on the tips of her toes. It was easier to let herself hang in the handcuffs. She remember him ordering her sternly to stand instead of hang. Disobedience never even crossed her mind.

She remembered that he put his fingers inside her and expressed surprise because she was so incredibly wet.

She remembered that he had suddenly stopped and everything had been completely silent for at least a few minutes. He didn’t say anything and she didn’t dare speak, scared that she wasn’t allowed to. He later told her that he was waiting for her to speak, so he could punish her for it. When he told her that, she felt disappointed that she hadn’t spoken, but proud that she was such a good girl.

She remembered screaming and moaning loudly. There was something empowering about being able to scream. In everything she ever did, she had to be reserved and controlled; only with him, she could be completely out of control. She could scream, she could support on him, she could let herself go and be exactly who she wanted to be, without restrictions. She could be free.

She remembered the room spinning around when he released her from the cuffs and removed her blindfold. She remembered almost falling in his arms, kissing him, feeling better and stronger than she had for a long time.

He closed his book, and looked down at her. She smiled back. There was something empowering about sitting at his feet; she was his, she was free, she was powerful. She felt perfectly loved. She felt alive. And she could finally breathe – and sleep – again.

Somewhere In Space (By Quai)

2011-10-05T10:33:00.000+02:00

This is a story Quai from Spanking Discussion wrote for me. A couple of days ago I was bored and I wanted to read a good, hot, little rough story. Amazingly, he immediately offered to write it for me.

Read it. Please. And then go to his blog and read all his other stories, because they're just as wonderful.

Thanks, Quai!

Somewhere in Space

Demands. Always demands. Assignments to read, reports to write, exams to take. Always demands, but never the right kind of demands. Never the kinds of demands she wanted.

O had had it. She’d had it with waiting. She had it with trying to fit into a mold that others said had been cast for her, but for which she had no interest in fitting into. Today was the day. Today was the day that freedom would win out over slavishness to routine. Courage would win out over timidity. She would choose her own destiny and stop pretending that she was less than them wild, beautiful creature that she was.

With the knowledge that every journey begins with getting one’s ass on the road, she had decided to listen to her untamed spirit, gas up the car and just drive. Determined to read and follow only internal signs, she stopped at the beckoning of a state park along the highway. She pulled out her canteen and her backpack, which contained a weather radio, a compass, a blanket, and her netbook.

O confidently made her way into the wooded area past the picnic tables and public restrooms. She obeyed a call only she could hear, a call only meant for her. Trekking onward, her fearlessness began to wane into courage and courage began to wane into doubt and doubt into fear. As the woods grew thicker and she felt like she was farther and farther from civilization, she began to think that this was a bad idea. And she began to wish she had put more thought and planning into the whole operation.

It wasn’t long before she longed for shelter and thought about turning back. She weighed how far she might be from her car against how foolish she would feel reversing course at that point. She tipped back the canteen, drinking in the lukewarm water, and continued to walk. Her fear had still not outranked the call she felt to keep marching.

Soon her fear changed to a nervous excitement as she smelled smoke from a wood fire. It felt like home, just as it felt like a change in destiny. But surely it was silly to think that a course change in life could be heralded by an aroma. She couldn’t however, shake the feeling, that she had turned some cosmic corner.

The simple, timber-built cabin which was the source of the smoke, was a welcome sight for O. It seemed well-maintained and solid somehow, for it’s small size. There was a fire pit nearby the structure, on which was situated an iron framework which supported a cast-iron pot over a low-burning fire. Underneath the smoke smell, came wafting the smell of a hearty soup from the pot. It smelled savory and comforting, as if it were designed just for that purpose. She breathed a sigh of longing and walked towards the front door of the cabin.

Next to the door, there was a small window that she peered carefully into, as she knocked on the door. She saw no one, and even after knocking for a couple of minutes, no one answered. So she walked back around to the fire pit and soup pot. She used a nearby towel to pick up and take off the hot lid. Trying carefully to set it aside, she accidentally touched part of it with the bare flesh of two of her fingers. The resulting burn caused her to drop it rapidly to the ground. It hit with a loud clang, causing the scurrying of several small animals and a few birds. O looked around to see if the noise could have possibly awakened the homeowner, whereas knocking on the door had not. No one stirred.

There was a ladle resting inside the pot, which she picked up and examined it’s contents. The soup looked as satisfying as it smelled and she blew across the top of it to cool it off enough to taste. When she was able to taste it, she was pleased to discover that it tasted as good as it looked and smelled.

It’s surprising how quickly one can begin to feel at home in an unknown environment, particularly if that environment has a home-like energy, something warm and tasty to eat, and a comfy sofa to park on for a while. Yes, just for a while, not to fall asleep in…

“Well,” he said “what have we here?”

O startled awake, never having realized that she’d fallen asleep. Trying to think quickly, she scrambled to grab her bag and stand up. But as soon as she neared full standing height, she realized that each of her arms bore cuffs attached to chains which were bolted to one side of the sofa.

“What the hell?” she asked. “What are you doing? Help!”

She yelled it, realizing as soon as it was out of her mouth that it was highly unlikely anyone would have been able to hear it. The tall, handsome man standing before her smiled almost warmly.

“You know, I had a dream about you last night.”

O jerked at the chains on the off chance that the bolts would rip from the floor. They didn’t budge.
“How could you have dreamed about me? You don’t know me? How long was I out?”

“I don’t know how long you were out, but I know you were here long enough to steal my food, do some littering, and a little breaking and entering,” he answered.

“I’m not… I didn’t…” she sputtered.

“But, not to worry,” he continued. “I haven’t called the Rangers or the Sheriff or anything.”

O’s mind was racing at this thought. At first she felt some brief sense of relief, before the reality of being trapped flooded back in. Her heart began to race and her breathing became more shallow.

“You’re gonna kill me aren’t you?” she said, timidly.

“Of course not,” he said. “The aforementioned Rangers and Sheriff are fully aware I’m out here. I imagine your car is parked a couple of miles away at the public picnic area.”

“Then what are we… What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

He crouched down in front of her, pushing her gently, but firmly, by her hips, back to a sitting position on the sofa. She swallowed hard.

“I’m here and you’re here because this is an opportunity,” he said.

O’s eyes grew wider and her breath, though still quickened, became deeper. She felt a flush of arousal at being this close to him, at feeling his touch, at being gently, but firmly, controlled.

“The opportunity is this desire you have… what you want, as well as what I want. My dream, your destiny,” he continued.

“How would you know what I want?” O asked, trying to sound skeptical and dismissive.

“Do you think I can’t feel it? I can. Just as you’re feeling it now. You want to be punished. You need it,” he said.

“I don’t…” she started, but he stopped her by putting his left hand over her mouth.

With his right hand he cupped the top of her left thigh and began tracing his way up to the waistband of her jeans. He rested his upper body against her knees, preventing her from being tempted to kick. He unbuckled her belt and stripped it out of its loops. Almost unconsciously he doubled it over and shook it to feel the weight of it. He then tossed it beside her on the sofa. Then he began unbuttoning her jeans. Using both hands he reached behind her hips and began sliding them down. When they were almost to her knees, he picked up the belt again and closed it around her lower legs, tying them together.

“Please don’t…” O said.

“Please don’t what?” he asked.

“Don’t rape me,” she said, her voice soft and emotional.

“That’s something I will never do,” he said, “When the time is right for me to enter you, we’ll both know. You’ll beg me, and if I’m so inclined, I will oblige you.”

He stood up and moved to the left side of the sofa where the chains were anchored. He began pulling each of them through eye bolts attached to the floor, decreasing the slack more and more, slowly, which caused O to have her wrists pulled toward that arm of the sofa. When he was satisfied that there was not enough slack to allow her to do anything but lie there, face down, he pulled another set of chains from underneath the other side of the couch. Those had cuffs attached as well and he buckled them around her ankles.

Satisfied that she could no longer interfere with her impending punishment, he stuffed a few pillows under her to raise her hips higher. She pouted.

He ran his hand in a line from the top of her head, down her back, tracing her spine and resting at the swell of her buttocks. Her panties were pretty but they needed to come down. He pulled them down to mid-thigh. Parting the cheeks of her bottom, he saw the glistening lips of her pussy and inhaled her musk.

The man stood up and walked over to a chest. From the top drawer he pulled out a razor strap and some baby oil.

“It’s time for you to help me oil my strap,” he said.

O forced herself to look over and up at him. He approached her and began to rub the baby oil over her bottom-cheeks. He would protect her skin, greatly increase the sting, and get his strap oiled.

He stood up and began whipping her with the strap. Each stroke landed with a hearty slapping sound, followed by a satisfying “Ow!” from O. He fell into a steady rhythm, delivering a stroke about every other second. With each blow, she felt two kinds of pain – the initial sting of the strap against her moist bottom as well as it’s heaviness, which was giving her an increasingly bruising feeling. The whipping was easy for the man. With a strap of the right weight and length, the only strength you really had to put into it was lifting it over your head. Then let it fall with accuracy on its target, and listen to the resulting squeal.

Soon O began to pound her fists and move her hips from side to side in a vain effort to avoid strokes from the strap. She was moaning now, her face flushed and wet with tears.

The man took a break from strapping and knelt beside her once more. He stroke her hair and tugged it, turning her head to face him. Her lips were parted and her watery eyes appeared dazed. He rubbed her back with his right hand, while reaching under her to unbutton her shirt. Underneath the shirt, he played with and tweaked her nipples, feeling her breathing body from both sides now.

Seeing her reddened, hot bottom, he ran his hands over both cheeks. The sheen of baby oil had been whipped away by the strap, replaced by a lighter moisture of perspiration. He reached for the baby oil again and began applying it to her bottom and upper thighs. Once again he parted her cheeks, noting that the lips of her pussy were more plump, more parted, and more moist.

He stood up again and resumed his duties with the strap.

Feeling him move to stand up, she moaned, “Nooo… please don’t spank me any more. Noooo…”

Of course he continued strapping her, this time only waiting about a second between strokes, realizing the her pain tolerance would be higher with the endorphins and arousal she was experiencing. Soon she was moaning again, this time with that wonderful combination of pain and arousal. She was falling into space now, where she desperately wanted it to stop and maddeningly wanted it to go on indefinitely. O began to understand why this felt like home. It wasn’t the place, but the space. The need for being in that space was what had driven both of them to this point.

