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I'm trying to use labels with my stories now. When you click on a label the blog should display all stories with that label, though you have to scroll down to see them. Since Blogger limits the number of labels per post, I have to do this with a series of posts:

"Fine"

by Cat, 2002


Thinking... always thinking. That's me. I was thinking from the moment I felt our conversation shift. From the moment it changed for me... and became too... real. Too much. Okay, I got pulled in. I guess it was supposed to happen. He said he meant to try to get inside my head... and putting me in an uncomfortable position is part of it. Part of this... game. That I didn't play very well.

It's difficult to tell when he's teasing sometimes. You read something and it sounds so serious... but you don't hear it... you can't hear a voice and any inflection or tone. So you have to guess sometimes. That's sort of what happened I guess. It just got serious very quickly. And then he was asking me to take off all my clothes and I was trying to explain why I could not and... I thought I was explaining... but he just wasn't getting it... and then I thought maybe he was but... maybe didn't care... because I was supposed to just do what he said... and yes I know I could have stopped it with a word... but... I couldn't. I... just stopped thinking for those few brief moments and just reacted. Like I sometimes do. So when I feel threatened or cornered or anything I do one of two things... I either withdraw or push back. And I did both. I withdrew a little... at first... but then I just felt so frustrated... I mean, I was explaining WHY... why didn't he get it? I made it perfectly clear (so I thought)... so why is he pushing me?

And then he said I had made my choice... by not complying and not explaining.

So...

Fine. A small word... it can mean so many things. But the way I said it... meant only one thing. Fine. This is your game, but I am strong enough to take anything... do whatever you want...

He heard. And understood. I regretted it immediately. Not because I was "in trouble"... no... that didn't really matter... I mean it did... but what mattered most was... that he heard... and knew what I meant. That I was shutting him out. And not just that I wasn't playing... but more than that. That I... was pushing him away. That's what I regretted. Because I hadn't wanted to do that. I enjoyed talking to him, reading his stories, staying up way later than I should at hotels talking... always talking... about everything and nothing at all... I enjoyed him. And now... because I had allowed myself to fall back and do something I said I would never do with him... meaning push/test... things I've done that have cost me... well... what was he going to do? I apologized immediately. Which is rare... I don't normally do that. But like I said, I liked this one. And wanted to keep him. If he still wanted to stay. And I really hoped he did. He said we would talk about it later that night.

He asked if I deserved to be punished... and why. Admitting it was difficult. I didn't really want to. But he didn't say anything... ..he was waiting. I said I did... because of what I had said. Because of the way I had said it.

He talked about punishment. About my doing things that hurt myself in the long run. That I hurt him... that he tried... really tried... with me. I felt awful. Listening... all I could do was sit and listen and try not to cry. He said we'd do it the next night. Wash my mouth out with soap. At first I didn't really think he was serious. I had heard about that, but... well... had never even considered...

I was nervous. Millions of flutterbyes. Big ones. He had called while I was out checking the mail. Called early. So... I paged him... not quite ready to hear his voice but wanting to get it over with. He called back immediately. No warm up. No talk. Straight into "you know why I am calling... " I felt... trapped. Funny, because I didn't have to call him... could just have avoided the entire thing. Honestly... I wanted to stop him... tell him I couldn't do this then hang up. All day I had thought about it. And felt... so many different things... awful, that I had hurt him... anger, that he'd want to "punish" me... a little fear, for the same reason...

He was talking... I was listening. He said I didn't have to talk if I didn't want to. And I didn't really want to. I said I was sorry a couple of times. And then he was telling me what he wanted me to do. And I was thinking... no... I can't do this. As I was soaping the washcloth... I... hate to admit but I thought about not doing it at all... I mean, how would he know, right? He couldn't... wouldn't... unless I told him someday. But I would know. And... could I live with that? Knowing I had lied... because that was lying, wasn't it? Could I lie to this person... this person who had become a friend... who trusted me... this person I liked and wanted to continue talking to... and meeting again someday... could I lie about something like this? I knew the answer... even before I finished rationalizing. Of course I'd do it. And hate it, and maybe feel a little foolish... but... ... .I had to do it. And if I didn't do it... then I would have to tell him... before... that I could/would not. Staring at the washcloth... wondering if I could do this... could I? Glad in a way that he wasn't here... couldn't see what I was going through but then again wishing he was here...

I did it. It was awful. Not just the taste, but knowing why I was doing it. And then I had to stand in the corner. For what seemed like forever. Fidgeting... shifting from one foot to the other... waiting... thinking... feeling miserable... and then the soap making my throat even more sore... trying not to cough... trying not to swallow... then it was over... .I could rinse my mouth. Forgiven... could I forgive myself?

