Posted at 08:16 on 16 Jul 2008 by Pandora / Blake
During my trip away recently I was pretty much in a vanilla headspace for the whole week. Neither of my Doms were there to inspire kinky thoughts in me, and I had work and other things to distract my attention. I'm normally a very sexual person, so I was surprised to find myself in such a celibate headspace. Right up until the last morning I was away, that is, when I woke up from a rather intense dream ...
It started out as a school dream I've had before: set in the streets surrounding my secondary school in the heart of the city. It's dark, and I'm anxiously trying to accomplish some task or other. In this case it was a creative writing project. My friend and I teamed up to research together, and both decided to write about spanking. Most of the dream was occupied with the tedious minutiae of preparing and writing the piece, which was far less interesting than you might hope.
The interesting bit started when we handed our projects in. We had different English teachers; mine was male, and he responded to my highly inappropriate assignment in kind. I was summoned to detention; told in no uncertain terms how out of line I had been to write such smut for my official coursework; that he was ashamed to send it off to the external examiners; that I'd let down the school. What had I been thinking? I hung my head, not knowing how to answer - it had seemed a perfectly reasonable topic at the time. He had no choice but to withhold my assignment from the external examiners. I would get an automatic 0 in that module, but if he sent it off, the school's reputation would be in question, and of course he couldn't have that.
The 0 would be its own punishment, he said, and therefore he didn't feel the need to take this matter to the Head. However, he was concerned about my psychological health. Since I was so obsessed with eroticising spanking, he thought, perhaps the best cure would be to find out what it's really like. He was sure that after being treated to the reality of his firm right hand I would realise how silly I was being. So over his knee I went, to be spanked, fondled and molested in various inappropriate ways while I squirmed unhappily on his lap. I could no more stop his unsuitable advances than I could rewrite the offending paper.
My friend fared little better. Her teacher was a stern lady, and anyone who roused her wrath faced the same treatment. Summoned to a private detention, you were bent over your school desk and told to hold onto the legs on the other side. On the seat of your chair, right under your sorry head, was placed a candle stub in a saucer. When the candle was lit it heralded the beginning of the punishment. The punishment was delivered with a metre rule, applied sharply to the bottom and upper thighs in measured, regular strokes, one every five seconds. This relentless pace continued, the teacher impervious to your yelps, until the candle burned down. Then you were permitted to get up, rub your stinging behind, and scram. How tall the candle was depended on the severity of the crime. I don't know how tall my friend's candle was, but her detention lasted so long that I didn't know which punishment was worse: my overly personal detention, or her impersonal one.