Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
Cat Imagines - by Cat
What am I doing? Why did I let him talk me into this? What is he doing? Why is he so quiet? Ohhhhhhh... I have a million butterflies and no hope of them calming down. I've never been tied up before... why did I agree to this? Because he really wanted to, that's why. And it seemed harmless enough. But then he said he was going to blindfold me, too. So now I can't see what he's doing and I can't hear him because he's not doing anything. Is he even in here? Watching me? Or out checking his email or reading his book?
"Yes, I'm here. And yes, I'm watching you."
I hate it when he does that. Seems to know what I'm thinking. But maybe that's just a normal response. I mean, I've been fidgeting here for what seems like forever...
"It's only been four minutes." I can hear the smile in his voice. He's really enjoying this. Watching me fidget, trying to stay calm, and thinking... always thinking... wondering what he has planned.
"Does the thought that I may do nothing at all worry you as much as the thought of what I might do?" I feel him sit, then slide closer to me. "Don't worry... nothing at all is not an option right now."
Okay, the butterflies have started up again. He has that note in his voice. That "I've-got-a-new-toy-and-can't-wait-to-try-it-out-on-you" note. I've heard it plenty. And had the sore bottom to prove it. But he isn't going to spank me this time. I don't think. I'm on my back, arms above my head, wrists tied together. The leather restraints aren't too bad... not comfortable, but then I'm not supposed to be totally comfortable. But they don't hurt. My legs are tied, too... restraints at each ankle, legs spread. I'm wearing one of those little white cotton t-shirts and plain white cotton panties, white socks.
His touch startles me. Gentle, on my face, tracing a line across my right eyebrow, down to my cheek, then to my chin. He kisses me, softly. I start to kiss back but he pulls away.
"None of that. I want you to feel. Just be. Enjoy..." He's whispering in my ear. Kissing, gently nibbling. The sensation is incredible. Not being able to move, to touch him, to see him, just feeling...
He's pulling the t-shirt... up... to just below my breasts. More kisses, a nibble - not so gentle - that makes me gasp. He has the hem of the t-shirt... I hear a snip, then feel him pulling it, tearing... the sound filling the room.
"Did that scare you?" A hint of concern. He did want me to enjoy this, after all.
"Uhmmm... a little, yeah... "
"Silly girl..." He kisses me again. Pulls what's left of the shirt away.
I wondered why he had tied me while still partially clothed, instead of naked. He never does anything by accident. Always a purpose, a reason.
Something light... not his fingers... too light... ohhhhh... on my tummy... little circles... moving right then left then up... what is that? Ohhhh... now more... I giggle... "Is that the feather duster?"
"Very good... you get points for guessing correctly." He pats my left thigh.
"What happens when I don't?" I giggle again, starting to enjoy his game... our game.
"You know what happens. Don't try to act so innocent..."
"Me? But I..." Cut short as I gasp... a sharp sting on my inner thigh. Not bad, light really. But it took me by surprise. "Owwwwwwww..." Trying to make him feel guilty...
"No pouting..." Traces his finger across my lower lip. "You know what happens to girls who pout, don't you?"
A sudden thought...
"I wouldn't if I were you. Not the best position..." He left the rest unsaid.
"I wasn't going to do anything... "
"Mhmmm... .." Kissing the spot on my inner thigh... kissing the sting away... "No more bratting, okay?"
"I wasn't being..." I feel him sitting up... "I mean... I'm sorry... I'll be good from now on..." Was he thinking? Was I going to feel the wrong end of the feather duster again? "Really, Matt... honestly... I'll behave, okay?"
"Good girl..." Stroking my hair... kissing me... I try to just be... just feel... not help or try to do... just be... Hands, wandering... down... circling my breasts... teasing my nipples... cupping... squeezing... then he stops. I let out a soft little whine... "Greedy girl..." A quick kiss at the base of my neck. Feeling him shift. Tugging at my socks... pulling off first the right, then the left. Making sure the restraints were still fastened, that there was no chance of my getting loose.
Fingers under the elastic of my panties... at my right hip... two quick snips... he lets the ends fall. Same at the left. Reaching under me, pulling... naked now... feeling so open, so vulnerable, everything open and waiting... nothing hidden.
>^..^< Cat's Dream - by Matt
It may have stared as a dream - and who knows what all contributes to the witches’ brew of dreams? Wants, of course, but fears as well, along with physical situations and actions that reflect our feelings. So you may have to tread a little carefully when you turn your dreams into stories, no matter how small your audience, or how clear the meaning seems to be. Cat said that she had dreamt that she had been tied up - or more accurately, tied down, tied down by me. This might have been a little odd, since earlier she had told me of a recurring dream, one in which she couldn’t move, except this time it was different - she could and did and ran - ran outside and called my name. This was after one of our all-night cross-country phone calls, to somewhere she was staying on a layover. I remember feeling glad and proud that I might be helping her feel less powerless, as if she had somewhere to go and someone to be there.
So, having freed her, it was curious that now I was tying her down - but that’s how dreams are. At first, she says, it didn’t seem odd that she was still partially dressed... maybe not odd because she does prefer to be dressed - at all times… an issue I take the opposite approach on, particularly in regards to her, of course, moreso than myself. We had had a little problem in chat when she had misbehaved and I had told her to take off her panties - she said she couldn’t. It became a very powerful time for us, the issues that were raised and shared - and I think maybe it was after that that she’d had the dream where, for once, she could move. So she was aware of my position that she was meant to be less dressed more often.