Then talking... gradually getting back to normal... I hate that my voice changes... I can hear it... the little girl quiet voice of a girl in trouble. Slowly getting my own voice back. More talking... I can't believe he has really forgiven me... but he has... why am I tougher on myself than others are?

Driving Lessons

by Cat with Matt, 2002


"I don't think this is a very good idea." He was handing me the keys to his car. "I mean, all I have is a permit. And... " I was searching for excuses. Anything to get out of driving.

"Right. That's why you're going to drive." He dropped his keys into my hand. "Practice. So you can take your test tomorrow."

"But what if... ?" I thought of all the possible things that could happen. I could hit another car. I could hit a curb and break a wheel. I could... "Tomorrow?!"

"You have been practicing, haven't you, Cat?" Uh oh... what was that look?

"Well... I... uhmmmm... " Think fast, Cat... "Yes, Matt, I have been practicing. Like you... uhmmm... suggested. Three times a week."

"Good girl." He gave me a playful swat, then walked to the passenger side and got in.

Oh boy. He just drove all the way from LA to Las Vegas. Of course he wouldn't feel like driving. And he came to see me. To help me get ready to take my driving test. He was my "licensed operator in front seat."

I got in. Buckled my seat belt. Checked mirrors, adjusted the seat. Did all the little things you're supposed to do when you get into a car. Took my time.

"Cat, are you thinking about something?"

I was sitting there, hands on the steering wheel, trying to remember which way to turn the wheel when you want to back out of a parking space and end up facing left. "Uhmmm... I was... just thinking," I said.

"Did you even hear what I asked you?"

Is it the opposite? Or turn left to go left? Geeeeez, why didn't I practice more? Before he came all the way out here. Did he just say something again? Can't he see I'M TRYING TO THINK?

"Yes, Matt?" I turned to look at him.

"How many times have you been out driving? Since you got your permit?"

"Well, I don't know. I mean, how am I supposed to remember... ?"

"Three times a week? Let's see, you got your permit a month and a half ago. That's six weeks. Six times three is eighteen. That many times? More? Less?"

I hate the way he figures things out all the time. So... logical. I wonder if all engineers are like that?

"Cat?"

I try to smile. Smiling works. Sometimes gets you out of all kinds of trouble. "Matt... "

"Out of the car." He gets out, slams the door. This is not good. He walks over to my side, opens the door. "Now, Cat."

I scramble out, feel another swat, this one not quite so playful.

"Owww... " I pout. "That hurt." Now I'm upset. Mainly with myself. I know I'm wrong, but can't bring myself to say so. I know I should apologize, especially for... not telling him the truth from the beginning.

"Let's go." He takes my hand, pulls me alongside him.

"Where... ?"

"Back to your apartment."

"But I don't want to go... " Uh oh... what was... that look?

We climb the three flights of stairs in silence. I can't find my keys. I drop my purse. My hands are trembling, and I don't even know why. I finally find them (in my coat pocket) and open the door.

The cats sense trouble and disappear. They're no help! We'll see who gets up at 4AM to feed them next time...

"Okay, Cat. So you weren't telling the truth when you said you had been practicing?"

"I... ... .uhmmmmm... ..well... ." I saw a pair of sparkly green eyes peeking out from under the bed. They seemed to say, 'You're on your own, dude.'

"Okay, I know the answer to that question." He looked around. "Next question. Do you have a hairbrush?"

"Why do you ask? Do you need to brush your hair?" I was puzzled.

"Young lady, you're already in a lot of trouble." He spun me around, gave me a few sharp smacks on my bottom.

"Matt... ... ..ow! What are you... ... .?"

"I want you to go get your hairbrush and bring it to me. Then I am going to show you what happens to naughty young ladies who don't do what they're supposed to do and then try to lie about it."

I went into the bedroom. I thought about...

"And don't even think of trying to lock yourself in. You can't stay in there forever and when you finally come out... " He left the rest unsaid.

I found my brush and handed it to him. It was one of those big wooden ones. It looked so much like a... a... paddle. Funny, I had never noticed that before.

"Matt, I'm really sorry. I... " He led me to the sofa, pulled me over his knee.

I felt his arm around my waist, holding me. "Do you know why I am going to spank you?"

"Because... I... " I couldn't speak. I could hardly breathe.

I don't know why I was so surprised. He had often mentioned that he had spanked girlfriends, even his ex-wife. But I never thought he would... well... spank me. Although he had "threatened"... a couple of times. Well, not really threatened. Said something like "If I had been there I would have spanked you."