Having covered her bottom and upper thighs with a deep red hue of interlacing stripes, he stopped strapping O. He began releasing her from her cuffs. Aware that she should feel a sense of relief, she instead felt an unexpected disappointment. Finally free, she should have felt like taking the opportunity to run from him, but instead felt driven to run into his arms. But that was crazy. She didn’t know this man. She was frozen.
He looked deep into her eyes, his arousal and feeling of connection with her evident.

He said, “Get dressed now.”

“But why? Don’t you want to…” O said, not really knowing what to say.

“Of course I do. But I need to know that you really would choose this… choose me… if given a choice. I’m letting you go, and if you return to me, we’ll both know,” he said.

Wordlessly, she began getting dressed and gathering up her things. She already knew that she would be back. And she felt he knew it too.

As she made her way to the door, she turned to him and asked, “But you never told me your name. Who are you?”

“You’ll find out when you come back. You know where to find me.”

What I want

2011-10-03T20:29:00.003+02:00

There's a beam at my ceiling. Everytime I look at it, I am suddenly a little turned on. It's not just a black piece of wood. I can't help but imagine myself tied to it, hands above my head, legs spread. Blindfolded, immobile, completely submitted to whatever he wants to do with me.

I think I have forgotten how much that thing can hurt. Ah, the riding crop. It hurts, so much, and yet it's such a lovely thing. I have an intense love/hate-affair with it. I haven't felt it for a very long time. I think I have forgotten how much pain it can cause me, because I look at this picture and think: "that's so hot. I want that."

I did something very bad last night. I am not going to tell you what exactly. I just disobeyed; just like that. Just because I knew he couldn't do anything about it.

Well, I thought he couldn't do anything about it, because he's so far away. I sent him a text at midnight, confessing what I had done. I was a bit nervous because I didn't want him to be angry. But he wasn't angry. He just called me out of bed at 8 in the morning.

"Hmm why are you so mean?" I mumbled. "Because you cheated. Get out of bed, now." He didn't really seem angry; but it was clear he was punishing me. As as much as I complained about it, and as tired as I was, it felt rather good, getting punished, even from a distance. I need to feel his authority. I want to be punished. I don't want to obey just because he tells me to. I want to say: "make me." I want to say "yeah, I have been disobedient and insolent. What are you going to do about it?" I don't enjoy being a brat a lot. It's fun for a while, but I want to submit again. I want to be made to submit.

I want to be tied to the beam at my ceiling and whipped with his belt and the riding crop. I want to be fucked, hard. I want to be taken. I want to obey to every order he gives me, without hesitation. I want to please him. I want him. I want to be his.

And... I want a hug. I'm so tired.

Bedtime

2011-10-01T01:44:00.001+02:00

Insomnia. For years, I have had very close relationship with it. I've gone through periods of horrible nightmares, of just not sleeping at all, of falling asleep in class because I just didn't seem to be able to sleep at night. I have taken countless of sleeping pills over the years, I have tried relaxation exercises, yoga, fitness, fresh air, hot milk,... But nothing helped as well as a spanking.

I sleep unbelievably well with a sore butt. I don't have nightmares anymore, I wake up relaxed and well-rested, and I can be happy and cheerful and energetic all day. At first I was amazed by the effect it had. Now...well, if I suffer from insomnia, it's because I haven't been spanked (hard) in too long. I know that now, so I can ask for one. Because a bedtime doesn't work: even if I am sent to bed, it doesn't mean that I'll sleep well. Only a spanking will do.

And well, an orgasm or three. So when I am tired, and I can't sleep, and my boyfriend isn't here, I fantasize about bedtime spankings, masturbate, and that helps too. Not quite as well, but honestly, after years of chronic fatigue, I'm glad that I can sleep at all.

I can just imagine being a schoolgirl in an English boarding school, suffering from insomnia. Reading with a flashlight under the covers, because reading is a lot more interesting than just lying awake and worrying (she could be masturbating too, in a room full of other sleeping girls, but that's too naughty for me to even think about). Wouldn't it be lovely to get caught, be pulled out of bed, led silently outside, and spanked hard in the teacher's office, or someplace else where no one could hear it? Lectured about the importance of sleep, about how I could keep other girls awake. Told that he hoped that I'd go to sleep now like a good girl. Tearful and very sorry, I'd go back to bed, rub my sore butt and, overwhelmed by the emotions and endorphines, immediately fall asleep.

Ah, bedtime spankings. It sounds lovely. And since I am writing this at 1:30 am, I think I might need one.

Finally, an update

2011-09-30T16:13:00.000+02:00

I need longer days. I need more time to do everything that I want to do. Lately my days have been filled with university introductions, very long classes, very heavy parties, and a few hangovers. I have been spanked in every room of my new home. My dorm room is a mess right now and I have to do the dishes, but I also have to shower and remove the make-up that I fell asleep with yesterday night.

People on Twitter have noticed that my life has become very busy. I'm not online very often anymore, and when I am, I'm too exhausted to write. It is now a little before 11am. I have just gotten out of bed and I have class in two hours, but I don't care. I just want to write and tell you about the last few days.

Last weekend, I had a housewarming party in my dorm room. I was spanked that day - a lot. We drank that night...a lot. I gave my boyfriend a blowjob barely 10 minutes before our guests arrived. A couple of days later, we went partying. I sat on a barstool, a little sore from the spanking I had gotten before the party, and I drank tequila. That was a very, very bad idea. I was spanked again later, but I was so drunk that I didn't feel a thing.

Yesterday I got the chance to catch up with a kinky friend. It was a lovely night; we talked and laughed a lot. I knew he respects me and the relationship I have with my boyfriend too much to spank me, and I had a lot of fun being naughty, safe in the knowledge that nothing would happen. Not a lot of girls could get away with behaviour like that around him, and it was great to know that.

"So, young lady, how much have you studied this week?" "...My schoolyear started three days ago. Why would I study?" He frowned. "Next time I see you, I want you to have studied." I laughed. "Or else what?" "Or else...I will frown at you." "Oh wow, I'm so scared."

Yeah. That was me. Bratty and naughty and extremely smug that I could get away with it. Oh, I know he would have spanked me if that was something that I would be okay with. If I would want to play with others, I'm sure my behaviour would not have gone without consequences. If I would have behaved like that around my boyfriend, I'm pretty sure I'd have trouble sitting afterwards. Well, I don't want to play with others. I love my boyfriend and getting spanked by others would feel like cheating for me - something I would never do. But of course, that doesn't mean that I can't enjoy being a brat sometimes :-)

I should get ready for class. I am really very tempted to skip it, but I won't. Because I'm a good girl. Good and sweet and innocent. People like my boyfriend claim I am not innocent anymore, but you shouldn't believe them, they're just silly men waiting for an excuse to spank me, unaware that if the girl likes it, you don't need a *reason* to spank her. Can I have some chocolate now?

(I wrote this post this morning, but didn't publish it...and after two hours of an extremely boring class I decided to skip the last hour and spend some time on my blog :-D...I still have to do the dishes, though.)

Yes, please

2011-09-26T20:25:00.000+02:00

I love the look on her face. It's the look that I have during a lot of spankings, too: pure enjoyment. The thrill of feeling his strenght. My heart that makes a little jump every time he tells me I'm a bad girl. I absolutely love how he pushes me against the wall, holds my hands above my head and looks me in the eyes with a look that says "you're mine". I'm his.

"Do you really want me to punish you again, Olivia?" he says and laughs. I blush. "Is 'yes, please' a bad answer?"

He spanks me and I moan. Pure pleasure. The pain overwhelmes me. I'm not a masochist, but I can drown in the endorphines and find absolute bliss, extreme and utter desire.

He slaps me and pulls my hair, and it makes me want to have sex right then and there. He says something intelligent and I want to rip off his clothes. He looks at me and I almost forget how to breathe. He kisses my forehead and it thrills me; it makes me feel small and loved and wonderful. It's all absolutely enchanting.

So...do I want you to punish me?

Yes, please.

The housewarming

2011-09-25T14:23:00.000+02:00

Sometimes...the house isn't the only thing that's warmed :-)

More in a post in a couple of days! (oh, I'm such a tease...)

Marks

2011-09-20T01:12:00.000+02:00

He left his mark on me; a memory of his love for me, a reminder to behave better next time, a trophy that I carry around, but I don't show it to anyone. It's just my dirty little secret. Sometimes it's a reward and sometimes it's a punishment, but I always love it. I feel it in every movement. I am reminded every single time, over and over again, of his dominance and his love and strenght.

He left his mark on me. I feel it in my deepest core. It's not just bruises or handprints ; it are memories, and they make me smile wherever I am. I remember the things he says; I remember that intelligence, his intelligence, is the ultimate aphrodisiac. I remember the way he looks at me and tells me he loves me. I remember the touch of his lips. I remember his hands, that can hurt me a lot more than anyone would ever expect.

He left his mark on me. Bruises will fade, but memories won't. And if I dare forget, for just a second, he is there to remind me. In the most amazing, wonderful way.

I am trying something that I think I've forgotten how to do: write for myself. Write because I can't sleep. Write because I need to, not because someone wants me to. I think I like it. I hope you do too, which is only more proof that I have forgotten how to write for no one else but me.

Do it yourself

2011-09-15T10:57:00.000+02:00

When I told him, he was surprised. He laughed and showed interest that made me suddenly very shy, even ashamed. "I used to spank myself". The words are even hard to write.

I remember doing it long before I met someone who would do it for me, just because I wanted to know what it felt like. And it felt good, so I kept doing it, though never as hard as someone else would hit me. It never really hurt either, not enough. It's embarrassing. But if felt good.

Months later, in a long-distance relationship, on the phone with someone who told me "harder, faster, more". Hurting myself till he was satisfied. I don't remember feeling satisfied. It's not just about pain, I think. It's about power, about control. It's about knowing that you are, for just a moment, dependent on his strength. It's about knowing that he has complete control over you.

