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My Roland fantasies

“Baby boy not a day goes by/without my fantasies/I think about you all the time/I see you in my dreams”. Never were truer words spoken.

I fantasise about Roland spanking me and doing other things to me constantly, and I dream occassionally of him spanking me in his house, like I’m replaying the event in my mind. Anyway, because I can’t think of anything else to type, here are my fantasies – except my biggest fantasy, which has to remain secret for the time being. I’m the dominant in that fantasy.

1. Roland picks me up in his car and says we are ging to the studio where he will take pictures of me. Instead, he drives in another direction.I ask him why but he doesn’t answer. “Where are we going?” I ask. He reaches into the glove compartment, pulls out a blindfold and tells me to put it on. I refuse. Roland slows down for a bit, searching for a parking spot. After a few minutes, he parks, pulls out a flick knife and presses it to my neck. “Put on the blindfold,” he orders. I put it round my eyes and try to tie it, but he ties it for me, pulling it tight. Then he drives, though where we are going I have no idea.

Finally he stops, switching off the engine, gets out and helps me out of the car. I feel his hand guiding me to where he wants to go. Finally he removes my blindfold. We’re in the woods – or rather, a patchy bit of wooded area somewhere in Edinburgh. It is a secluded spot.

He makes me get down on my hands and knees and canes me. Then he pulls my jeans down and canes me. It hurts really bad but he won’t stop. He tells me to lean forward, resting on my elbows. I feel like I’m pushing my bottom up, like it wants more. I wish he would stop but he continues, the strokes even harder now. I begin to cry from pain, and the caning stops. Roland sits next to me on the grass and films me crying, a delighted smirk on his fat youthful Roland face. He takes out a small phial from the pocket of his trousers and holds it to my eyes to collect the tears (like the queen – then a rebel slave – did to the previous ruler in my dream, a scene that didn’t make it into Kemet 1). He laughs softly as I whimper and cry.

Then he drags me over his lap and raises a belt; he must’ve taken it off when I wasn’t looking. He thrashes me hard with the belt then puts it back on and uses his hand. It feels like a long time. Roland picks me up and carries me over to a fallen tree, bending me over it with my knees on the grass. He uses the flogger this time, until I’m bawling. Then he forces his large, slightly pudgy thumb up into my bum and it was sore. I squirmed. I couldn’t breathe. I could feel his fingernail deep inside scraping me. I didn’t want this pain. He suddenly withdrew his thumb, and I felt his thing pushing inside me instead, so I wriggled a lot to get away from him, put his hands on my shoulders held me down. I kept wriggling and kicking and then I felt his weight n me so I couldn’t get up, and I cried more until he was finished, which took a long time. Then he jammed a vibrating plug in there and gave me a piece of paper with an address written on it.

“Be there in half an hour, and I’ll take the plug out,” he said. “But if you’re even a minute late, you will be paddled and then I’ll give you an enema.” Then he drove off, leaving me stranded. I read the address and realised I’d never be able to make it in time; I’d need a bus to get there and it probably wouldn’t arrive in time. I didn’t have my bag, phone or any way of getting money out of an ATM, as my bag had been in the car.

I slowly started to walk to the address on the paper, feeling sore with every step. But I’d only been walking about 10 minutes when a horn sounded and I saw Roland’s car parked. I realised he must have deliberately ensured I wouldn’t make it and had no real intention of seeing me try. I got into the car, my bottom stinging as I sat down. Roland was leering at me. He looked intensely happy. He chuckled. “How was your walk? Did you feel sore when you moved? Were you trying to hurry so you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences?”

“It hurts more now,” I moaned. “And no, I knew you’d set it up so I’d never have any chance. I just didn’t think you’d be waiting, I thought I’d have to walk for ages.”

Roland patted my leg. “No, I’d never make you walk for that long, especially without your handbag. And it would be a waste of time that I could spend humiliating and depraving you.”

“Looks like I’m in for a good night,” he said, as we drove off.