And now he was here. And he was going to spank me.

"Because... " He prompted. I could feel him tapping my bottom, lightly.

"Because I didn't practice my driving. After I said I was going to. And when you asked me... I... lied about it." I swallowed.

"Do you deserve this spanking, Cat?"

"Please don't spank me, Matt. I'll... " I didn't know what to say. What could I say? I was wrong. I tried to sit up. If we could just talk...

He pushed me back down, gently. "Cat? I'm waiting."

"Yes." It was so difficult to say it.

The first smack hurt so much. Then there was the second. And third. I lost count after fifteen. I thought he had stopped but then felt him push my skirt up over my hips. I struggled, tried to pull it back down, but he held me tight and scolded me while he spanked. About responsibility and telling the truth or something. Honestly, I didn't really listen. I was too busy being very aware of how sore my bottom was getting.

This can't get any worse. My eyes were stinging, but I was not going to cry.

He stopped again. I think he had asked me a question. I don't know I couldn't really think. I felt his fingers dip beneath the elastic of my panties.

"No... ... You can't!" I really struggled. I put my hand back, trying to keep him from pulling my panties down. "Please, Matt... please don't... ... " I don't know if I made any sense after that. I felt him take my wrist in his left hand, hold it against my back. I buried my face in the sofa cushions.

He wasn't using the hairbrush anymore. But it still stung. I felt so... helpless. Vulnerable. I could feel my panties tangled around my knees. I started to cry, the sofa cushions muffling the sound, absorbing my tears.

He was rubbing my bottom. Helping me sit up. On his lap. I had my arms around his neck, still crying a little onto his shirt. He didn't seem to mind. He was stroking my hair. Telling me it was okay, everything was okay now.

Everything was okay now.

A SoundProof Room

June 16, 2002
for Cat



What type of spanking could I give you in a sound proof room? No need for silence... to worry about neighbors or children or the skittish cats who don't like to hear the loud *slap/whap* of your favorite paddle. Yes, your favorite paddle. The one I use when you've been a very good girl. Or when you've had a very long day and need to relax. Or when you need a nice warmup for a longer harder session.

What type of spanking would I give you in a sound proof room? One that left you breathless and wanting more? One that made you cry? Or one that made you beg for me to stop? Funny thing about you... you always beg me to stop, say you can't bear it any longer... yet as soon as I let you up, you smile and make some bratty comment. Is it any wonder you rarely sit comfortably?

What type of spanking would you want in a sound proof room? Think about it. No one to hear. No one to judge. You and me. You wouldn't have to hide behind your pillow, muffle your cries of pleasure and pain. You can open yourself to me. I know your true nature. I know your secrets. I've seen your soul. And seen my own reflected in your eyes.

What type of spanking should I give you in a sound proof room? Do you want to be tied? Do you want to be scared? Do you want the thrill of not knowing what comes next? Blindfolds and scarves? Crops and leather restraints? Or do you want a mirror? So you can watch me whip you with the strap... the long black rubber one that stings like nothing else yet never bruises your tender skin. Should I make love to you afterward? Soft and sweet, cuddly sex? Or would you prefer cat sex? Loud, with lots of biting and scratching?

Do you honestly believe that I am the one in control? Silly girl, you have nothing to fear in our sound proof room.

Why Must You Torture Me

You turn your full attention to me and suddenly I am terrified. My food, the other patrons, the entire coffeehouse freezes in time like Ancient Pompeii, instantly entombed in volcanic ash. Because I know that before the night is over I will have experienced the other part of the volcano, the molten lava that consumes flesh, engulfs it, absorbs it without a trace. My insides turns to water and before I can lower my eyes, tears spring to them, held in check, yes, but ready nonetheless.

No one notices - who could imagine what will pass between us this night? - And if they noticed they would assume they had seen incorrectly. But they would be wrong. I don’t want to leave and I don’t want to stay. I don’t want to be led by the hand out to the car to have you, in the relative privacy of the parking lot, cup the little square or, more precisely, curve, probably, cup the little curve of flesh that has caught the attention of your devious mind this evening. Is that all this is for you, a mental exercise? Do you become so infatuated with your ideas of what you can do to some small part of me? I like to think, immodestly perhaps, that I could occupy that much of your thoughts.

Even before I learn the specific approach you will use this evening I know from experience what the result must ultimately be. My tension tells me I will fail in my resolution to accept it more easily this time. I have to ask myself what it is you want, why you must torture me? My tears reach their flood as you examine my least appealing aspects in the most minute detail. What perfection could stand up to such scrutiny? Can my body ever not resist you? Can my back ever not arch under the focus of your attentions, applied with a jeweler’s skill to break me down, past down, beyond down and then further?