And then, a couple of days ago, when he suddenly put the hairbrush in my hand and told me to do it myself. I protested, a lot, until he gave up and started spanking me again. "I don't want to," I said. "Why not? Are you ashamed?" "I don't know...a little..." And he said that I don't have to feel ashamed, not for him. And I think that if he would have insisted a little more, I probably would have done it. Just because I hate disobeying him.

Deep down, it doesn't feel good. I don't want to spank myself, don't want to resort to the desperate things I did when I didn't have someone yet who wanted to spank me. But it feels even worse to disobey him. Knowing that he wanted me to do something, and that I simply refused...I almost feel like a bad girlfriend. And that doesn't feel good.

I still don't know how anyone could do it. I don't know how I did it. How can any spanking you give yourself be a good spanking? I could never hurt myself quite enough, and like I said, the pain isn't nearly enough. It's not always about the pain. Spanking is, for me, so much more than just pain.

His girls

2011-09-14T18:20:00.002+02:00

I found this picture this morning and have been thinking about it all day. A man walks into his bedroom and catches his girlfriend having sex with another girl. Is he angry? Or is he turned on, and does he join them? My boyfriend said he would probably be a combination of both; it would probably turn into a pretty intense but hot punishment scene.

And still, I don't know if I like the scene. I would never cheat on my boyfriend. Never. But maybe, if I change the setting, I don't have to...

Two girls; his girls. Sent to bed early, to their separate bedrooms, while he goes out for a business dinner (or something like that, any excuse for him wearing a suit). He doesn't just know the other girl, she also often participates in their sexual activities. It is a relationship and they love each other and trust each other. In no way is anyone cheating on each other. Only, this particular night, they have been a little naughty and he has punished them.

But they miss each other, and are still feeling a bit naughty, so as soon as he is gone one of the girls sneaks to the other girl's bedroom, and crawls into bed with her. They hug and kiss a little. They don't like to wear sleeping gowns and are comfortable sleeping naked in each other's arms.

I imagine there to be a playful pillow fight. Kisses and caresses, too. They are well aware that they will probably get caught, but that just makes it more exciting, and they are confident that he will be so turned on when he sees his girls in bed with each other, that he will join them and forgive them for their disobedience and misbehaviour.

But when they hear the front door close, and hear him coming up the stairs, not at all in a good mood, they panic. Realizing there is no time for the girl to run back to her own room, she hides in the closet. But he is no idiot; the blush on his girl's face tells him what is going on. And as he opens the closet he finds his other girl there. His girls. So naughty. So disobedient. It makes him angry that they don't listen to him, but at the same time, he is rather turned on. I suppose there is only one possible way to proceed...

Both of them, punished hard. Over his knee, with a hairbrush. Tied to the bed; whipped hard with his belt and riding crop. He lectures; reminds they who is in charge, reminds them that they are his girls and that they need to listen. There is hair pulling, face slapping, corner time for both of them. And then he takes them hard, fucks them and forgives them eventually for being the disobedient brats that they have been all day. Because, they may be very naughty girls... but they are his naughty girls, and he loves them.

Yes, that is a scene that I like. Still, I want to be the only one my boyfriend loves. The only lock to his key, if you know what I mean. So it is just a story of something that could have happened with the people in this picture. A polygamous relationship is not something that I want. What's hot is just the idea of a pretty girl participating, just once, in certain activities. Just a girl that I can be naughty with; just a girl that we can play with. That could be fun. It could even be very hot; if it is done in trust and consent and love. I'd like to have a threesome, just once. But cheating or polyamory...no. That doesn't turn me on at all.

Six months

2011-09-11T12:19:00.001+02:00

If you’re my boy, let’s take a short cut we remember
and we’ll enjoy picking apples in late September like we’ve done for years
then we’ll take a long walk through the cornfield,
and I’ll kiss you between the ears…

(photo by Markus Shillinger)

It has been exactly six months. We sat by the Tiber in Rome and he had his arms around me. Close friends, best friends, but we both knew it was more than that. I felt uneasy because I could only think “I wish he would kiss me”, so I was making jokes until I suddenly jumped up and said: “I want to try out my new handcuffs.” I had bought them in a small shop in San Gimignano, and he was the only one who knew about it. He knew everything; that I liked to be spanked, that I wanted to be dominated, that I had fantasized about him many times. We had been telling each other things like this for months…but somehow, it had never been the right time to act on our fantasies.

It would seem today was the right time. Still in handcuffs I stood before him, laid my arms around his neck…and we kissed. Finally. We had both waited so long for this…and it was even better than I had imagined it would be.

I can see how our relationship evolved on the map of Italy. Rome; first kiss. Paestum; first spanking. Assisi; first time we slept together, first time I sneaked back to my own hotel room at 7 in the morning. Venice; first time we were all alone in a hotel room for an entire night. And Pompeii…oh Pompeii.

It was the first time he said he loved me. We were sitting in a quiet street, where no one could see us. Our relationship was still a secret to our friends and travel companions, so we had to sneak around. During a couple of free hours we’d found a bench to sit on, out of sight. We were holding hands. He kissed me in a wonderful, soft but passionate way. And then he looked me in the eye; suddenly a serious look on his face.

“I love you.”

For a second I forgot how to breathe.

I opened and closed my mouth and stared at him, completely stunned. And then…I laughed. I kissed him, but I was *this* close to bursting out into tears.

It was quiet for a minute while I snuggled up against his chest and processed what he had just said to me.

A minute has never seemed so long.

“I love you too,” I said, barely a whisper. He had scared me, really scared me. It weren’t easy words to say for me; and if I said them, I wanted to be absolutely sure that I meant it and that he meant it, too. But I could see it in his eyes; he cared. He really loved me. And he had loved me for a very long time.

It wasn’t easy. Relationships are never easy. While April was amazing and May was absolutely perfect, June was hard. We struggled to find the reasons why we were together. We spent two weeks apart. I cried a lot and I don’t know what he did. But after two weeks we suddenly realized we didn’t want to be apart. We loved each other. We wanted each other. We couldn’t spend our lives separated.
And then July, and August, and now it is September and I can only say that I love him even more every single day. I have said this so many times on this blog. And I know forever is a long time, and I know we might be too young to say things like this, but it’s what it feels like right now. Forever. Maybe this was meant to be. Maybe this will always be. I hope so.

I remember when six years ago, he was the boy that was one year older and sold us candy. He was, even then, wonderfully eloquent and insanely smart. I remember when three years ago, he was my shoulder to cry on because my girlfriend had dumped me. He was my best friend and he was in love with me, but it was just the wrong time. I remember 9 months ago when I wanted to tell him that I wanted to be with him, and not with the terrible boyfriend that I had at the time, but he had a new girlfriend and couldn’t stop talking about her.

And this morning, when I woke up, he was the first thing on my mind. The boy that I could have loved a long time ago; but we waited, and we chose the perfect time, and I will always remember Rome as the city where we finally fell in love. I like to believe that this was meant to be. I like to believe that sometimes, love lasts forever.

If I’m your girl, swirl me around your room with feeling
and as we twirl, the glow in the dark stars on your ceiling will shine for us
as love sweeps over the room, ‘cause we tend to make each other blush
you make me blush :-)

- the bird and the worm by Owl City

A dream come true

2011-09-10T19:40:00.000+02:00

As she slowly undressed and put her uniform on – if you could call the exceptionally short skirt a uniform – a thousand thoughts went through her mind. Suddenly, role-play seemed the scariest thing she had ever done in her life and for someone who once jumped off a cliff and hoped her parachute would keep her in the air, that had to be pretty damn scary. There were a hundred possibilities for scenes, a hundred reasons that she could imagine to spank her or force her on her knees. But as she loosened a couple of buttons on her white blouse, she suddenly didn’t want to play a role anymore. Goodness, surely dressing like this was enough excitement for one day?

Slowly, she pulled up her knee socks and stepped in her shoes. Her heels were so high she knew she had to almost be as tall as he was, but she couldn’t help but feel terribly small. She was insecure and painfully aware of how short her skirt was. She was wearing a black thong that left hardly anything to imagination – because, obviously, slutty schoolgirls don’t bother with modest underwear.

He was waiting in the other room. She walked back to him, in each step aware of her lack of balance. She felt her knees shake and could only hope to not make her fool of herself. She could perfectly well walk in these shoes, she had done it before, but at that moment she wasn’t sure she could even remember her own name.

She opened the door and entered the room.

His look said it all. He looked at her as if he had never seen anyone as sexy as her. He kissed her and told her how sexy she was. He slowly pulled her over his lap. “Do you think I’ll be able to make your bottom as red as your skirt?” She laughed. “I doubt it.” “Well, we can try.” And he did. He didn’t seem to try very hard, though, but maybe that’s because he was so distracted by how sexy she was (oh, there’s an observation that will get me spanked). He didn’t spank her very hard, but that didn’t stop her from moaning and wriggling just a little bit. “Is my schoolgirl getting horny?” “Yes…” she moaned. Oh, this was perfect. This is why she could never pretend to be a modest schoolgirl; she couldn’t possibly object when he pushed her on the bed and made her scream out in pleasure. Perfect, just perfect.

There’s something that happens to you when your dreams come true. It’s an indescribable feeling and I’m not talented enough to put into words what happens when you experience something that you’ve fantasized about for so long. I can only tell you that even now I have trouble believing that the girl I am describing here is actually me. But I had a lovely evening. And I look at him and still feel my heart race and know that every single evening will be lovely, if only because I’m with him. There’s something that happens to you when you fall in love. I think it might be what some people call magic.

Naturally

2011-09-07T12:59:00.001+02:00

“You are so hot when you’re on your knees.”

Of course, I’m one of those girls who love it when their boyfriend says something like that. I also love being on my knees. I love having just a little of power over him; I am the one responsible for his erection, for his orgasm. I love looking up at him because he always has such a wonderful expression on his face. I love the noises he makes right before he’s finished.

I love it when he gives me the freedom to do what I want down there. When I look up, his hands are behind his back. It is such an authoritative posture. He gives me freedom, but he still looks like he’s in charge. He is the one in charge. I love knowing that. I love feeling the power he has over me, even when he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to touch me; one look, one word. It’s enough.