She was dressed all in white - possibly not symbolically, since she was only wearing a t-shirt, panties, and socks - oh yes, we would later disagree considerably on her wearing of socks - I don’t know if it had come up. In the dream, I had bound her hand and foot on the bed - instantly, magically, the way these things happen in the mind… her top and panties still on. And at some point she did think (dream-think) to wonder why she still had these clothes on… and then I produced a pair of scissors and removed them, permanently…
In certain ways, Cat is shy - and yet, now that she feels secure with me, she is very open… and she must have known that to tell me about this dream would be to make it happen - she not only told me but, at my request, wrote it all out as a story - a great story like all of her writings, wonderfully spare and crackling with intensity…
Clothes Shopping
In certain ways the time we spent together that week was very odd - we met close to midnight and stayed up for hours and hours, slept in late behind her blackout curtains, slept nude (odd for her) and woke up to find the door on the chain and the coldest night of the year inside as well as out… once we woke we didn’t rise but stayed in bed and played until lunch was sinfully late… another night, endless play and drink as well, stifling heat this time and the cats drifting in and out, at some unfathomable hour falling asleep with the suddenness of a switch being closed… by the time we would rise the day might be evening - morning disappeared completely… an intended afternoon drive from her place to mine ended up in a midnight arrival due to our tardy departure… and so even in my sunny, overly-lit rooms, morning still eluded us…
All the while I was treating her lightly but sharply, her bottom would sting and she would wish for release and then moments later be anxious to start again - after days of this she was hardly sore. We had scarcely left her place when we were there and she seemed more than content to do the same here, except that I didn’t let her… late the second afternoon, with plans in mind, I saw that we got out, though as always several hours later than I expected… early enough, though, that this time we could go shopping.
I hate to spend money on clothes I don’t wear and yet if you want to look good you can only wear about half the things you buy, thinking they’ll look good… so in short my first choice is to buy current cheap discounted clothes - a great place to go for what we’re looking for. We found any number of clearance-priced tops, cute and tiny that Cat wouldn’t think of ever wearing in public, but we weren’t going to be in public… of these she chose a couple, both white, that she felt comfortable wearing just in front of me… these clearance stores are no place to buy underwear, even if it’s new, so off to Target for that… we also noticed some fashionable belts, two long rows of holes from end to end, sure to be noticed by the misbehaving bottom… and the mall, where I happened to know that the rock-n-roll store had super-short schoolgirl skirts, the latest rage… chose the best one of those for some other time, along with a matching plaid tie with a skull on it…
Dinner was interesting - excellent Italian food in a place I’ve been a number of times, tasty yet casual, which is my liking… funny, we both noticed that one woman at each of two tables next to us was wearing the same scary belt we had remarked on at Target…
Scissors
Finally home and time to change… Cat tried everything on out of my sight, and decided she’d be most comfortable in the tight white ribbed turtleneck with three-quarter sleeves - and jeans, not a skirt… yes it seemed odd to me that she wanted something less revealing, since she’d be taking them off, but I wanted to honor her modesty…
I picked up a crop and came out and sat on the couch - sat back, she stood in front of me - I would reach out with the crop and touch her, and tell her how attractive she was and how much I wanted to see her… the curtains were drawn but the lights were on… they we on in the adjoining kitchen and dining area, I have no lights in the living room… but then Cat lost her nerve and disappeared into the bathroom again…
Cat takes life and everything so seriously… I know that’s what makes this so hard for her… I try to be patient and wait, give her space and time, privacy, respect and reassurance, while still being available to her… it’s not hard for me, I enjoy her company clothed or unclothed… with time she settled down and wanted to try again… we started in the bedroom this time, which is a little tight since my bed is some overwhelming - not only large but waist-high as well… but we got started and she made it through the early part, got out of her jeans and into some collars for her wrists and ankles… I clipped her wrists together and then her ankles - I wrapped a very thin light rope around the mattress and hooked the ankle collars to that, spreading her legs - another rope and I connected her joined wrists above her head… still she wore her shirt panties and socks as she had dreamed…
She was pretty secure like this so I began to tickle her - she’s very ticklish and would have gotten away if she could have but couldn’t so I knew everything would hold… then I got the blindfold - that hadn’t been part of her plan… she took a deep breath and accepted it, not happily… then the adhesive tape so that she couldn’t see underneath and it wouldn’t slip… she was much less happy with that… now she’s bound and blindfolded and may be asking herself, too late, how much she can trust me…
I teased her here and there - opened up a gap between her top and her underwear… dug into my toy chest… a dozen lovely sensations that tickle the edges of your memory - I should know that feeling, you think… I almost have it… is it something okay? Or a prelude to danger? These, it turned out, were usually okay - not that Cat had any way of knowing…
This knife is a special knife to me, I have a deep personal attachment to it - it was my father’s, when he bought it it was probably stolen - such was his life, delusions of - what? Bandit? Renegade art dealer? But it is clearly of his ancestors, and the only way he could ever afford such an antique, a Scottish “black knife,” flat, deadly, meant to be hidden close to the heart, the last resort of a gentleman betrayed… small, as need be, sharpened both sides to a point, with blood gutters and a triangular profile, leaving a wound that won’t heal… and yet topped with a jewel, bearing the insignia of the cross of St. Andrew - with his body still on it, alive, dying; on the ebony handle, while the garnet glitters and peeks from a Highlander’s dress sock. When he died it was the only thing I wanted.