Could it be just your way of allowing me to give myself so completely to you? In my heart I want that to be the reason. In my heart I want to submit to you entirely but if this is my chance to show my devotion why must you make it so difficult? Difficult I could accept - but why impossible? Why do you force me to resist you, beg of you, plead unheeded, and continue? Why can’t you allow that I show my devotion, do what you want, accept what you give me? Why must you always give me so much more than I can accept? Is it to show me how much further I have to go in my journey of making myself no more than some small part of you? Why can’t you bring me along slowly or demand that I not resist? You know I must resist, my body can do nothing else - you see to that. Don’t I show you how totally I dedicate myself to you? My mind tells me my heart is wrong, that this is not the reason why you must torture me.

Why are you not more demanding? When I am stripped, being led to the bathroom to empty a bladder made suddenly overfull by nothing more than your stare, knowing by now where if not how I must suffer this evening, you know that I will draw that part of myself away from you. My sacrificial flesh shrinks under your inquisition and shirks from its duty to serve you, even as I attempt to will it onward - it revolts against you and in doing so I revolt myself. Why do you allow this? Why don’t you make me offer it to you, present it to you, encourage you to use it as you will, instead of cowering away from you?
How can you be so understanding, so accepting of my fear and then proceed with what you intend to do to me? In a moment the strength of your fingers and the devil in your head will have my tears flowing freely - how can you accept reluctance in my submission?

What does my visible excitement make you think - that I don’t remember the last time? That I think this time will be that much different? What does this combination of hot skin and cold sweat say to you? That I don’t believe you?

Believe me, I believe you. When you lay me with my head hanging over the edge of the bed or coffee table, I believe you. Please God, mount me, straddle me, pin me with your body. If I didn’t have your body against mine my heart would break and I would die. Remember the time you straddled me, your calves and thighs against my ribs, my own knees under your arms? Did you know as I struggled how I loved being there with you? Do you know the caring I feel from you as you arrange me as if on your workbench to assure that you miss no opportunity to make the most of every bolt of pain you prepare for me?

Here is what I find myself questioning - why must I humiliate myself? Why do you deny me the least little help in submitting to you? Why do you let me resist you so when it would be so much easier to force me to submit? You see how disgraced I am by my struggles and my cries - why can’t I have the slightest help with them? You know I am shamed all the more as I beg, plead, over and over - knowing that you want me not to - as I ask for a strap for my mouth, or restraints for my legs, or arms, or waist, to help me submit to you. You know how I defile my submission when you have to struggle with me, when you must force an arm or a shoulder or your body between my legs to keep them apart, or pin my arm with your thigh, or when your grip is not enough to control my flailing limb. That I can’t hold my legs open or my arms down as I should, that I can’t force them to obey my heart and embrace the application of your agonizing desires? When my back rises from the table, when my hands drum and slap, as you ask me so quietly to hold myself still with that gentle cooing barely louder than the rushing in my head?

Do you see my abasement when my writhing leg finds a foothold and I release myself from you? The destruction of my dignity when you patiently reposition me, as calmly and tolerantly as if nothing had happened, and begin again with your ministrations that caused me to thrash and twist so in the first place? Do you know how humiliated I am to accept your little kisses while I am engulfed in tears, knowing the greater disgrace that is to come? When the excruciation you so love to render surpasses my strangled cries and I must resort to asking to defy your will and pleasure?

Do you know how pathetic I am at times like these? Not feel - am. How can you possibly keep me with you when you have seen me, shivering, sobbing, unable to offer myself, unable to hold back my demands that you stop? When will you just get up and walk away, leaving me to the eternal pit of emptiness I deserve? How can I expect you to stay when you reveal, display, parade the most unattractive and weakest aspects of my body, emotions, mind, heart? Must you watch my last traces of self-acceptance turn to abhorrence as you peer into the blackest abyss of my body and soul?

Is that what it is? Is it when I am at my best, when I think I may finally have something to offer you, when maybe I am starting to deserve you, that you have to show me? Show me that you accept me, even in this showcase of my weaknesses? Where the last vestiges of the little that might someday pass as pride is stripped and crushed and I am disgraced by its very existence, where the slightest token of what I had hoped was honor is twisted into a whip and used to torment the most tender traces of my ego? That you will still take me. Take me and keep me, even when I have shamed myself beyond shame; unworthy, more than unworthy, lower than words I can bring myself to say - that you can see me like this and still accept me? Is it to show me, tell me, reassure me, convince me that if you can accept me in hours such as these, that there will be no time when I am not a jewel in your jeweler’s hands? Is that why you must torture me?