He’s a natural at this. He’s a leader. He always takes control and he’s great at it. The first time he spanked me, I was surprised by how good he was at it. It surprised me how easy it seemed to be for him to spank me. I thought he might have difficulty with it; I thought he might be too scared to hurt me. But he wasn’t. In fact, in that first spanking, he made me feel as if this was meant to be. Maybe this was a part of our relationship that would have blossomed whether I would have told him that I like spanking or not. Maybe this dynamic between us would have been there with or without kink. It all just seems to come naturally. That’s special. That’s extraordinary, and I love it.

Darling, I love you. And you are so unbelievably sexy when I’m on my knees (and also when I’m not).

Fantasies

2011-09-06T11:07:00.002+02:00

She felt pretty, standing in front of the mirror in her inappropriate school uniform. She felt also insecure because she knew she was as exposed as she could be while wearing clothes. Picturing his look in her mind made her nervous. She had asked for this, of course, she had told him that she wanted to be a schoolgirl. But even now, she still didn’t know what he wanted to do with the scene. He would come over soon, but she didn’t know what he would do.

What was he, exactly, in this scene? She thought it might be hot if he were her teacher. Maybe he had caught her cheating of her boyfriend’s test, as she had done so often. Maybe he had just looked at her and decided that for her outfit, she should be punished anyway. Maybe she had gotten bad grades….maybe she had offered to do whatever he wanted, in exchange for better grades. Maybe she was not just the girl over his knees, but also the girl on her knees. Maybe she was the slut, or maybe she was the demure, shocked girl. Maybe he wasn’t her teacher; maybe he was her daddy, whipping her with his belt for her bad grades. But no, then again, she didn’t really want a daddy, that was not really a turn-on for her. Maybe he was just her boyfriend, and maybe she was just herself. Maybe he would spank her for cheating of his tests, or for helping him cheat, or for being drunk at a school party.

Maybe she was the rude girl that didn’t take her job in the student council seriously enough; maybe he was the president of the student council who decided that she needed a little bit of “motivation”, or even better…correction. Maybe he would do exactly what he had threatened to do during one of the meetings; punish her for being so disrespectful to him. Oh yes, she remembered that. She also remembered that he never did what he had threatened to do.

Or maybe…just maybe, he wouldn’t punish her at all. Maybe he was her boyfriend that surprised her in the hallways and spanked her or fucked her in the teacher’s lounge. Maybe it was fun and sexy, instead of a punishment and, well, sexy.

So many possibilities. She didn’t really know what to think of all of them. But standing in front of the mirror in her schoolgirl uniform, she knew it would be okay. Maybe it was excitement enough to just be spanked while wearing something like this; maybe her dream of being a schoolgirl came true the moment she put on that skirt.

Whatever it will be, whatever he's got in mind, it will have to wait. He is now sick in bed, and I want him to take care of himself instead of come here and do all sorts of exhausting things, so I'm just going to sit here and pout and be angry at the world. Maybe someone will spank me for being selfish or childish, then.

Embarrassed, but...

2011-09-01T22:41:00.000+02:00

I have something to tell you. A secret. Something I haven’t even told my boyfriend yet. I suspect he already knows, because he knows me frustratingly well, but that’s not the point. Here’s my secret:

A while ago a girl we know said something cheeky to her boyfriend. I smiled and didn’t say anything, but my boyfriend thought it was necessary to say that girls should know better than to talk to their boyfriends like that. He also thought it was necessary to say that I wouldn’t even dare to talk to him like that. “Discipline”, he said to the guy, “it’s all about discipline.”

At this point I was blushing and I didn’t really know what to say. I felt rather embarrassed that he would tell our friends so publically about the power he holds over me. Our friends laughed and said that he was bragging and that he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Oh,” my boyfriend replied, “I’m sure Olivia will tell you that I know exactly what I am talking about when I say ‘discipline’.”

And I agreed; knowing that if I would contradict him, I would be in a lot more trouble than I wanted to be in. But I was so embarrassed. Although the girl knows about the kinky things we do, the boy doesn’t…or well, didn’t.

My boyfriend often makes sexist jokes. Some people think he has no respect for women. I know better and that’s why I laugh at his jokes. They’re funny, if you can deal with a little sexism and if you won’t jump up and start screaming how women should be respected.

Actually, when I think about it, I feel a little proud. It feels good to hear him say that I’m a better girlfriend, or that I know better than to be so rude. It feels good when he brags about the power he has over me. Somehow, it feels as if he brags a little about my submission, too. Honestly, I am proud that I can submit to him; to anyone. I’ve always thought of submission as a gift. No one can take your submission. Lots of people can force me to obey, but obeying is not the same as submitting. Not even close.

Embarrassment makes me horny, I think. It turns me on when he pulls my hair or slaps me in public. I even felt a little bit proud, standing next to him in a sex shop. I was the good, submissive girlfriend. The girl that would do anything for him. The girl that respects him, loves him, adores him, follows him. I’m too shy or just reluctant to admit to people that I like to be spanked (and other things)…but when he brags, when he feels proud of me and shows that to other people…well, I like it. I like his sexist jokes, I like being obedient and doing as he says, and I like it when he threatens to spank me when there are people that can hear us.

That’s my secret. I don’t know if it really is a secret; I suspect he already knows – I suspect you could have guessed it, too. I suppose I am pretty transparent. But now I’ve told you, and now you all know for sure, and I’m feeling shy and a bit naughty, so now I’m going to hide in my boyfriend’s bed and try to get spanked for something.

Bye bye. Until next time.

Relief

2011-08-31T22:51:00.003+02:00

I cried tears of joy and relief when I got the news. He held me; he let me jump around afterwards to get rid of all the adrenaline. After months of worries, of stress, of fear, I could barely believe that one phone call could change my life so drastically. Suddenly, I was free. Suddenly, I had graduated. Suddenly, I am a university student. It’s amazing. I am proud of myself but I am also so thankful for the people who pushed me into studying more; especially my boyfriend. If he hadn’t looked out for me, if he hadn’t ordered me to study quite a few times, I probably wouldn’t have gotten such a great result. I feel incredibly lucky to have a boyfriend who takes care of me like that :-)

I suppose you want to hear about the reward I got for graduating. I will tell you that it was amazing. I cannot remember the last time that I’ve been so relaxed. Of course, after a hard spanking I’m always relaxed, because every thought has been beaten out of me, but this was different. This wasn’t a very hard spanking, either.

He started with a massage. It was the first thing he offered me when we got to my bedroom. I took my clothes off and lay naked on the bed. He sat on the back of my legs and started with my back. I had felt so scared, for weeks. I couldn’t write because I was just too stressed out. But now, feeling his hands massage my shoulders and my back and eventually softly caress my bottom, I felt a weight had fallen off my shoulders. When he started spanking me, I felt each slap resonate through my body. He spanked slowly, hard but lovingly. I closed my eyes and enjoyed it.

“Do you know why I’m spanking you?” he asked.

For a second there, I felt a bit nervous. Was I supposed to know? Had I done something wrong? I had been trying to provoke him all day, even though I wouldn’t admit that, but I didn’t think he was in any mood to punish me; not after the wonderful news we had just gotten. “No…?” I said, a bit insecure. “Because you deserve it!” he said, and I heard the smile in his voice. I laughed. “Why? What did I do?”

“Nothing. This is not a spanking because you’ve been naughty, this is a spanking because you were great and I am proud of you.” I smiled, and sighed, and told him I loved him. And he spanked me softly until I was ready to beg him to fuck me. I had multiple orgasms while he whispered things in my ear. “Come on, Olivia. Come on, love, cum for me.”

Oh wow. How unbelievably hot is it to have someone order you to orgasm? I loved it. Absolutely loved it, and loved him.

That wasn’t the end of our night. I care about his orgasms, too (and well, I like sucking his dick, but that’s another story); so much that I am willing to sit on my knees even though it hurts, so much that I don’t even mind getting sperm in my eye. Yes, you read that right; in my eye.

Okay, okay, I’ll that you that story too. You know how in porn those “sperm facials” always look so hot and horny and awesome? I had told him I wanted to experience that one day; so of course, he gave it to me. Only, what they don’t show in porn, is, even though it is hot and horny and awesome, there is a possibility of sperm coming on or in your eye. And that HURTS.

My boyfriend just laughed at me, of course. He did help me get all the sperm of my face; with his tongue *and* with his boxer. Don’t know why; maybe he didn’t see the tissues on my desk?

Later, we took a bath together. Afterwards, I bent over and placed my hands on the far end of the bathtub. He spanked me hard with my hairbrush and took a picture of me afterwards. I think he is expecting me to post that picture here. I could blame my sister for taking the cable that I need to transfer pictures from my phone to the computer with her, but honestly: even if I could put that picture on my computer right now, I’m not so sure I would. And I could think of a thousand excuses why not, but to be honest, I’m just not ready for it. It wasn’t even such a pretty picture.

Maybe next time. We shall see. Because guess what? I am free. In three weeks, I will start as a student in a great university; but right now, I am free, and I have no obligations, and I have all the time in the world. There’s no rush at all. That feels great.

PS: I am soooo frustrated. We ordered my schoolgirl skirt and a wireless vibrating thong on the internet; and those idiots sent me the wrong package. The only good thing about this is that I might get to be punished for it. No, I don’t see how it’s my fault that those idiots screwed up; but if I’m going to get spanked for it, I am sure as hell not complaining :-)

His voice

2011-08-26T14:21:00.000+02:00

I love the way his voice changes when I disobey. As stubborn as I can be, he has his way to break through every wall that I put up. I can’t be angry with him for longer than five seconds; he won’t let me.

“Get up,” he says, still in a normal way. He talks as if he expects that I will obey him, no matter what, even when I’m a bit angry and stubborn and I don’t want to be the good little girl at that moment.

“No.”

“Olivia, get up. Now.”

“No.”

He sighs. And then, his voice changes. There’s a threat in how he speaks to me; get up now, or you’ll be sorry. “Olivia…”
I say nothing. I don’t even look at him; I’ve got my face pushed in the pillow and I refuse to look up. I won’t give in to him. Not because he doesn’t deserve it, but just because I feel like being stubborn.

He grabs a handful of hair and yanks my head back. I try not to look at him, but I feel his eyes piercing through me. “Get. Up. Now.”