Cat has such lovely nipples - large, brown, so responsive that you’d almost call them muscular, tightening up into aching need, undisguised want… I pinch her lovely white ribbed knit top and slice off just enough to allow the tip of her nipple into my mouth… it forces its way through the opening to me… I treat it as well to a dozen breath-stealing delights - then on the other side I rip her entire shirt open, exposing her breast suddenly no longer overheated but radiating… one of two lovely light play floggers comes into my hand, sweeping her with its delicious soft curtain of touch… a scrape, a rub…
I part Cat’s top from between her breasts to the hem, exposing her ticklish nervous tummy, delightfully with that perfect little touch of softness, roundedness… this flogger has a sharp scary sting, you have to relax to realize that it doesn’t hurt and yet it keeps you too nervous to do so…
This short Arab sword - a broad, heavy, shining scimitar - also holds a certain special feeling - I wore it onstage and - most importantly, my son wore a matching one - my insistence in real weapons, not cheap plastic toys, raised me considerably in his eyes… and on stage, under the lights, its shine could not be mistaken for painted plastic - in the hands of the cast or hanging, dragging down our belts, its weight could not go unrecognized - the care with which they were handled made it clear to the furthest-back row that they had not been dulled… Cat couldn’t see the light glint off of the blade but she could not mistake the cold or the weight of the broad thick steel against her tummy, the feather scrape of the edge against her skin…
As handy as such a machine may be for slaughter, it is hardly suitable for a most delicate operation… kneeling between her legs, contacting her at every point possible, feeling her skin against my calf, my ribs, my cheek… an inch from my face my razor opens her panties just inside the seam. Working upward I begin to free all the material forming the fabric of her panties - soon she will be in a cotton outline of them, the razor approaches her waist - but slowly, I examine, caress, tease and please her as I go…
Was it without warning or was I just unaware? Suddenly she is thrashing, hysterical, scared and angry, threatening to rattle the bed apart or injure herself in the attempt… I stop, she does not - I have to cover her with my body just to subdue her enough to free her, she’s pulling the bonds so tight… so I do…
She curls up, she turns away… anger and hurt flashing instantly to embarrassment, humiliation, shame… I leave her long enough to finish freeing her, turn down the lights, keep track of sharp objects… at some point she calms down enough to leave…
I wait, silently, withholding judgment - can she tell? I think so, because she returns before long… tremendously disappointed with herself… no safeword, no pleas, just sudden total panic… she’ll have to be punished, she hasn’t had the hairbrush yet but has seen it, knows that it is there, waiting for her - no stinging spanking this time, the straight-backed chair and the hard, solid, narrow swats that tell you you’ve done wrong…
Cat Remembers – By Cat
Wednesday. Planning. Thinking. Giggling. More planning. We had been thinking about this since he mentioned it a couple of weeks earlier. Then I wrote the "story"... and it sort of took off from there.
He was going to tie me to the bed. Then... what? That was up to him. I had written the beginning, he was going to decide where it went from there.
Tied up. I don't have any pleasant memories of being tied. But this I wanted to do. Why? I don't know. The thought intrigued me. The thought of being totally under his control, to do with as he wanted... was... thrilling. And a little frightening. I told myself I could do this. That I wanted to do this. That I would do it. Was I doing this to please him? Or me? Did it really matter? You can get so much pleasure from pleasing another...
Shopping. Laughing. Trying on a couple of shirts. Not me at all. But... .. Almost like a scavenger hunt, looking for all the items on the list... white shirt, white panties, white socks... ..white... a sacrificial virgin? I was neither. But I couldn't help thinking of it that way.
Thought all through dinner. And then at his apartment. He was napping. I was thinking. A little excited, a little apprehensive... what if... ?
And then he was awake... holding me, kissing me... I asked for a safe word. Why? We'd never really used one before. I mean the very first time he had asked me... honestly, no? So I guess that was sort of like having one. But I never thought to use one when he was spanking me. Not even for the spanking I got for smoking, which really hurt. No... instead I say his name... or please... or I hold his wrist to keep from reaching back to block... but I never really think about stopping... He said it was "honestly... "
Dressing in the bathroom. Looking in the mirror. Wondering how he sees me. What does he see? Does he see what I see? Does he see faults? Does he see the dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep? Does he see the tiny wrinkles already beginning to form around my eyes... growing deeper each time I laugh? Does he think my bottom too big? Breasts too small? Too short? What? Anything?
More butterflies. I pick everything apart. I don't want to come out. I feel... oh... ... foolish. Trying to be something I am not. But isn't that part of the game? Sort of anyway?
Walking out... he is sitting on the sofa. He's so relaxed, damn it. He has... a... riding crop... the loop around his right wrist. All I can think is "please let everything go ok... please let me please him... "
He's looking at me. Asking me to turn around. It feels... something feels not right. He tells me to close my eyes. That doesn't help any. That just leaves me alone with my thoughts. I feel too warm... hot... I...
Outside... pacing... I know why it feels wrong. Trying to talk myself out of thinking that way. Pacing... I hate it when that happens... I pace and then I can't stop and I just keep going... back and forth... I did it when I was young, I did it in the hospital and here I am still doing it ten years later on this man's balcony and I know I should stop now but I don't want to I won't stop the scene over this... not this... this is different... not the same... millions of thoughts running through my head... I decide.
Back inside... he asks me to take my jeans down... I try... but... he's watching me... self-conscious... I try to laugh, maybe that will help? But it doesn't. And then I'm telling him I can't... and running... running like the stupid scared child I've always been... always running...
Why is it that I am not afraid of drowning, not afraid of threats, not afraid of walking in strange cities alone after dark, not even afraid of plane crashes... but I am afraid of being watched?
He tells me (ever patient... do I deserve that much patience?) to come back when I am ready. Deep breaths... more thinking... am I ready?
Walking back... he is still sitting there... still calm... still relaxed. I ask if we can move into the bedroom. He follows me there. Turns the lights down, which helps. Then asks me once again to take my jeans down. Another deep breath, this time I do it. I turn around... let him look at me. Then he asks me to take my top off. Why was that so difficult? I've done it many times. I wish I could have explained... at the time... why... it was. "It's not the same... " And it wasn't the same. Well, it was and it wasn't. I wasn't 13 or 14 or 15 anymore... and Matt isn't dad... but he looked at me the same way dad did when he asked me to take my clothes off and that's why it was so hard... at first. He was sitting there on the sofa looking just like... I mean I was nervous to begin with... but then... but then I got over it... and did it... pulled my top off... felt even more nervous all of a sudden. And cold. Very cold. Strange, because I had been so warm a few minutes before.
I wasn't really thinking anything when he put the restraints on my wrists. I just stood there... not wanting to think. For once, not wanting to think... just feel... and... enjoy?
Lying on the bed, trying to relax a little... watching him... sort of... as he looped and tied... arms over my head, legs spread... just like the story... this part just like the story. It wasn't... unpleasant. Just... well... Feeling so vulnerable... and open...
The blindfold. I didn't really like that. Well, yes and no. I hate not knowing what's going on, yet I don't always like to watch. But I like having the option. But I thought it would be okay, because I could still see out of the...