A Pack of Cigarettes

you getting a pack of cigarettes... the new paddle just for buying them (you’ve earned that already... ) haven‘t found quite the perfect spanking with that but I think we‘re getting there - warmed up, pushed slowly, right to the edge, and kept there for awhile - quite awhile, if I can. Then over - not for too long, of course it seems longer to you, and it has to, but not too too long, and you’re held, you don’t have to be good, you’re not going anywhere - and back, back to the edge, for awhile longer... which is done and ready for the rest.

The individual cigarettes come in groups of five, as I said, getting steadily worse, so not only do you add another spanking to your trip across my knee, and not only is it a little worse than the last one, but you get closer and closer to those at the end of the pack... cigarettes in fives and spanks in sixes - good news for you (at last) - the first cig’s are spanked out by hand, four sets of six spanks per. Spanking two is harder than spanking one, and so on. In fact, the first spanking with the leather paddle, for cigarette number 6 - three sets of six swats, medium hard, may be a little more tolerable that cigarette number 5, just due to intensity.

Number eleven, two sets of six with the paintstick, still might be worse than the hardest paddling - though even the leather paddle can give some hard swats when I use it right. And part of the discipline of the paintstick is that it’s used only about an inch above where your panties have been pulled down to, same as the swats that count with the new paddle. And at only a dozen a spanking, they get harder pretty fast - and harder with the paintstick is definitely hard! Still, it’ll be hard to decide whether you want those strokes to be over with or not, won’t it?

Yes, your panties will come off; yes, I’ll wet your bottom, but there won’t be much of a break, if that’s what you were thinking - we’ll set it all up beforehand. I’m glad you chose over-my-knee, even though the thick rubber strap is brutal - I like the contact, I like being wrapped up together. Kneeling on the bed for the lighter strap might not be any easier and I wouldn’t have you right there all around me. And with this system, it’s “only” six smacks (per cigarette) - “only” to me, I’ll have to make them count, I’m sure it can’t feel like “only” to you. Your bottom seems so firm but that strap has such a heavy collision to it! And the sting when you’re wet is pretty terrifying as well.

I think we can get a dozen in - medium hard and hard - before I wet you again. Even done quickly it’s probably a chance to catch your breath. After the second dozen - one cigarette from being done - I’m going to take a bit more time, not to calm you down - I think when you’re that close to the end, I can be sure you’ll survive it, it’s just that you don’t want me to go on - but to make sure, first, that you’re well and completely wetted where you need to be - that is, where I’ll be landing the strap; secondly, to be sure that I have all the grip on you I need, since you’ll be a bit frantic; and finally, to give you a last moment to struggle in dread. Even though you’ll be only a moment from being finished, there is still that moment to come; and then you’ll be in it; and then it will be over.

Over in the sense that I won’t be spanking you any more - I’m sure your bottom will be stinging immensely, and even after the panic subsides, will continue to throb, and the soreness should last quite awhile, since the new paddle, the paintstick used hard, and especially the thick rubber strap go deep. While that’s going on, we can snuggle if you haven’t gotten too mad at me, or I can hold you from behind if you have...

Seems like a lot for a pack of cigarettes, but you know, there’s a lot of stress there, and to relieve that much stress with one pack of cigarettes and one good long spanking is quite a bargain. And I’m convinced you knew that this is what you’d need even before I put words and numbers to it. Not just to get, but to think about on each cigarette break. Maybe that will take your mind off of other things for a bit.

Loose Tie

fingers on her bare shoulders smoothing her arms down to her sides. the little curls on either side of her face, damp with perspiration. stepping in front of her, her mouth half-open in expectation. loosening my tie as she watches, breathes. tasting her lips. her want.

catching her wrists behind her, tying her hands in the silken banner, soft but controlling. pressing myself to her back, wrapping, crossing my arms around her, cupping her hips, her sides. filling her hands with my desire. cupping her ribs, her breasts, crushing her to me in my desire. cupping her shoulders, pressing my cheek to her neck. withdrawing, ruefully, from her grip.

lowering her zipper, short, elegant. peeling the satin bodice forward and away. releasing her strapless bra. pausing a moment in appreciation. wanting.

veil-covered taffeta draped from her hips. hands running over it. hand behind her neck supporting her thrown-back head, upswept hair against my hand. lips on her throat.

armfuls of skirt swooped up from the floor. ivory stockings and garters and skin. cool here. hot there. damp.

pressing gently with a firm hard hand. controlling. then - a feather touch, inviting. muted by her satin panties, too fine to rip from her body.