I don’t move or say anything. It’s quiet for a minute while he holds my hair. It hurts, but mostly, it makes me feel small and excited. He knows; I think he sees right through me. I can’t hide how much I like it when he takes control.

He lets go, and I get up. A bit angry, aggressive, frustrated, but he starts laughing because he knows I’m only pretending to be so angry. And barely a few minutes later we’re laughing together and kissing again, but that’s just how it works. With him, I can’t be stubborn. Even if I am, he breaks through it quickly; by spanking me, or by talking to me in that incredibly hot way, or by doing things that make me blush and melt and give up my resistance. I don’t how he does it. I don’t know how he knows me so well. But I love it.

Guilty until proven innocent

2011-08-24T19:19:00.000+02:00

I haven't been feeling in any mood to write lately. It's slowly getting back, along with my uncontrollable urge to be naughty. I didn't really know how much I wanted a spanking anymore; as I said, I've got some things going on in my life, and the stress is getting to me.

But of course, nothing like a spanking to make stress go away. Nothing like multiple orgasms and waking up next to the most amazing man you could ever think of, either.

So, yesterday he was here and we had a great time. I was hoping he would spank me, but I wasn't entirely sure. And then this happened:

"I was very good this weekend," I said, with a naughty smile.

"Oh, were you? Can you prove that?"

"Well...no..."

According to my boyfriend…if you can’t prove that you weren’t naughty, well, then you were naughty. Guilty until proven innocent.

I hadn't done anything wrong, honestly. But well...who cares, right? :-) I got spanked without doing anything naughty; or because he thinks I might have done something naughty, and that's a good enough reason.

I would scream "this is so unfair", if I wasn't so happy…and well, if I didn't enjoy getting spanked so much. He knows me so well. I love him so much.

And now that my stress is gone for a while, and now that I realize again that kinky stuff is exciting and that I like writing, I think I need something new to write about. I was late to my dentist appointment today because I was too busy masturbating; do we all agree that I should be punished for this? Yes? Good.

Help me out here

2011-08-23T09:44:00.001+02:00

My boyfriend is coming over today, and I've been way too well-behaved.

I have done nothing naughty, nothing at all that could get me spanked.

So I guess I need to do something now.

I know there are lots of naughty girls out there...and I honestly can't think of any ways to be naughty - I'm such a ridiculously good girl.

Any ideas? :-D

Restrained

2011-08-22T19:43:00.000+02:00

Some days I wake up wanting only one thing. Most of the time that's just to go back to bed, but yesterday that thing was to be handcuffed. Spanking was there in my mind too, somewhere distant, something that just comes with being tied up. All I could concentrate on was that one thought: "I wish I were handcuffed."

I wasn't, though. My boyfriend was in Switzerland (but he came back today!) and I had things to do. There was no time to be immobile. I wanted to let him know what I was feeling and I'm not sure why I didn't - I guess I didn't want to bother him while he was on holiday. I fantasized all day about doing everything in handcuffs. I couldn't fall asleep at night because I kept wishing that I was restrained to the bed. I could only imagine myself complaining that I couldn't use my hands, and him answering that I only needed my mouth - and not for talking, either.

Maybe I could handcuff myself and fall asleep like that, I kept thinking, but I was too tired to get up and find my key. I could imagine him ordering me to get up - possibly spanking me if at first I refused. I could imagine sleeping while tied to his bed. And with nothing more than fantasies I eventually fell asleep; only to wake up this morning, wanting to be restrained even more. It wasn't even that much about the handcuffs. If I just wanted to be handcuffed, I had put them on and enjoyed it alone. But it's like spanking yourself - it's not the same. What I really want, more than anything in these moments, is to be under his control - subject to what he wants. Handcuffed just because I haven't deserved the freedom to move. Restrained just because he enjoys seeing me like that.

Good thing he reads my blog. Now I can only hope he'll indulge me and give me what I spent this entire post begging for. I was a very good girl, honestly. I always am, especially when he's out of the country and I can't get caught. Because... what's the fun of misbehaving, if it doesn't have any consequences?

Anticipation

2011-08-17T23:56:00.003+02:00

He makes her wait for it in a way that makes her desperate. He touches her softly, knowing that what she craves is to be handled roughly. He makes her change her expectations: when she thinks he won’t spank her, he suddenly slaps her butt. Hard, but only once. She wants it too much and so he won’t give it to her. He will later explain that he’s the one in charge, and he decides what happens to her and when, but that explanation is just an excuse for how much he enjoys seeing her anticipation and her impatience grow.

He leaves her for a couple of hours. She keeps busy. No one has ever done the dishes so attentively. She tries not to think about what he will do to her when he gets back, but her backside hurts when she remembers his words. He says things in a way that enchant her, and he doesn’t even have to think twice.

Instructions by text. "I expect you to be in your underwear on the bed. Lie on your stomach. Toys on the nightstand. I’ll be home in five minutes."

He doesn't know that she runs through the room, almost rips her clothes while taking them off, and hurries to get everything just the way he likes it. Will he think a belt is a toy? Better put it with the rest, just to be safe. She wants nothing more than to obey. The girl that wants to make him happy has taken over the girl that wants to be spanked. Worrying, just a little: he will spank her, right? He won't change his mind? No, he never changes his mind. There's comfort in knowing that.

She hurries so much that she is ready long before he arrives. She hears him in the living room; in the kitchen. She doesn't know if he is making her wait on purpose. She doesn't dare move; she almost forgets to breathe, trying not to make a sound.

Even when he does come in, he first smiles and comments on what a good girl she is. She enjoys his loving words with a nervous smile. He kisses her and slowly strokes her back. Such a good girl. She'd do anything for him; if only he'd stop teasing her.

He makes her wait, but she doesn't say anything, not even a word. Because she has given herself to him; even in these moments. And because secretly, there's something exciting about the wait. He makes her nervous for something that she knows she likes. He makes her lose focus by telling her that he will spank her long before he does it. And he does it all in a way that enchants her so much that she forgets to protest.

Earn your stripes

2011-08-16T21:22:00.000+02:00

"To earn your stripes = to do something to show that you deserve a particular rank or position and have the skills needed for it."

He let me take control just a little bit. I pushed his hand out of the way to replace it with my mouth. I heard the smile in his tone as he asked: "what was that?" "That was 'move your fucking hand'", I said, although my mouth was busy and I didn't want to stop. "Is my baby taking control?" He couldn't hide how much he liked it. I liked it too when he pulled my hair to make me stop for just a second, to show me that taking control was not allowed. I asked him to please let me; he said "deserve it". The lust for him was bigger than submission or even shyness, though. The feeling of joy and pride when he came in my mouth was stronger than the need for submission.

There were reasons to spank me and I gave him a couple more. I am good at giving him reasons, but we don't need a reason. Sometimes a spanking can be just because it is fun, or erotic, or because you deserved it in a good way instead of in a naughty way. This time after he spanked me, I looked at my bum and saw two beautiful stripes. I pointed them out and he admired and then slapped them. "I want more," I said, "Can I please have more?" I don't know what I was thinking other than that I like having stripes: it seems more special than simply bruises or simply a pretty red bottom. And so he lay me face down on the bed, kissed me and then beat me so hard that I think I made ridiculous noises, but I can't say for sure because my attention was elsewhere. He was hard and I was wet and we were the only people in the entire world.

There's nothing quite like the feeling that I get standing in front of a mirror, lifting my skirt, and then seeing the marks he left on me. It feels like I am a work of art; his work of art. A part of me wants to go to people, lift my skirt and tell them to "look at what my boyfriend did!" with a huge smile on my face. That wouldn't be weird, would it?

P.S: I wrote this a while ago and had forgotten about it. I decided I should share it with you anyway :-)

The schoolgirl fantasy

2011-08-14T19:13:00.000+02:00

I want to be a schoolgirl.

I don't actually want to pretend to be in class and I don't need my boyfriend to teach me things. I want the cliché fantasy - the one that never gets old. I want the fun part of pretending to be a schoolgirl.

Dressing up.

Acting naughty.

Getting punished.

And "oh please sir, I'd do anything to get my grades up...anything."

I want to buy over-the-knee socks and a short plaid skirt. I'll wear high heels and a slutty blouse and "forget" to make my homework.

I am so horny today.

Purr

2011-08-12T16:48:00.000+02:00

I have tried writing but I just decided that I don't want to. I just want to sit here and enjoy the sensation of not sitting comfortable. I want to hold the perfect feeling of happiness and calmness and forget what the word "worry" even means. I have a couple of beautiful stripes on my bum and I am absolutely in love with them, even though I would like a couple more. He told me he holds back when he spanks me, which I almost didn't believe because it already hurts a lot. I am now terribly curious to how it feels like when he holds back less, or not at all. I think that if I am going to be his pet, which I was for a short while last night, I am more a cat than a dog, because I am too curious for my own health. But do cats play fetch too?

Oh. Here is a spanking pic I really like. Just because I don't feel like writing, but I always enjoy a pretty picture. I also always enjoy a spanking, but that is a story for another day.

Naked

2011-08-09T22:08:00.000+02:00

This is me when I'm with him. There was a time when I would feel uncomfortable naked; a polite girl is not raised to walk around naked all day, you see. But I can with him. I am not always without clothes, but I am always naked with him. He sees right through me, as if he has a supernatural power that enables him to see through every disguise. I have shed my disguise. It makes a bit shy, but I think it's starting to feel natural. I like that he knows me so well. I like that he lets me know him, too, though not as well as he knows me. I am smiling now and I know that I am so lucky to live such an amazing life.

I have had a hard day, but the world looks brighter when I think of these things. I have listened to a happy song and I believe music can heal me, too, along with a visit to a friend or a family member. It all helps; all the small and big things that make time, and how much or how little time some of us have left, irrelevant. I am not thinking of spanking. I am thinking of the way he kisses me and how time stands still when he's holding me. I am thinking of days with people I adore. I am thinking of how amazing it is that he loves me as much as I love him. I have seen him naked even when he was wearing clothes. It was wonderful.