Tape. I hadn't thought of that. He had. He was taping the eyeshades so I wouldn't be able to see... slight panic... very slight... I didn't want him to do that... but... I was tied... he was in control... that was what I wanted, wasn't it? Wasn't it?
It begins. Soft, stingy, rough, smooth... soft again...
He's pulling the shirt... trying to... ..cut it? What is he using? Doesn't sound like scissors... "oh God please don't let the knife slip... is it a knife? How close is it?" Slight panic... I hadn't thought about his using a knife. I hadn't thought at all, had I? "He's not going to hurt you... " trying to calm down... then another voice... "well, not on purpose, anyway... "
A small hole... right nipple exposed... is the room... brighter? did he turn the lights back up? Something different on the other side... tearing... left breast exposed... ...
Tickling... scratching... something cold... hard... ... what?
"Now would not be a good time for squirming... ." What did he mean... ? Something sharp... the point scratching my arm... knife... .? I try to move the blindfold... I want to see what he's doing... have to... ...
Tugging at my panties... tearing... ripping... along the seam... ... kissing me... there... I don't want him to... I don't know why... ... it just makes me... uncomfortable... I ask him to stop... what is he doing now? What is that? Does he still have the knife in his hand? Visions of the knife slipping... bleeding... (would that hurt much? how sharp was it?) what is he doing down there?
Trust. I trust him. I do. But... ... ... ... (i think too much sometimes... and not enough other times...)
Too much too soon... I wasn't ready. Not yet. Impatient... wanting everything all at once. Some things should not be rushed.
I forgot I had a safe word. I didn't mean to do it. Hadn't planned on it. I wasn't even really thinking. I can't even really remember why it started. Struggling... a little at first... then more... then more... then struggling a lot... ... the more I struggled the more I struggled...
Panic... not slight... is he going to let me go? Feeling warm again... too warm... and cold... warm and cold... feeling sick... dizzy... fuzzy... is he going to let me go?
Crying... ... I was crying... ... feeling scared, silly, foolish, angry... angry with myself... for letting this happen... ... trying to calm down but not being able to... ... crying... couldn't stop crying...
I wish I had let him hold me, instead of turning away.
Why do I always pull away? Why do I feel like I have to do everything alone? Curled up crying... wanting so much... to... curl up and hold him... let him hold me... wrap my arms around him and... what? Apologize? Explain? Would he listen? Would he want to? Wanting so much... to... be held... but not knowing... how... to ask... ... and what if he pulled away... as I moved close?
Was he angry?
Only so much patience.
I needed to be alone. For a minute. Wrapped up in his bathrobe... slipping out of the room... out... ..where? Go for a walk? Not like this. What if I got lost? Dark night. Settling for sitting outside... smoking... again... deep drags that scorched my throat... not caring... I needed to feel something... anything... pain was better than nothing.
Back inside. Back in bed. Not sure what I should say. Or do. Was he angry? "I'm ok now... " Not exactly. More like sort of ok. More like calmed down some and able to think. Wanting to talk... not sure how. Maybe he just wants to go to sleep?
"Do you want to talk... ?" No... ... I want to pretend it never happened. I want to forget it ever happened. Can't we do that? Please? Just... pretend... and then we can forget... and soon it'll be like it never did happen.
"Yes."
I don't talk much. I can't. It was a mistake to try to so soon. But... if I put it off... then only harder in the morning. I can't give myself any time... to set up a barrier... I can't do what I always do... I don't want to shut him out.
Too soon... still sensitive... I hear him speak... "you freaked out... ."... "punish... "... "hairbrush... "... "i forgive you... "
The hairbrush. Why? Do I deserve that?
I know I do. It's the only way. I won't be able to forgive myself otherwise. Does he know that? Is that why? He says he isn't doing this in anger... or because he's hurt...
Walking out of the bathroom. He's sitting on the chair. I don't want to do this. I'm scared. And still feeling... not so calm. It's really going to hurt... it has to, doesn't it?
Over his knee... I don't even remember what he said... if he said anything at all. All I feel is the hairbrush... hard...
Squirming, kicking... trying to be good... trying... trying to calm down... trying not to reach back... to block... i'm crying again... not because it hurts... i mean it does but that isn't why... crying because... I'm angry/hurt/disappointed... not with him... with myself.
He stops. Lets me up. Back in bed. I don't remember falling asleep. I remember waking up. And still feeling... guilty... awful. I tell him. Then almost wish I hadn't.
He said he let me off lightly. LIGHTLY?! That was light? I guess it was... I'm not that sore. And I could tell... last night... that he stopped too soon. Was he feeling sorry for me?
The strap... the rubber one... and the wicked loopy rubber thing... .that I could barely take even when we experimented with it... and the hairbrush again. A very bad spanking. Scared again. Hiding out in the bathroom... not wanting to come out. Heart beating... so fast... is that what hummingbird wings feel like... beating the air... .so fast you can't even see them... a blur...
In the other room. Waiting. He looks at me... I can't read him. Patient. He holds out his hand. I tell him I don't want this... don't want to do this. He reaches out... startled, I step back. He says he won't do this... it's up to me. But he doesn't want me to tell him... later... that I wished I had done it.
Reaching out. My hand in his... over his knee again. Trembling... I can't stop shaking... can he feel it? It won't make any difference, I know. He won't feel sorry for me this time. It won't stop so quickly.
Oh God... did it have to hurt so much so fast? Trying to be good... trying to breathe... trying to withdraw... all I feel is the strap... again and again... I can hear it... so loud... is it really that loud or does it just seem that way because it's all I can hear.
"I'm sorry..." over and over...
"I don't like spanking you like this... "
"I'm sorry Matt... for making you spank me like this... .." did I really say that? Or was it just in my head?
Loopy rubber thing... so light... seems so harmless. Stings like hell... can't take much more... ..can't take much at all of it really... seems like forever...
The hairbrush... again. Feels like he's doing it harder. Wishing I could go numb down there... feeling nothing but the brush... again and again... hurts... it hurts... ... ... ... ... can't think anymore... beyond thinking now...
Over... up... trouble walking back to bed.
I don't feel guilty anymore... ... ...