behind her - not close enough to touch. watching her listen to my belt snaking through its loops. her shoulders rising. doubled. her back arches obediently. good girl. lightly, harder, hard. dropping her skirt.

at her side, shoulder in my hand. belt wrapped, shortened, a light leather tongue. fear and trust in her eyes, in her shallow breaths. a slap, not even a sting. tummy, ribs. rising. thrown over her shoulder, trailed down between her breasts. sliding. safe.

dress jettisoned from her hips. a finger trailing down the front of her thigh, wavering in my need.

rising out of a pool of oyster-shell, the birth of Venus. bending her head to my waist, suffused with desire. slaps on her shoulders, back. stings where her arms, squeezed upward, lie plumped against her back. a little snap, a taste of bite.

pressing my head flat on her back, listening. her breast dropping into my hand. capturing her completely. holding her.

straightening. whispering. a sharp intake of breath. the wool of my jacket scratches her bare skin. little licks from knee to hip. the belt breaks over her garter, snapping into the hollow of her hip. sensitive - and yet...

lifting her from the fountain of her gown. straight up, bound, unbalanced, frightened, secure. set down before my waiting mouth.

panties crumpled into a rope down at her stocking-tops. a proper spanking. and then another. the belt again. each stripe earns two more for the time it makes me wait to have her. endless. my ache fathomless.

on her back. on the bed. bottom threaded through her arms, arms behind her knees. hands in my hand. her climax elusive, my mouth inviting. come to me.

at last. her ankles slip past her wrists, her wrists slip over my head. we join, I raise her. she completes me.

a towel. shared quickly. the party awaits.

I Guess I Never Knew

I Guess I Never Knew
by Matt for Cat, May 2001

Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 2001 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission

That first night, I didn’t worry. Cute, I thought - she set this up for a night she’d be working. Ah, well... interest never sleeps, she’ll have this to pay for as well. I smiled at her bravado - not even content with getting herself in over her head for burning the cane...

I seem to remember expecting that she would show up just when I would have to choose between putting her off and being late for work - had she planned that, too? Did she know this was a morning I would need to be on time? I had shaved and showered with a smile at the thought of her sailing in at the last minute, so pleased with herself. I wished I could make a quick change, and beat her at her own game, surprise her by announcing that no one was expecting me until ten... but then she didn’t sail in at all, did she?

When my meeting was over, I had expected to find a message from her... one of her favorite tricks, waiting until I was safely tied up at work, and then calling to admit her latest indiscretion... I checked all of my e-mail accounts and phone mail, repeatedly, then obsessively... If she’d gotten stranded somewhere, she still should have had access to her e-mail, I was thinking - though maybe she hadn’t wanted to say anything too obvious from a place she might be seen. But we had enough secret phrases between us, didn’t we? Just the phrase “I’m sorry” led to very predictable results - a thought that brought another smile to my face, the last I would have for quite some time...

By evening a nameless worry, the worry of the unknown, perhaps? was nagging at me. I called out hopefully when I came through the door, I looked through the house, I checked the kitchen, the table, and the desk in the den for a note. The answering machine did not hold any answers. My e-mail filled with offers for credit-cards and Viagra...

For three days I jumped between being on line and keeping the phone line open, cursing myself for having never put in a second line... some confusion over cell phones, voice mail - and my usual procrastination.

That wasn’t when I knew - oh, I had known. There was a tidiness I had tried to overlook, an absence small personal items that had only existed on the edge of my perception. Ominously, what she had left behind were things I had bought for her - I had the idea that some of those things she had brought with her were no longer here, and maybe they hadn’t been thrown away...

So I had known for some time before I first started thinking about it... forced myself to want her to be gone and safe and happy, not lost and hurt and out of touch... I had always wanted her to be strong, wanted to help her feel secure in her independence - shouldn’t I be happy now? Then why am I crying?

It would be unfair to say she was afraid - that is the wrong place to start. She was so brave! But she knew, or she had learned, or had been unwillingly taught, that the world could be a dangerous place, and that someone who wanted to give and give had to be strong - stronger than those who would just take and take. What did I always tell her? “I won’t punish you anywhere near as badly as the world would for the same thing...” Now I wanted to scream “It was a game! A game, that’s all!”

Her cell phone doesn’t answer. I don’t leave another message. My e-mails don’t know what to say - “I’d like to talk with you?” That’s code for a caning. “All is forgiven?” What if she doesn’t think its my place to forgive, this time? What if she’s gone because I never let her know how important she is to me, while she never failed to tell me how important I was to her?