This blog is called "Olivia's secrets", but what I'm telling you are not really secrets. He knows. The rest of the world doesn't, but he knows. And when one person knows, it's not a secret anymore: it's out there, it's alive, and the thing that once was a secret takes you to amazing places that you will never forget. I will never forget how he makes me feel; not even on the worst of days. I promise to always remember that, even when I'm in a place where I require a disguise, there are places where I can be naked.

If I could be, I would always be naked, even when he's not near. But luckily, I have this blog for that.

Collared

2011-08-08T16:16:00.001+02:00

The first time I noticed it was when we walked his dog together. The way he whistled to her; snapped his fingers to indicate where he wanted her to sit down; the way he said her name when she ran away. I recognized it because there are moments when he talks to me like that. He doesn’t always treat me the same way as he treats his dog, of course. Just sometimes.

We've talked about it a lot. We agree that it would be hot to collar me. A couple of days ago, while eating soup, he grabbed my hair and told me to drink it without using my hands. He pushed my face close to my plate. “Lick it.” “I don’t want to.” “Now.” He often says I always have a choice when he tells me to do something, but I don’t believe that. He makes me feel as if he has complete control over me. I have no other choice than to obey – which, of course, I love.

It would be hot to be his pet sometimes; the kind of pet that gets spanked when she doesn’t immediately obey. He can collar me; be the boss of every movement I make. I can be the pet he loves, adores, controls. He spoils and cherishes me, but dominates and punishes me. I want to lose control. I want to lose all control. I want to adore and worship him, looking up from my knees. I want to be owned; even if just for one day. Just to know what it feels like to be not just his girlfriend, but also his property.

This is so weird to me. I don’t understand how this all started out as a girl that just wanted to be spanked, and now I’m having fantasies like these. My doubts are bigger when he’s not near. But when he’s here and he looks at me, everything seems to fall into place. Everything seems to make sense. He makes me feel as if I get it, as if everything I feel is okay, is normal, is acceptable. But today...I don’t get it.

Me, an exhibitionist?

2011-08-07T21:32:00.000+02:00

"I will put you over my knee right here, Olivia", he warned me.

We were sitting in a crowded train. He spoke quietly, but I was still scared that people had heard him - or even worse, that he would really do it. I hadn't been that naughty, had I?

I was aware of things happening between my legs that I had no control over. I blushed and tried to say something, but my voice had abandoned me. He smiled. "What? You don't want me to?"

Oh dear god, why does he know me so well?

I shook my head. "No," I whispered, "don't." He laughed. "Oh yes, come here." His head went for my hair. He always pulls my hair to get me over his knee. My pulse was racing.

He forcefully grabbed my hair, pulled me over his knee and slapped my already sore butt; ten, twenty times. I begged him to stop. People were staring at us. He stopped and pulled me up, pushing me back to my seat. I fixed my hair and, blushing, looked around. "What the fuck?!" a man said to him. "It's okay," I interrupted him. "I was naughty." The man looked at us as if we were crazy. Luckily then, the train stopped in the next station, and we quickly got out.

...okay no, that's not really what happened. Instead of grabbing my hair, he stroked my face and then pulled his hand back. He grinned. I was sure that he knew how turned on I felt. I think he knew exactly what was going on in my head.

He often calls me an exhibitionist. Sometimes I think he may be right.

(P.S. This post was supposed to be up fifteen minutes ago. I have earned myself a punishment with the riding crop. Yay!)

Partners in crime: a fantasy

2011-08-05T11:22:00.000+02:00

Lately I've been fantasizing a lot about being punished with someone else. The idea of having a friend misbehave with me, and be punished with me, is at the moment extremely hot to me. I can just imagine being naughty with another girl; giggling as my boyfriend looks sternly at us. He would let us get away with things that he normally would have spanked me for if we were alone, but at some point we would cross a line. He'd make me watch while he took the other girl over his knee. I imagine I would feel guilty, because I had known he would spank us if we wouldn't behave, and I had still encouraged my friend to be naughty. He'd spank me as soon as he was done with her. She would be sobbing, standing in the corner, and I would feel like crying just from hearing her. We would both apologize and promise to never, ever be naughty again - only to do it again less than an hour later.

And then, there's a fantasy about being punished for fighting. It goes further than being punished with just a friend. In my fantasy (about which I feel a little bad) I see my younger sister and I fighting. My boyfriend and I would be at my dorm room and my sister would suddenly, unannounced, come over. I would not be happy, because I wanted to be alone with my boyfriend. Everything she'd say would annoy me, and I'd give a couple of rude answers before my boyfriend would say my name in a distinctive "stop, or else" tone. "Yes, Olivia, stop it," my sister would say arrogantly. I would jump up and my boyfriend would grab my arm and pull me back. "We talked about this, Olivia." "She started it!" "I don't care who started it, I'm ending it."

I would sit back down, but it wouldn't take long before one of us would say something and the other would take it far too seriously and get angry. I imagine I would finally get sick of it, jump up and slap her. And that would be crossing a line; my boyfriend would immediately jump up, pull me towards the bed, sit down, and pull me over his knee. My sister would watch in shock while he'd pull off my skirt and spank me hard. I'd scream for him to stop but he would ignore it and spank me till I seemed genuinely sorry. Then he'd make me stand by the wall while he did the same with my sister. She would have been a little happy that I got punished for being so mean to her, but she would be surprised that he wanted to spank her to. He would ignore her protests; "she had been just as childish and mean". I imagine he'd spank me much harder than her; just because "I should've known better". Afterwards my sister and I would hug and dry each other's tears; no longer angry with each other.

...or maybe, instead of being punished with another girl, I could be punished by two different people. My boyfriend, and someone else...not my sister, obviously, but just another man or woman...I think it'd be hot if my boyfriend watched while I was spanked by someone else. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Even though my sister deserves it sometimes, I don't think my boyfriend would ever actually spank her. Unless, of course, she walks in while I'm being punished, and is suddenly very interested...

Shyness

2011-08-03T21:08:00.000+02:00

I am shy.

I push my face in the mattress while he punishes me. I called him something bad and he told me to lie face down on the bed. He spanks me hard while he asks me questions that I don’t know how to answer. I do not want to answer questions. I am happy that he spanks me but shy because of his words. I answer quietly, insecure, still just a little bit teasingly. He spanks me even harder. I cry out, but he ignores it. “Try again.” I want to be spanked more, but I don’t want him to be angry or disappointed with me, so I give him the submissive answer that he wants. My face is red as he tells me to turn around again. He kisses me so I know he’s not angry. The look in his eyes makes me even more shy, so I hide in his arms and close my eyes.

I love code words. I love that I can say “I want a washing machine”, and then he knows I want a spanking. I love that we both know what it means when he winks at me. I love answering his wink by licking his face. I love that the combination of a wink and a lick ends with me on my knees. When I am feeling horny, I say I want world peace. We don’t have many code words, and I don’t use them often, but I love knowing that I can. And still, I hate using them. Because when I use code words, it is proof that I cannot say the things I want in clearer words.

I cannot say the things I want out loud. There are times when I want to cry from frustration, because I can perfectly well write that I want to be beaten and fucked, but when he’s here with me and he looks at me, I seem to have completely lost the ability to speak. I don’t want be the girl that can only talk to her boyfriend through post-its to tell him what she wants (I haven’t done that yet, but I’ve thought about throwing a note at him that says “fuck me” and then running upstairs). I want to be more confident. I want to be able to say what I want, and not be scared for rejection. I want to be able to say “I want to have sex with you”, even if he says: “oh dear, you haven’t deserved that yet”, followed by him beating me and taking me only when I am in the most submissive state I have ever been in, or when I think he won't anymore. I want to be able to say “I want you to use the riding crop on me”, even though I am scared because it hurts so much. When he winks at me I want to have the nerve to unbuckle his belt without hesitation and take him in my mouth.

I want to be sexy. I want to be insatiable. I want to be rude. I want to be his own personal porn star - without actually making a porn film, I mean. I want to be not as well-behaved and demure as I was taught to be.

I do not want to be scared. I do not have to be scared. This man loves me and I love him. He will not laugh at me and he will not betray my trust. I know all that. So why am I still so shy around him?

The playground

2011-08-01T11:33:00.000+02:00

Through this post I want to say thank you. Thank you for giving me the courage to write, thank you for reading it, thank you for being so kind and so amazing. If I help just one person with this post, I will be very happy.

Let's go back a couple of months. About five months, when I was still lurking. I was the girl in the shadows. I sat in the dark with so many other people that I couldn't see. I felt like a kid on the playground. I sat by the wall in the shadows, all alone and looked at all the other kids, playing and laughing and having fun. They had the courage to say what they wanted to say. They had blogs, they had Twitter. I saw them as the popular kids and I so badly wanted to get to know them. I didn't want to be one of the popular kids, I didn't want to play scenes with them, I just wanted to talk to them and get to know them. I guess I needed someone to say: "It's okay, Olivia. You don't have to be ashamed. What you're feeling is perfectly normal." And then I could go back to the wall and look at them but feel better, because even though I wasn't "on the scene", they knew I was there and they'd told me that if I wanted to, I could be part of them.

And then I stepped out of the shadows.

It was terrifying as hell. I was so scared that, once I put one step in the light, all people would turn and look at me and say: "who is that girl? What is she doing here? She doesn't belong here. She's too young; she doesn't know anything about the scene. She's not like us."

But I swallowed my fears and very carefully, I stepped up to two bloggers and said "hi". And to my enormous surprise they turned, looked at me, and smiled. And their answer was: "Hi, welcome. We are so happy to meet you."

Those are two bloggers who gave me the courage to stay in the light. I tried to run away many times. I was so scared of everything and everyone. I didn't know how to say things, or how to act, I didn't know if it was normal that I felt offended by some things I read. I tried to avoid all conflict and did what I thought was right: smile, be nice, look good, don't get into serious discussions. I was sure that if I would try to be part of the more serious conversations, they would still look at me and tell me I didn't belong there.

In the beginning, I cried a lot. Every reply I made hurt. I just wanted to meet people, but it is terrifying to step into such an intimate community and try to be part of it. Someone would say something and I would take it far too seriously, burst out into tears and shakingly hide in my bed. I was over-emotional, over-dramatic and above all unbelievably insecure.