Cat Imagines - by Cat
What am I doing? Why did I let him talk me into this? What is he doing? Why is he so quiet? Ohhhhhhh... I have a million butterflies and no hope of them calming down. I've never been tied up before... why did I agree to this? Because he really wanted to, that's why. And it seemed harmless enough. But then he said he was going to blindfold me, too. So now I can't see what he's doing and I can't hear him because he's not doing anything. Is he even in here? Watching me? Or out checking his email or reading his book?
"Yes, I'm here. And yes, I'm watching you."
I hate it when he does that. Seems to know what I'm thinking. But maybe that's just a normal response. I mean, I've been fidgeting here for what seems like forever...
"It's only been four minutes." I can hear the smile in his voice. He's really enjoying this. Watching me fidget, trying to stay calm, and thinking... always thinking... wondering what he has planned.
"Does the thought that I may do nothing at all worry you as much as the thought of what I might do?" I feel him sit, then slide closer to me. "Don't worry... nothing at all is not an option right now."
Okay, the butterflies have started up again. He has that note in his voice. That "I've-got-a-new-toy-and-can't-wait-to-try-it-out-on-you" note. I've heard it plenty. And had the sore bottom to prove it. But he isn't going to spank me this time. I don't think. I'm on my back, arms above my head, wrists tied together. The leather restraints aren't too bad... not comfortable, but then I'm not supposed to be totally comfortable. But they don't hurt. My legs are tied, too... restraints at each ankle, legs spread. I'm wearing one of those little white cotton t-shirts and plain white cotton panties, white socks.
His touch startles me. Gentle, on my face, tracing a line across my right eyebrow, down to my cheek, then to my chin. He kisses me, softly. I start to kiss back but he pulls away.
"None of that. I want you to feel. Just be. Enjoy..." He's whispering in my ear. Kissing, gently nibbling. The sensation is incredible. Not being able to move, to touch him, to see him, just feeling...
He's pulling the t-shirt... up... to just below my breasts. More kisses, a nibble - not so gentle - that makes me gasp. He has the hem of the t-shirt... I hear a snip, then feel him pulling it, tearing... the sound filling the room.
"Did that scare you?" A hint of concern. He did want me to enjoy this, after all.
"Uhmmm... a little, yeah... "
"Silly girl..." He kisses me again. Pulls what's left of the shirt away.
I wondered why he had tied me while still partially clothed, instead of naked. He never does anything by accident. Always a purpose, a reason.
Something light... not his fingers... too light... ohhhhh... on my tummy... little circles... moving right then left then up... what is that? Ohhhh... now more... I giggle... "Is that the feather duster?"
"Very good... you get points for guessing correctly." He pats my left thigh.
"What happens when I don't?" I giggle again, starting to enjoy his game... our game.
"You know what happens. Don't try to act so innocent..."
"Me? But I..." Cut short as I gasp... a sharp sting on my inner thigh. Not bad, light really. But it took me by surprise. "Owwwwwwww..." Trying to make him feel guilty...
"No pouting..." Traces his finger across my lower lip. "You know what happens to girls who pout, don't you?"
A sudden thought...
"I wouldn't if I were you. Not the best position..." He left the rest unsaid.
"I wasn't going to do anything... "
"Mhmmm... .." Kissing the spot on my inner thigh... kissing the sting away... "No more bratting, okay?"
"I wasn't being..." I feel him sitting up... "I mean... I'm sorry... I'll be good from now on..." Was he thinking? Was I going to feel the wrong end of the feather duster again? "Really, Matt... honestly... I'll behave, okay?"
"Good girl..." Stroking my hair... kissing me... I try to just be... just feel... not help or try to do... just be... Hands, wandering... down... circling my breasts... teasing my nipples... cupping... squeezing... then he stops. I let out a soft little whine... "Greedy girl..." A quick kiss at the base of my neck. Feeling him shift. Tugging at my socks... pulling off first the right, then the left. Making sure the restraints were still fastened, that there was no chance of my getting loose.
Fingers under the elastic of my panties... at my right hip... two quick snips... he lets the ends fall. Same at the left. Reaching under me, pulling... naked now... feeling so open, so vulnerable, everything open and waiting... nothing hidden.
>^..^< Cat's Dream - by Matt
It may have stared as a dream - and who knows what all contributes to the witches’ brew of dreams? Wants, of course, but fears as well, along with physical situations and actions that reflect our feelings. So you may have to tread a little carefully when you turn your dreams into stories, no matter how small your audience, or how clear the meaning seems to be. Cat said that she had dreamt that she had been tied up - or more accurately, tied down, tied down by me. This might have been a little odd, since earlier she had told me of a recurring dream, one in which she couldn’t move, except this time it was different - she could and did and ran - ran outside and called my name. This was after one of our all-night cross-country phone calls, to somewhere she was staying on a layover. I remember feeling glad and proud that I might be helping her feel less powerless, as if she had somewhere to go and someone to be there.
So, having freed her, it was curious that now I was tying her down - but that’s how dreams are. At first, she says, it didn’t seem odd that she was still partially dressed... maybe not odd because she does prefer to be dressed - at all times… an issue I take the opposite approach on, particularly in regards to her, of course, moreso than myself. We had had a little problem in chat when she had misbehaved and I had told her to take off her panties - she said she couldn’t. It became a very powerful time for us, the issues that were raised and shared - and I think maybe it was after that that she’d had the dream where, for once, she could move. So she was aware of my position that she was meant to be less dressed more often.