I remember being a teen, on an intolerable family trip... a fast-food stop at the junction of two interstates. Stick out my thumb and disappear forever, I thought - a million square miles to look for me... but she’s done me one better, she could be anywhere in the world... her friends work in distant cities I never quite bothered to keep straight... it would be easy for her to arrange to stay far from here for however long she chooses to...

Is she alone? I have seldom met a person who could be so alone as she can... has she stepped across the country and I am the only one who knows? Do all her on-line friends think she is still in front of a screen in the den?

Or has she found someone else? Someone with a better balance of support and discipline? Which did I give her too much of, or not enough of? There is an easy question - did I have to be so hard on her? Did I have to break her every time I punished her? Sometimes I think yes... I would punish her so hard that we had to refer to all of the other spankings as massages... our massage board... our massage belt... a hand massage... mmmm a tongue lashing...

But punishment, that was different. She wanted to stand up to me, to show that she was stronger - as if she could win against a cane, and in that position! She wanted to show that she could take more than I could dish out - that she was strong enough to face the world without fear... that she could give without reservation... and I always chose to show her that she wasn’t...

How strong would she have to have been? To comply with “more arch to your back, turn your heels out. WELL out...” in a bored, annoyed tone... to endure that “third stroke,” where I would release my hips and spring my full weight and motion into a single thin line across her proffered buttocks? The sixth, and ninth, and twelfth, put in the crease where she could least ignore it? And the fourteenth, if she had earned it... my cruelty of waiting until I sensed that she had planned a trip to the bathroom just before announcing a session, so that she could suffer - or beg to exchange the luxury of relief for extra strokes or some unspeakable depravity...

And how many times did I fail to break her? Once. My regret compounds itself a thousand times at the thought... one time, when I knew I would have her back in position in less than 48 hours, I let her think she had beaten me... two nights I had let her go to sleep thinking she had won... and then in the morning the phone had rung and the trap had sprung as neatly and as surely as a complicated dance step, many time rehearsed. Oh, how she had hated that session! Her eyes, her grimaced jaw held as much true hatred as they did mere anger... Had I been the least bit merciful? Had I been the tiniest bit generous? Or had I merely been pleased with myself for how well I had orchestrated the whole thing? Perhaps her absence is the answer to those questions...

Her work - I could go by there, wait around, look around - for what? In hopes of having a public, humiliating scene? Her family, our friends - I hesitate to let them know that I don’t know where she is. I’ve told her I want her back, now I must leave the choice to her...

I am struck by two facts - one, how little I do alone. How many of our activities were just an excuse for changing the locale of our being together... And two, how little our paths cross. Without conscious effort, I may never see her again, not even incidentally or coincidentally...

Has she found someone else? Does he fill more of her needs? Or just not know that she has them? Does she need to be free of me knowing her so well? Does she think I judge her and find her wanting? It was a game!

How do I say the right things? How do I remain the person she wants me to be, and yet tell her how much I have come to need her in my life? Or has she decided that the only way I can remain the person she needs me to be is for me to remain, while she moves on? Shouldn’t I be willing to do that for her?


It was the ruby that she wore
On a stand beside the bed
In the hour before dawn
When I knew she was gone
And I held it in my hand
For a little while
And dropped it into the wall
Let it go, heard it fall

I guess I never knew
What she was talking about
I guess I never knew
What she was living without
People speak of love don't know what they're thinking of
Wait around for the one who fits just like a glove
Speak in terms of a life and the living
Try to find the word for forgiving
You keep it up
You try so hard
To keep a life from coming apart
And never know
The shallows and the unseen reefs
That are there from the start
In the shape of a heart


(from “In the Shape of a Heart, Jackson Browne, 1986)

A Mystery

by Matt
Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.

Don't you hate it when you can't find something you've set down? After I've looked everywhere, I have to ask for help.

"Cat? Have you seen my book?"

"Book? No, I don't think so. Which one?"

"The Jagged Ledge? The mystery I've been reading for the past three days? I know you've seen it. And I'm almost done, too."

"Oh you are?" Cat asks, all too innocently.

I wrap my arms around her waist. I have a sneaking suspicion that I haven't "misplaced" it at all.

"Oh I am, young lady. And I'm starting to look for clues that you might know something about it."

She turns a bit, but she's not about to get out of my grasp. "You mean that book you've had your nose in every minute since Wednesday? Would that be the one? If I were you, I'd look on the end of your nose, that's where I'd expect to find it!" she bursts out with, accompanied by giggles.

"Let me see..." I begin ominously, unfastening the snap on her shorts. "I could have put it anywhere..." A rough push with each hand serves the two purposes of shedding them off of her hips and leaving me with a nice palmful of cheek on each side.

