Food 4 Thought Friday: Favourite fantasy

Posted on January 15, 2016 by jaime

This is my first contribution to Food for Thought Friday. This week the topic is:

1 Do you have a sexual fantasy that you would be embarrassed or ashamed to tell anyone about?

2 Is it a complete fantasy or would you like it to actually happen in real life, if you had the chance?

3 Are you brave enough to share it here with us?

Response:

I don’t really have a favourite fantasy. I make stuff up as I go along, whether I’m domming, fucking, or just fantasising. But I’ve come back to this one twice in four years, once in a post from April 2012, and once in an email today. So at least it’s got staying power.

1 The fantasy.

I am the captain of a pirate ship, or a naval ship from the days of wood and canvas. The crew see me on the quarter-deck, smiling, stern, looking boldly into the horizon.

But if the wooden rails weren’t there they’d see me buggering the cabin girl, Erica, who is keeping her head down. Erica, by the way, is a stowaway found and put to work; the crew think she’s the cabin boy, Eric.

Erica, poor thing, is trying to mop the quarterdeck, bent at the waist with her captain’s cock up her arse.

Because if he finds a speck of dust, he’s going to take her back to his cabin, bend her over the bed and cane her until his cock has recovered enough to bugger her again.

That’s the worst thing about being an attractive but slightly careless stowaway. Once you’re found, the captain will want you to work your passage. Work it hard and work it flexibly.

And there’s always a speck of dust, by the way.

It’s quite short, by my standards, isn’t it?

2 Is it a wish, or just a fantasy?

I’d love some near equivalent to happen in real life, though I’ll have to concede that I don’t own a pirate ship, and if I did I’d find it hard to board another ship and start killing and plundering. It just doesn’t seem like nice behaviour. On the other hand, the idea of buggering a woman who continues to try to clean the floor while I butt-fuck her, and then waits fearfully for my assessment of her floor-cleaning prowess: that’s hot enough to be getting on with.

3 Are you brave enough to tell us what it is?

No, it has non-consensual or at best semi-consensual elements. I’ll never tell anyone about that fantasy.

Oh.

Whipping frame

Posted on December 28, 2015 by jaime

Here’s a whipping frame I knocked up as a holiday project, using up spare bits of wood lying about the place.

The screw-in eye lags (or “screw thread eye screws”), with the circles at the end for securing the submissive’s wrist and ankle cuffs before punishing or fucking her, are the only things I had to buy especially. So the whole thing cost me about eight bucks.

Actually I’ll have to paint it, so that’ll cost a few dollars more. There is a story about the sudden creation of this artefact, and its first use, but I can’t tell it. One of my personal rules forbids that. Come back in 2020, and maybe I’ll tell it then.

Projects

I’m going to continue the Qing story tomorrow. And then I get back to the Raylene story, since that poor girl has been sitting, ignored, in her bedroom for a couple of months now. That’s embarrassing, I guess, but she prefers her humiliations more focussed and intense than that.

Scots bum-crack

Here’s a sample of kilted bum-crack.

I don’t think any woman would actually wear that on the streets of any Scottish town or city. Scotland is cold, and never mind the perverts, the place is full of Calvinists. But authenticity isn’t everything.

I’ve mentioned that the wind can be pretty obliging with little kilts. But this girl is actually inside, and there shouldn’t be any kilt-lifting gales blowing in her bedroom.

We’re being lied to, by our soft porn!

One last thing.

When I bought my kilt, and all the associated accessories, I was not offered underpants. There are Scots things I don’t go along with, like eating porridge with only salt and hot water, but I follow the kilt rules. One doesn’t wear anything under a kilt. Really. You just don’t.

But I recently discovered that tartan underpants, also knickers, do actually exist. Some chancer is making them, and some terrible, misguided, wrong people are buying them.

But they shouldn’t find their way under a kilt. Ever.

What does it mean, “oh please sir not the cane i’m a good girl really”?

Posted on October 27, 2012 by jaime

In the fantasy scenario, the girl forgot her gym shoes for the third day running; she called a woman teacher a rude name, she did something. She did it deliberately or unconsciously to attract the attention of the older, but still fit and sympathetic, teacher whose name she whispers to her pillow when it – the pillow – is clasped tight between her thighs.

And now she’s alone with him in his office, about to bend over his desk, lift her pleated skirt, and wonder if she’ll have to lower her panties as well. She hopes not, but when she fantasises about this moment, she always hears the command to take down her panties. When she dares, in her dreams she is told to undress, and she bares herself completely for the man she desires so badly.

She has bent over, and she waits. She listens for information about the man behind her. She hears the faint rattle that tells her he has selected the cane and not the strap, and in a kind of panic she pulls her skirt higher for him.

She hears his slight cough when she lifts her skirt so high, as he takes in the delicate bones of her lower spine, the delicacy of her waist, and her desire to please him. The knowledge that she has moved him with her obedience and her body overtakes her with a rush of emotion and passion. She cries out, “Oh sir, please not the cane. i’m a good girl really.”

Whatever ‘really’ means.

But in reality, that line is likely to be spoken by a woman in her 20s or her 50s or anywhere between, who left school and tremulous virginity long ago. She speaks the sentence knowingly, mocking it while also acknowledging the power of the scenario in which it’s embedded.