She was dressed all in white - possibly not symbolically, since she was only wearing a t-shirt, panties, and socks - oh yes, we would later disagree considerably on her wearing of socks - I don’t know if it had come up. In the dream, I had bound her hand and foot on the bed - instantly, magically, the way these things happen in the mind… her top and panties still on. And at some point she did think (dream-think) to wonder why she still had these clothes on… and then I produced a pair of scissors and removed them, permanently…
In certain ways, Cat is shy - and yet, now that she feels secure with me, she is very open… and she must have known that to tell me about this dream would be to make it happen - she not only told me but, at my request, wrote it all out as a story - a great story like all of her writings, wonderfully spare and crackling with intensity…
Clothes Shopping
In certain ways the time we spent together that week was very odd - we met close to midnight and stayed up for hours and hours, slept in late behind her blackout curtains, slept nude (odd for her) and woke up to find the door on the chain and the coldest night of the year inside as well as out… once we woke we didn’t rise but stayed in bed and played until lunch was sinfully late… another night, endless play and drink as well, stifling heat this time and the cats drifting in and out, at some unfathomable hour falling asleep with the suddenness of a switch being closed… by the time we would rise the day might be evening - morning disappeared completely… an intended afternoon drive from her place to mine ended up in a midnight arrival due to our tardy departure… and so even in my sunny, overly-lit rooms, morning still eluded us…
All the while I was treating her lightly but sharply, her bottom would sting and she would wish for release and then moments later be anxious to start again - after days of this she was hardly sore. We had scarcely left her place when we were there and she seemed more than content to do the same here, except that I didn’t let her… late the second afternoon, with plans in mind, I saw that we got out, though as always several hours later than I expected… early enough, though, that this time we could go shopping.
I hate to spend money on clothes I don’t wear and yet if you want to look good you can only wear about half the things you buy, thinking they’ll look good… so in short my first choice is to buy current cheap discounted clothes - a great place to go for what we’re looking for. We found any number of clearance-priced tops, cute and tiny that Cat wouldn’t think of ever wearing in public, but we weren’t going to be in public… of these she chose a couple, both white, that she felt comfortable wearing just in front of me… these clearance stores are no place to buy underwear, even if it’s new, so off to Target for that… we also noticed some fashionable belts, two long rows of holes from end to end, sure to be noticed by the misbehaving bottom… and the mall, where I happened to know that the rock-n-roll store had super-short schoolgirl skirts, the latest rage… chose the best one of those for some other time, along with a matching plaid tie with a skull on it…
Dinner was interesting - excellent Italian food in a place I’ve been a number of times, tasty yet casual, which is my liking… funny, we both noticed that one woman at each of two tables next to us was wearing the same scary belt we had remarked on at Target…
Scissors
Finally home and time to change… Cat tried everything on out of my sight, and decided she’d be most comfortable in the tight white ribbed turtleneck with three-quarter sleeves - and jeans, not a skirt… yes it seemed odd to me that she wanted something less revealing, since she’d be taking them off, but I wanted to honor her modesty…
I picked up a crop and came out and sat on the couch - sat back, she stood in front of me - I would reach out with the crop and touch her, and tell her how attractive she was and how much I wanted to see her… the curtains were drawn but the lights were on… they we on in the adjoining kitchen and dining area, I have no lights in the living room… but then Cat lost her nerve and disappeared into the bathroom again…
Cat takes life and everything so seriously… I know that’s what makes this so hard for her… I try to be patient and wait, give her space and time, privacy, respect and reassurance, while still being available to her… it’s not hard for me, I enjoy her company clothed or unclothed… with time she settled down and wanted to try again… we started in the bedroom this time, which is a little tight since my bed is some overwhelming - not only large but waist-high as well… but we got started and she made it through the early part, got out of her jeans and into some collars for her wrists and ankles… I clipped her wrists together and then her ankles - I wrapped a very thin light rope around the mattress and hooked the ankle collars to that, spreading her legs - another rope and I connected her joined wrists above her head… still she wore her shirt panties and socks as she had dreamed…
She was pretty secure like this so I began to tickle her - she’s very ticklish and would have gotten away if she could have but couldn’t so I knew everything would hold… then I got the blindfold - that hadn’t been part of her plan… she took a deep breath and accepted it, not happily… then the adhesive tape so that she couldn’t see underneath and it wouldn’t slip… she was much less happy with that… now she’s bound and blindfolded and may be asking herself, too late, how much she can trust me…
I teased her here and there - opened up a gap between her top and her underwear… dug into my toy chest… a dozen lovely sensations that tickle the edges of your memory - I should know that feeling, you think… I almost have it… is it something okay? Or a prelude to danger? These, it turned out, were usually okay - not that Cat had any way of knowing…
This knife is a special knife to me, I have a deep personal attachment to it - it was my father’s, when he bought it it was probably stolen - such was his life, delusions of - what? Bandit? Renegade art dealer? But it is clearly of his ancestors, and the only way he could ever afford such an antique, a Scottish “black knife,” flat, deadly, meant to be hidden close to the heart, the last resort of a gentleman betrayed… small, as need be, sharpened both sides to a point, with blood gutters and a triangular profile, leaving a wound that won’t heal… and yet topped with a jewel, bearing the insignia of the cross of St. Andrew - with his body still on it, alive, dying; on the ebony handle, while the garnet glitters and peeks from a Highlander’s dress sock. When he died it was the only thing I wanted.