And then I made Twitter. And that was, I think, one of the best choices I made. It was so easy: say hi in 140 characters or less. And people on Twitter looked at me and said I was welcome, and I didn't have to be scared, and I wasn't alone. They were all so unbelievably nice. I was blown away by the kindness of people, and I am still so thankful to them. My fear slowly went away. I was more confident, but replying to blogs was still hard. In the beginning every comment took almost an hour; now I can do it in a couple of minutes. There are still tons of blogs that I haven't replied to yet. Why? Because they scare me. I only say something if I feel I have something to say. There are a lot of people out there who still intimidate me. That's not their fault, of course. I'm pretty sure that if I would say hi, they would smile and say the same as the first two blog writers did. But I'm not ready for that yet.

The problem with coming out is that you can't go back. Being in the shadows is like not existing. By coming out I put a huge spotlight on myself and said: "Hi, I exist." I can't go back to lurking.

I sometimes wonder when people will leave "the scene". We have made friends here, right? Can we just grow out of all this, delete our blogs and our Twitter accounts and disappear? Can you actually ever go back to the shadows? Or even more drastic: can you ever leave the playground?

People on Twitter gave me the courage to start a blog. I had written something about a wonderful night with my amazing boyfriend and I said that on Twitter, saying that someday I would make a blog and share my happiness with you. And the response I got was more or less: "Someday? Why not today? We would love to read it." Not even a couple of hours later I had this blog. It has never been about more than sharing my happiness with you and meeting new people, new friends. I didn't want to be funny or witty or thought-provoking; I just wanted to write and share.

Kids on playgrounds are mean. Sometimes I think you're better off in the shadows than in the light. They can't bully you if they don't know you exist. But not existing doesn't make you happy either, and I have to say this; by coming out of the shadows, I became more confident. It helped me in my relationship and it helped me to be happier with myself. So if you're out there and you're lurking and you're scared...you're welcome here, and you're welcome on all the other blogs too. It's okay. You don't have to be ashamed. Whoever you are, whatever you look like, no matter what you like or what your thoughts are about the world...you are welcome. We may all be different. But we have one thing in common, and that is kink. You don't have to start a blog or a Twitter account and you don't even have to comment...but you don't have to be ashamed either. You're never alone. Isn't that amazing?

Window time

2011-07-31T16:37:00.001+02:00

He suddenly went quiet. I lay smiling in his arms. I was happy and cheerful and made jokes. I felt like myself again and was enjoying it. But then I said something cheeky (I honestly don't even remember what I said), and he didn't laugh. I noticed him looking around the room. "What are you thinking?" I asked. I didn't trust the look in his eyes; he was up to something and I knew it had to do with me. "I'm thinking of a suitable punishment," he said. "I'm not going to spank you, you enjoy that way too much." I blushed, but didn't say anything. I kissed him. I sure wasn't going to give him any ideas and if I kept kissing him, maybe he would forget about punishment.

It didn't work.

So, his room is the attic. There is no door, only stairs going down. If there's anyone home we have to worry about someone hearing us, but luckily we were all alone. We could do what we wanted. Or rather, what he wanted.

With the low roof and the closets there was no room in the corners to stand. I was pretty sure he had read something about putting naughty girls in the corner after being spanked (thanks a lot, fellow bloggers!) because suddenly he sighed and said: "Pity I don't have a corner free." I bit my lip. I didn't like the idea of standing in the corner at all. I had to do that way too often with my previous boyfriend and I hated it. It was embarrassing and lonely and frustrating. It made me feel little and shy and bad, but never turned on. But then, my previous boyfriend always made me feel embarrassed and lonely and frustrated. It didn't have to be like that now. If he told me to stand there, I would.

He suddenly stood up and walked to the other side of the room, standing at the top of the stairs. "Come here," he said. I frowned, but didn't hesitate. He told me to stand facing the stairs. I could see a window, but the blinds were closed so whoever was outside at this late hour couldn't see me.

...yeah, you didn't think he would just let me stand there, did you? "Open the blinds." He said it in that way that doesn't let you refuse. Just his tone made me feel as if I didn't have a choice. So I walked down the stairs, opened the blinds, and went back upstairs.

"Good girl. Now, stand here. Face the window. Hands behind your back."

I didn't know what people could see if they would look up. It was late and he lives in a quiet street, but you never know who will decide to take a walk at night, and I stood naked in front of a window that was surely big enough to see me through. They would just have to look up and they would see a naked girl standing on top of the stairs. It made me nervous and shy. I blushed and turned my head to look at him. He was sitting on his bed, looking at me. He smiled. Smiled. He was enjoying it.

I stood there for about 5 hours (could have been minutes too) and then he told me to come to him. He hugged me, said I was a good girl and told me he was proud of me. My heart made a little jump when he said that. I blushed. "It's so embarrassing" I said. He laughed. "Why? Can't I show off my beautiful girlfriend?" What a beautiful excuse for a secretly exciting punishment. Yeah yeah, okay, I admit it, I was excited. A little.

Window time...better than corner time? Maybe. I think so. It still makes me blush. Maybe I'll try to avoid it next time. Maybe I'll behave next time.

...maybe.

A myriad of butterflies

2011-07-31T15:06:00.000+02:00

The first slap made me want to scream.

I'd told myself he didn't want to spank me anymore; I'd told myself I didn't need it anymore. I knew I was lying to myself, but it hurt to keep hoping he would take control of me, so I shut out all feelings. So when he suddenly spanked me again yesterday, I wanted to scream. A part of me wanted to burst out into tears and yell that I don't need a spanking, I don't need any of it, I don't want any of it, I don't want to feel anything. A much bigger part of me fought against the emotional pain and accepted the spanking. I smiled and looked up at him; my way of asking for more. He smiled back and spanked me again.

Adam Young once wrote: "He smiled down at her and her knees instantly went weak as a myriad of butterflies threatened to explode from her chest." That is how I felt. There was something happening inside of me and I couldn't possibly comprehend it. I felt sick to my stomach in the best way possible. I was dizzy with hope that he would finally give me spanking that would hurt longer than 5 minutes again. I wanted it so much, as much as I hated to admit it. I didn't want to ask for him to use his belt (or something else). I wanted him to take control. I wanted to submit even more than I wanted to be spanked.

By the time he took his belt, I was myself again. Back to the little brat, to the slut begging for a spanking, to the little girl who loves how he strokes her hair. He did things that I don't want to write about yet. I said something that was just a little bit cheeky (it's my blog, I can write it how I want), and he found a punishment that makes me blush just thinking about it. It was amazing, but different and terribly embarrassing, and I'm shy to admit how horny it made me. Right now I'm just happy to be back to myself again. Isn't it weird how just one spanking can make nightmares go away, and help me sleep - and feel - better than I have in days? Sometimes I think it's weird. But I think I like it.

Seven minutes in heaven

2011-07-28T17:09:00.000+02:00

I was suddenly very horny. The reason for my sudden craving to be fucked, you ask? I honestly don’t know. I must admit the naked girls on my screen being spanked by various authoritative looking men could have something to do with it, but my fantasies had little to do with spanking at that particular moment.

At precisely 2 o' clock, my doorbell would ring and I would go shopping with a friend. I could not go shopping while horny; I would come back with all sorts of kinky stuff that I’m not supposed to buy when I’m with a vanilla friend.

It was 13h53.

I had seven minutes. Was seven minutes enough for an orgasm? My fingers slid in my panties and I found myself to be very, very wet. Seven minutes. It would be enough for an orgasm.

The bell rang at 14h03.

I even still had time to wash my hands.

(Oh, and I bought new lingerie. Never go shopping right after an orgasm, unless you have lots and lots of money)

Thanks for the memories

2011-07-27T13:52:00.000+02:00

"Some nights the painful past unexpectedly pushes up through the floorboards like an ugly nightmarish weed, and by doing so, cultivates and nurtures an entirely new species of headache." - Adam Young

There are things going on in my life. I suppose there are things going on in all our lives, things we don’t write about because it’s no one’s business, or because we don’t know how to write about it. It’s a mess. It’s not pretty and it’s not pleasant to hear or to tell, so we try not to hear it and we try to keep our mouths shut and in doing so we make ourselves even more miserable.

Some nights sad memories come back to haunt me, making all happy thoughts stop for a minute. My breath chokes on words that I can't say. Each tear is witness of my weakness, proof of how much I lie. Instead of sting in my backside, I feel sting in my eyes, and no amount of rubbing can make it better. “You will get sick of this one day”, I said with fear in my voice. He sighed. “Of this, maybe. But I’ll never get sick of you.” The perfect words and I still had to push him farther: “this is part of me. If you want me, you’ll get this too.” “Then I’ll have both.”

I am crying now, and I don’t like writing while I am crying. I wanted to make a point. There are things going on in my life. So we kiss, and we hug, and we watch a movie, and he tells me everything will be okay. It makes me feel better for a while, but then the memories hit me like a blow in my stomach and I lose my ability to smile. And he watches my smiles lie on the floor, fallen to pieces, and he picks them up, puts them back together and he finds away to give them back to me. “I like seeing you smile”, he says.“I like smiling.” And I like it when he makes me smile.

I don’t know what I need. I thought I needed a spanking, but if I really needed it, I would dare ask for it. Maybe I’m scared he will say no, because it’s so hard to beat your girlfriend when she feels bad, or because he simply doesn’t want to anymore. Does he want to anymore? If he wanted to, he would, right? If he wanted to, he could. I wouldn’t even utter a word of surprise or protest. He may do anything with me. Maybe I’m scared it won’t help.

Is it strange that a spanking, a real and hard and long spanking makes me feel better when I’m sad? I suppose other people are satisfied with a kiss and a hug and a movie. I think I am satisfied, but I don’t think I feel better. I also don’t think a spanking will make the memories or the pain go away. Maybe for a while; maybe it will make me stop thinking for a while, so I can’t remember or visualize what I’ve been through. The images still run through my head, images that make me want to hide and cry and pretend that I never experienced such a thing. Even absolute submission can’t make that go away; it might even make it worse. If I surrender myself to him, I might also surrender to the flood of thoughts. I might drown.