"Hey! I don't have it on me, okay?" Now she does break away, and since I have a hold on her shorts, they move downward as she escapes. She giggles again - I do love to hear her giggle, I can't help but smile. "You'd better look somewhere else," she helpfully suggests.

"Can't decide," I tell her, now that I have her back in my grasp, "whether to continue my search or interrogate some suspects." One hand makes the rounds of her panty waistband while I hold her with the other arm.

"Hey! What about my rights?"

I press my lips to her ear (kiss her lightly) and whisper, "You have the right to remain silent, but I bet you won't be able to do that. I have the right to keep you from sitting through dinner."

"Ow!" she exclaims, as I exercise my right on her right. "Ow! Hey!"

"Yessss?"

"Don't forget my left," she giggles. "Ow!"

"Now - let's revisit the scene of the crime. Look familiar?" There's a reason our coffee table is strong enough to sit on.

"Nooooo," she claims thoughtfully.

"Well, let me see if this will help your memory..." My finger between her cheeks lowers her panties that last necessary inch.

"Noooo!" she repeats, but it's a different no this time. "Ow! OW! Ohhh!"

Cat has always been a complainer, I'm barely spanking her yet, but have to start slowly, we're going to be here awhile....

"I was right here, reading my book..." My swats take on a little more force. "That would have been Wednesday. Or was it Tuesday?"

"No! Oh! Owowow! Today! Start with today! Ow! Oooo!"

"And you - let's see, where were you... you know it's a shame you don't get any pinker any faster..."

"Ow! Ow! Matthew, that hurts! Really!"

"Really? Maybe I should do this." I try a circular motion with the swat on the upswing, right in the center. It takes a minute to become unbearable. "And I seem to recall you were busy that evening..."

"I was! I WAS! OW! OW, okay?"

"And then last night you were on the phone for how long?"

"Ow! Not too long... Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Okay! A long time! Ooo! But you were reading!"

"But I was reading, so that was okay - oh, wait a minute..." I stop the crime reconstruction and focus on spanking her for a bit, leaning into my work. Pretty soon Cat is making those little sniffs that let me know she notices. "Now where were we? Ah yes, Friday."

"You did Friday! This is today! Ut oh, no, no, honeeeey! I'm sore there! You did that already ieeee..."

"Oh yes, today. Today you were (SMACK!) doing nothing but (SMACK!) coming over to see (SMACK!) how close I was to the end (SMACK SMACK SMACK!) Was I close?"

"You were close! Close! Very close - to the end!"

"Oh - but I hadn't done this," I remind her, as I use my fingertips on the lowest part of her cheeks, just either side of the cleft... she's kicking, of course, making it hard to get so low, so a lot of my spanks are wasted elsewhere, and it takes some time. "Then you noticed I was right at the best part."

"Ow oo owwie! How would I know?"

"I don't know, maybe you guessed. And I answered the phone. And we had some lunch. Then you wanted me to move those boxes. While you..."

"OW! Oooo! I what?!?"

"You were unattended, unlike now."

I'm slackening my pace when she claims "You can't prove anything!" So our discussion takes another break. By the time that's over I figure she must be done, so I give her a choice.

"Are you going to tell me where my book is, or do you want the hairbrush?" In the middle of her little exclamations, I can't believe my ears. "Was that a giggle I just heard?!?"

"OW OH OW OH GEEZ OWOW!"

"Cat?"

"Yes?" a small voice answers.

"Did you hide the hairbrush?"

"Ohohohoh - uh, what if I did? You don't need it."

"I think you'd better tell me where my book is right now, young lady."

"I.. I.. I'll get it for you. Let me up."

"If this is a trick, I'll find something to spank you with..." I say, but I know her reason is that she doesn't want me to see her hiding place.

"Nonono, no trick. No more spanking - ooo, that hurt!"

"Okay, come right back - and you'd better have my book!"

"I will - close your eyes."

I trust her, so I do. Or if I don't trust her, I'll at least enjoy spanking her if she's up to something. I hear her run around. I hear a drawer slide, sounds like in the bathroom.

"Okay, I'm back."

Mmmmmm, yes, she is, beautifully nude from tip to tip, hands behind her back. She's smiling out from under her hair, looking adorable.

"Book?" I demand severely. Her hands come out and my book is back. Of course, by now I have no intention of reading it...

"And the hairbrush is back where it belongs, in case you ever need it," she chirps.

"Do I need it?" I ask her as I nuzzle into her hair and start rubbing the sting out of her bottom.

"Nt nnn. I'm good," she proclaims.

"Mmm hmm," I agree, "you're a good girl. Just wanting a little attention."

Scissors

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... ... ...