Cat has such lovely nipples - large, brown, so responsive that you’d almost call them muscular, tightening up into aching need, undisguised want… I pinch her lovely white ribbed knit top and slice off just enough to allow the tip of her nipple into my mouth… it forces its way through the opening to me… I treat it as well to a dozen breath-stealing delights - then on the other side I rip her entire shirt open, exposing her breast suddenly no longer overheated but radiating… one of two lovely light play floggers comes into my hand, sweeping her with its delicious soft curtain of touch… a scrape, a rub…
I part Cat’s top from between her breasts to the hem, exposing her ticklish nervous tummy, delightfully with that perfect little touch of softness, roundedness… this flogger has a sharp scary sting, you have to relax to realize that it doesn’t hurt and yet it keeps you too nervous to do so…
This short Arab sword - a broad, heavy, shining scimitar - also holds a certain special feeling - I wore it onstage and - most importantly, my son wore a matching one - my insistence in real weapons, not cheap plastic toys, raised me considerably in his eyes… and on stage, under the lights, its shine could not be mistaken for painted plastic - in the hands of the cast or hanging, dragging down our belts, its weight could not go unrecognized - the care with which they were handled made it clear to the furthest-back row that they had not been dulled… Cat couldn’t see the light glint off of the blade but she could not mistake the cold or the weight of the broad thick steel against her tummy, the feather scrape of the edge against her skin…
As handy as such a machine may be for slaughter, it is hardly suitable for a most delicate operation… kneeling between her legs, contacting her at every point possible, feeling her skin against my calf, my ribs, my cheek… an inch from my face my razor opens her panties just inside the seam. Working upward I begin to free all the material forming the fabric of her panties - soon she will be in a cotton outline of them, the razor approaches her waist - but slowly, I examine, caress, tease and please her as I go…
Was it without warning or was I just unaware? Suddenly she is thrashing, hysterical, scared and angry, threatening to rattle the bed apart or injure herself in the attempt… I stop, she does not - I have to cover her with my body just to subdue her enough to free her, she’s pulling the bonds so tight… so I do…
She curls up, she turns away… anger and hurt flashing instantly to embarrassment, humiliation, shame… I leave her long enough to finish freeing her, turn down the lights, keep track of sharp objects… at some point she calms down enough to leave…
I wait, silently, withholding judgment - can she tell? I think so, because she returns before long… tremendously disappointed with herself… no safeword, no pleas, just sudden total panic… she’ll have to be punished, she hasn’t had the hairbrush yet but has seen it, knows that it is there, waiting for her - no stinging spanking this time, the straight-backed chair and the hard, solid, narrow swats that tell you you’ve done wrong…
Cat Remembers – By Cat
Wednesday. Planning. Thinking. Giggling. More planning. We had been thinking about this since he mentioned it a couple of weeks earlier. Then I wrote the "story"... and it sort of took off from there.
He was going to tie me to the bed. Then... what? That was up to him. I had written the beginning, he was going to decide where it went from there.
Tied up. I don't have any pleasant memories of being tied. But this I wanted to do. Why? I don't know. The thought intrigued me. The thought of being totally under his control, to do with as he wanted... was... thrilling. And a little frightening. I told myself I could do this. That I wanted to do this. That I would do it. Was I doing this to please him? Or me? Did it really matter? You can get so much pleasure from pleasing another...
Shopping. Laughing. Trying on a couple of shirts. Not me at all. But... .. Almost like a scavenger hunt, looking for all the items on the list... white shirt, white panties, white socks... ..white... a sacrificial virgin? I was neither. But I couldn't help thinking of it that way.
Thought all through dinner. And then at his apartment. He was napping. I was thinking. A little excited, a little apprehensive... what if... ?
And then he was awake... holding me, kissing me... I asked for a safe word. Why? We'd never really used one before. I mean the very first time he had asked me... honestly, no? So I guess that was sort of like having one. But I never thought to use one when he was spanking me. Not even for the spanking I got for smoking, which really hurt. No... instead I say his name... or please... or I hold his wrist to keep from reaching back to block... but I never really think about stopping... He said it was "honestly... "
Dressing in the bathroom. Looking in the mirror. Wondering how he sees me. What does he see? Does he see what I see? Does he see faults? Does he see the dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep? Does he see the tiny wrinkles already beginning to form around my eyes... growing deeper each time I laugh? Does he think my bottom too big? Breasts too small? Too short? What? Anything?
More butterflies. I pick everything apart. I don't want to come out. I feel... oh... ... foolish. Trying to be something I am not. But isn't that part of the game? Sort of anyway?
Walking out... he is sitting on the sofa. He's so relaxed, damn it. He has... a... riding crop... the loop around his right wrist. All I can think is "please let everything go ok... please let me please him... "
He's looking at me. Asking me to turn around. It feels... something feels not right. He tells me to close my eyes. That doesn't help any. That just leaves me alone with my thoughts. I feel too warm... hot... I...
Outside... pacing... I know why it feels wrong. Trying to talk myself out of thinking that way. Pacing... I hate it when that happens... I pace and then I can't stop and I just keep going... back and forth... I did it when I was young, I did it in the hospital and here I am still doing it ten years later on this man's balcony and I know I should stop now but I don't want to I won't stop the scene over this... not this... this is different... not the same... millions of thoughts running through my head... I decide.
Back inside... he asks me to take my jeans down... I try... but... he's watching me... self-conscious... I try to laugh, maybe that will help? But it doesn't. And then I'm telling him I can't... and running... running like the stupid scared child I've always been... always running...
Why is it that I am not afraid of drowning, not afraid of threats, not afraid of walking in strange cities alone after dark, not even afraid of plane crashes... but I am afraid of being watched?
He tells me (ever patient... do I deserve that much patience?) to come back when I am ready. Deep breaths... more thinking... am I ready?
Walking back... he is still sitting there... still calm... still relaxed. I ask if we can move into the bedroom. He follows me there. Turns the lights down, which helps. Then asks me once again to take my jeans down. Another deep breath, this time I do it. I turn around... let him look at me. Then he asks me to take my top off. Why was that so difficult? I've done it many times. I wish I could have explained... at the time... why... it was. "It's not the same... " And it wasn't the same. Well, it was and it wasn't. I wasn't 13 or 14 or 15 anymore... and Matt isn't dad... but he looked at me the same way dad did when he asked me to take my clothes off and that's why it was so hard... at first. He was sitting there on the sofa looking just like... I mean I was nervous to begin with... but then... but then I got over it... and did it... pulled my top off... felt even more nervous all of a sudden. And cold. Very cold. Strange, because I had been so warm a few minutes before.
I wasn't really thinking anything when he put the restraints on my wrists. I just stood there... not wanting to think. For once, not wanting to think... just feel... and... enjoy?
Lying on the bed, trying to relax a little... watching him... sort of... as he looped and tied... arms over my head, legs spread... just like the story... this part just like the story. It wasn't... unpleasant. Just... well... Feeling so vulnerable... and open...
The blindfold. I didn't really like that. Well, yes and no. I hate not knowing what's going on, yet I don't always like to watch. But I like having the option. But I thought it would be okay, because I could still see out of the...