I have run out of words. I cannot describe how I feel, because I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know what I need and I don’t know if I can do this on my own. I am scared I can’t do this on my own. It is becoming too heavy to carry for just one person. I’m scared. I’m scared that even kink can’t help me. This is bigger than kink, bigger than sexuality. This is bigger than me; and it makes me feel so very small, not in a good way. He tries to help me. In a way he kind of does: he makes me smile when I'm about to cry. I love him and I think I always will. That's all I know right now.

New fantasies (2)

2011-07-24T21:53:00.000+02:00

How naughty of me to leave you hanging there after my last post about this subject (here)! I implied there would be a part two, and being the good girl that I am, I of course couldn't let you wait for it any longer. I am, however, still struggling with it, and I have been for a couple of weeks. I want to tell you so many things and at the same time I don't want to tell you, because it's terribly embarrassing. Maybe we should go sit somewhere quiet and I could whisper this to you. Would that be okay? It would make it all so terribly official and embarrassing if I would say it out loud. I would start blushing and even though everyone thinks that's cute and funny, I rather dislike it. So...let's whisper. Let's pretend to be secretive.

I bought a ball gag. Yeah. I can hardly believe it myself. There I was, alone in a sex shop in Soho, sent there as part of a "homework assignment" (in other words, he was training me to overcome my shyness, as he promised to do in this post). He had been talking and teasing about gagging me for a while. He had said he'd buy a gag; he had also said that, until he had a ball to put in my mouth (did that sound terribly ambiguous? I'm sorry - not my fault that you have a dirty mind!), he would put my panties in my mouth - so he would at least not have to put up with my..."strong voice" anymore if he spanked me really hard. The idea of him putting my panties in my mouth - that are, let's be honest, always terribly wet when I'm with him - was incredibly hot and a huge turn-on. I didn't tell him that. It makes me shy to admit how much I actually wanted him to do that. He didn't do it and maybe when I write it here he will do it. I am not sure it is a good idea to write it here.

But anyway, I was sent to the sex shop with the assignment: "buy something that you think I would like". So, obviously, I came back with a ball gag (and a cute paddle that, to our disappointment, didn't hurt that much). Being gagged was...not as hot as being spanked, but still quite (or quiet ;-)...oh dear, my humour is bad this morning) a turn-on. I loved how he kissed me, and I so badly wanted to kiss him back, but with the huge ball in my mouth, I obviously couldn't. I hated the drool. I tried to hold it in, and in that I completely failed, and then I tried to wipe it away, but he wouldn't let me do that either. He laughed when he saw me drool - and then licked it away. I loved that he thought I was attractive, drooling and with a rubber ball in my mouth. I loved not being able to talk back or even answer (politely, of course) to his questions. I swear I almost orgasmed just from experiencing such a loss of control.

But before we could actually use the ball gag, we stumbled on a bit of a problem: my head wasn't big enough, and there weren't enough holes in the strap to tie it tightly around me. He said he could do it with a hammer and a nail, which I didn't understand because I have no experience with hammers and nails, but my father was downstairs, so going for those things wasn't really an option. He tried making a new hole with a pair of compasses - that worked only a little. Eventually, I was instructed to go downstairs and somehow sneak a fork back upstairs - because he thought that with a fork, he could make a decent hole. I didn't feel like hurrying, so I took my time getting dressed. "Oh sure, take your time," he said sarcastically. I giggled. "Of course," I responded, "I like seeing you struggle with it, and you'll obviously still be working on it for a while." I was teasing him, provoking, hoping it would lead to a punishment. I had expected him to spank me for it. He didn't.

"Olivia, did you just laugh at me?" I blushed; he had the tone in his voice and the look on his face that said I was in trouble. It made me nervous. It makes me nervous just thinking about it."I was joking..." "Do you see me laughing? I don't think it's funny." I blushed; waited for the consequences I had hoped would follow, but felt now a little bit scared for. "You can leave your underwear here."

I didn't dare protest, so I removed my panties and, with only a very short skirt covering my - obviously spanked - butt, I made my way downstairs.

I cannot tell you how unbelievably, embarrassingly hot it was to walk around with no underwear. I never thought I would find it so hot; but I did. And secretly I hope he will make me do it more often - only for punishment, though...and not too often. I don't think I would like walking around all day in a short skirt, without panties. Especially not with bruises or stripes covering my backside. But even as I am writing this...oh it sounds so hot to have to do such a thing. Don't tell anyone, though. This is a secret. He can't know. I suspect he already knows, but I don't want to confirm it because it makes me all terribly shy. He can't hear us; we're whispering.

So here I am. Fantasizing about being gagged and being exhibitionistic. I also love being blindfolded, and though it is so frustrating that I can't touch him if I am handcuffed, such a loss of control turns me on too. There are other things I would like to tell you...I have many other fantasies, and I think I'm starting to like them. It doesn't all have to be spanking, does it? I think, however, that I will leave the others for a part three...just because I love being naughty and making you wait for it :-)

PS. I wrote this post this morning and it made me terribly shy so I decided to write something else. But then I decided to be the sweet, naive, honest girl, told my boyfriend I wrote it and...I suppose you can guess what happened next. So this is the post that I was supposed to publish this morning. I don't really want to post it but I have a wonderful boyfriend that helps me be less shy. I am hiding behind him now and hoping you liked reading this.

He knows

2011-07-24T13:53:00.002+02:00

“Olivia, my love, would you please put your hand back?”

He says it so sweetly. It makes me smile and blush and because he asks so nicely I move my hand out of his way. His voice is sweet as candy – but still, his hand goes on spanking me and it hurts a lot and I really don’t want him to stop, but my hand does not agree. I think he knows I don't want him to stop.

I move my hand back again. He suddenly stops spanking me and I feel his mouth come very close to my ear. “I am only going to ask nicely once, darling.”

He is so sweet, but I sense the threat in his tone, even if he only whispers. I have a feeling maybe whispering is even scarier than raising his voice. He goes on spanking me. I promise myself to be good this time. I promise myself to keep my hands where they’re supposed to be. I promise, I promise, I’ll be a good girl. I am a good girl. I promise.

“Olivia, your hand.”

He doesn’t whisper anymore and there is no candy left. The tone in his voice says I’m in trouble and I am scared for what will happen. Oh please don’t be angry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.

But he knows I will do it again, so he hits my hand. And he knows even that doesn’t help long enough, so he makes me immobile and ties me up and denies me even the control of my own body.

I am so sorry, sir. Please don’t be angry.

And he’s not angry, and I know that because he kisses me and smiles even when he talks to me like I’m a naughty little girl.

I think he knows I like it when he talks to me that way. I think he knows I want him to punish me.

I think he knows I am, just sometimes, a naughty little girl.

And when I claim to be a good girl he says I’m a lying brat and deserve to be spanked. And that makes me blush and pout and then he smiles. I think he thinks I’m cute.

No one knows that I think I like it when he thinks I’m cute. No one knows that I sometimes am very, very cute; a little girl, and not a slut at all.

No one knows. But I think he knows.

Welcome home

2011-07-23T20:36:00.001+02:00

The first thing he did was say “come here.” He kissed me – a perfect, soft kiss. I almost cried as the kiss ended. I hid in his arms. So, so very happy to be able to hug him again.

We closed the front door and went to the living room. He kissed me again. I think my legs would have stopped working if he hadn’t been holding me. “I missed you.” “I missed you too.”

It’s so hard to write about it. Words cannot express how I feel. I know no way of describing how it felt when a hug somehow ended with me over his lap and his hands on my bare skin.

Bare skin, reddening quickly. “I’m cold”, I had said. “Are you hot now?” I wasn’t, but I liked being spanked. “In some parts…”

This hurts a lot more than I remember, I thought. It’d been three weeks; had I already forgotten how much a spanking could hurt? Was I complaining just from a hand spanking? No…not complaining.

His hands between my legs found the places where I was indeed very, very hot. I moaned. Oh please, don’t stop. Don’t stop.

He didn’t stop.

There was only hand spanking, interrupted only by us trying out the new paddle. No whips or belts or brushes. Just his hand on my skin. It hurt, but not too much.

He said something funny and sweet. I looked at him in adoration. Gosh, I love this man, I thought.

He gave me a massage; I gave him one. I loved feeling his hands on my back; it made me feel safe.

We didn’t even really do that much. We didn’t have sex. I can still sit comfortably. But I don’t mind. I saw him again. I held him. We talked. We touched. I woke up next to him.

It was embarrassingly hot when he said “you can leave your underwear here.”

It was genius when he came in my mouth and I said “thank you”.

It was enchanting when he said “I love you”.

Doesn’t it sound perfect? It was perfect. Everything is perfect. I know there's so much going on in the world, in Norway, that I should care about. I don't care. I just feel good. I just feel happy. We're all that matters. Well, us, and maybe that I should really call some people and let them know that I made it out of London alive...

The kinky mind

2011-07-21T22:14:00.004+02:00

A man sits in the tube. A man in suit, to be more precise. He reads the paper and does not notice me standing next to him. He is not a very handsome man, but it doesn't matter. I can imagine my boyfriend sitting there, reading the paper, wearing the suit in which he looks so terribly attractive.

My gaze falls on the man's shoes. Expensive-looking, leather. Posh shoes. Dirty shoes. There is some water - probably rain - on them. I picture my boyfriend sitting there, reading the paper, ignoring me as I sit on the ground and look up at him. He doesn't look at me, so I lower my gaze and look down at his shoes. Dirty shoes. My boyfriend should never have to walk around with dirty shoes.

"Your shoes are dirty, sir," I say in my innocent little girl voice.

And he looks at me for a second - almost smiling. He strokes my hair. "Then clean them, little girl."

I sit on the ground, on my knees. I lick his shoes clean. I want to lick other parts of him, too. I'd do anything, if only he told me to.

A man sits in the tube. He notices me looking at him - I blush and look away. He cannot know; it is not written on my face. But my kinky mind goes back to my boyfriend. My kinky mind that has, for a while, forgotten all about rebellion. My kinky mind, that makes me feel so very submissive today.

I am seeing him tomorrow. We will spend the day together. We will go out for dinner to a restaurant together. I will be his girl; his whore; his darling; his girlfriend.

I love being his. I love him.

And I loved being in London. Goodbye, wonderful city. Until next time.