Tape. I hadn't thought of that. He had. He was taping the eyeshades so I wouldn't be able to see... slight panic... very slight... I didn't want him to do that... but... I was tied... he was in control... that was what I wanted, wasn't it? Wasn't it?
It begins. Soft, stingy, rough, smooth... soft again...
He's pulling the shirt... trying to... ..cut it? What is he using? Doesn't sound like scissors... "oh God please don't let the knife slip... is it a knife? How close is it?" Slight panic... I hadn't thought about his using a knife. I hadn't thought at all, had I? "He's not going to hurt you... " trying to calm down... then another voice... "well, not on purpose, anyway... "
A small hole... right nipple exposed... is the room... brighter? did he turn the lights back up? Something different on the other side... tearing... left breast exposed... ...
Tickling... scratching... something cold... hard... ... what?
"Now would not be a good time for squirming... ." What did he mean... ? Something sharp... the point scratching my arm... knife... .? I try to move the blindfold... I want to see what he's doing... have to... ...
Tugging at my panties... tearing... ripping... along the seam... ... kissing me... there... I don't want him to... I don't know why... ... it just makes me... uncomfortable... I ask him to stop... what is he doing now? What is that? Does he still have the knife in his hand? Visions of the knife slipping... bleeding... (would that hurt much? how sharp was it?) what is he doing down there?
Trust. I trust him. I do. But... ... ... ... (i think too much sometimes... and not enough other times...)
Too much too soon... I wasn't ready. Not yet. Impatient... wanting everything all at once. Some things should not be rushed.
I forgot I had a safe word. I didn't mean to do it. Hadn't planned on it. I wasn't even really thinking. I can't even really remember why it started. Struggling... a little at first... then more... then more... then struggling a lot... ... the more I struggled the more I struggled...
Panic... not slight... is he going to let me go? Feeling warm again... too warm... and cold... warm and cold... feeling sick... dizzy... fuzzy... is he going to let me go?
Crying... ... I was crying... ... feeling scared, silly, foolish, angry... angry with myself... for letting this happen... ... trying to calm down but not being able to... ... crying... couldn't stop crying...
I wish I had let him hold me, instead of turning away.
Why do I always pull away? Why do I feel like I have to do everything alone? Curled up crying... wanting so much... to... curl up and hold him... let him hold me... wrap my arms around him and... what? Apologize? Explain? Would he listen? Would he want to? Wanting so much... to... be held... but not knowing... how... to ask... ... and what if he pulled away... as I moved close?
Was he angry?
Only so much patience.
I needed to be alone. For a minute. Wrapped up in his bathrobe... slipping out of the room... out... ..where? Go for a walk? Not like this. What if I got lost? Dark night. Settling for sitting outside... smoking... again... deep drags that scorched my throat... not caring... I needed to feel something... anything... pain was better than nothing.
Back inside. Back in bed. Not sure what I should say. Or do. Was he angry? "I'm ok now... " Not exactly. More like sort of ok. More like calmed down some and able to think. Wanting to talk... not sure how. Maybe he just wants to go to sleep?
"Do you want to talk... ?" No... ... I want to pretend it never happened. I want to forget it ever happened. Can't we do that? Please? Just... pretend... and then we can forget... and soon it'll be like it never did happen.
"Yes."
I don't talk much. I can't. It was a mistake to try to so soon. But... if I put it off... then only harder in the morning. I can't give myself any time... to set up a barrier... I can't do what I always do... I don't want to shut him out.
Too soon... still sensitive... I hear him speak... "you freaked out... ."... "punish... "... "hairbrush... "... "i forgive you... "
The hairbrush. Why? Do I deserve that?
I know I do. It's the only way. I won't be able to forgive myself otherwise. Does he know that? Is that why? He says he isn't doing this in anger... or because he's hurt...
Walking out of the bathroom. He's sitting on the chair. I don't want to do this. I'm scared. And still feeling... not so calm. It's really going to hurt... it has to, doesn't it?
Over his knee... I don't even remember what he said... if he said anything at all. All I feel is the hairbrush... hard...
Squirming, kicking... trying to be good... trying... trying to calm down... trying not to reach back... to block... i'm crying again... not because it hurts... i mean it does but that isn't why... crying because... I'm angry/hurt/disappointed... not with him... with myself.
He stops. Lets me up. Back in bed. I don't remember falling asleep. I remember waking up. And still feeling... guilty... awful. I tell him. Then almost wish I hadn't.
He said he let me off lightly. LIGHTLY?! That was light? I guess it was... I'm not that sore. And I could tell... last night... that he stopped too soon. Was he feeling sorry for me?
The strap... the rubber one... and the wicked loopy rubber thing... .that I could barely take even when we experimented with it... and the hairbrush again. A very bad spanking. Scared again. Hiding out in the bathroom... not wanting to come out. Heart beating... so fast... is that what hummingbird wings feel like... beating the air... .so fast you can't even see them... a blur...
In the other room. Waiting. He looks at me... I can't read him. Patient. He holds out his hand. I tell him I don't want this... don't want to do this. He reaches out... startled, I step back. He says he won't do this... it's up to me. But he doesn't want me to tell him... later... that I wished I had done it.
Reaching out. My hand in his... over his knee again. Trembling... I can't stop shaking... can he feel it? It won't make any difference, I know. He won't feel sorry for me this time. It won't stop so quickly.
Oh God... did it have to hurt so much so fast? Trying to be good... trying to breathe... trying to withdraw... all I feel is the strap... again and again... I can hear it... so loud... is it really that loud or does it just seem that way because it's all I can hear.
"I'm sorry..." over and over...
"I don't like spanking you like this... "
"I'm sorry Matt... for making you spank me like this... .." did I really say that? Or was it just in my head?
Loopy rubber thing... so light... seems so harmless. Stings like hell... can't take much more... ..can't take much at all of it really... seems like forever...
The hairbrush... again. Feels like he's doing it harder. Wishing I could go numb down there... feeling nothing but the brush... again and again... hurts... it hurts... ... ... ... ... can't think anymore... beyond thinking now...
Over... up... trouble walking back to bed.
I don't feel guilty anymore... ... ...
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