2. I have Roland naked and suspended from a ceiling. Next to me is an open fire and a rack full of torture instruments, some of which are iron and can be heated in the fire. I also have a car battery with four clips attached to it. There are more electric clips on the table, designed to give off a low voltage, but they are no match for the car battery. I also have some toys and body piercing needles. There are suspension hooks in the ceiling and plenty of rope and wire. I can make piercings in him and suspend him by those piercings if I choose. I hit him as hard as I can with the cane and he screams, begging me to stop. I wonder if it is time to stop; I’ve been torturing him for over six hours now.

The camcorder behind me on the shelf is recording everything but I worry the memory stick will soon be full. I bring out another cane from the torture rack. This one has little bits of glass stuck in it. Roland is already bleeding and I’m interested to see what this cane will do. I have been conducting experiments on him in between torturing, and have a detailed report of my findings neatly typed up; I typed it when I collared Roland and put him on a lead; it was an extension leash so he could go to the bathrom and eat the special Roland food I’d made for him out of his dog bowl, which says ‘Roland’ on it.

I hit him with the cane and he howls; it is so hilarious that I burst out laughing and can’t stop. But as I gradually stop laughing, I’m annoyed to see all the blood everywhere. To stop it falling, I lick it off Roland’s skin while he cries. But I can’t lick fast enough. I grab a bowl and collect the blood. There’s too much blood for me to want to drink it; it disgusts me. And the only blood I will drink is male blood, as it flows – not blood separate from the body, in a bowl. But I have to get rid of it or it will grow bacteria and make the room unhygienic. So I decide to make Roland drink it. He doesn’t want to, but that’s totally okay, as I just pour it down his throat.

Then I make piercings in his balls. I have been spanking and whipping for hours and my hand is tired. I grab a Black & Decker drill, plug it in and turn it on. Roland begins to cry which is really pathetic and funny. I change the memory stick. “Oh god, please no, not that, no,” he whines. I shove it in his ass and then I turn it on.

3. Roland fed me laxatives and gave me an enema and said if I could hold it I wouldn’t need to be put in nappies, but I crapped myself so he changed me into a nappy and baby clothes which barely covered me at all. He fed me in a highchair with more laxatives and diuretics and put me in a playpen. Every time I wet or filled the nappy he would spank me hard and change me. Sometimes he gave me an enema. He took lots of photos and videos. Then he put me to bed and read me a baby book.

 

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The 7 Nights (chapter 2)

I wrote this a year ago, too. It’s my ultimate fantasy!

Chapter 2

Five minutes later, Roland and Chastity were sitting (in Chastity’s case, very uncomfortably) on the black leather sofa watching The Ring movie. It was the Japanese version, and though neither of them could understand the language and so had to read subtitles, the effect on Roland’s 50″ TV was still great, even though it wasn’t a 3D TV or blu-ray disc. Chastity was trembling with terror and shifting about on her sore seat.

“You know, in Scotland we sometimes say ‘I shat masel’ to mean we got a fright,” said Roland, “But do you think someone could really shit their pants if they got a fright?”

“Oh Roland, please don’t swear,” she whispered, eyes locked fearfully onto the screen.

“Just answer the question, Chas, for godsakes.”

She was visibly shaking now as someone else got killed onscreen. “Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain! It’s blasphemy! And I dunno…maybe.,.my behind stings…”

“Do you think if someone did shit themselves, they should be spanked on their backside?” he was gazing at her intently; she didn’t seem to be paying attention.

“Well? Do you? You got spanked for peeing yourself – should someone get spanked for pooping?”

“Yeah, I guess so. This is really scary, Ro.”

Roland leaned back, a smirk playing around his lips. He deftly threw the remote up and caught it in his open palm. It made a very satisfying smack, like the smack he was going to give the girl’s butt soon. He looked quickly at the door – yes, it was locked. Phase Two of the Seven Nights was well underway. He whistled under his breath, an old tune about a homeland and the faraway hills. Chastity felt an uncomfortable, full feeling in her tummy. She had to poop. She began to fidget as the poo nudged at her trembling turd portal. Roland casually laid an arm across her shoulders and squeezed her gently, platonically, the way her mommy and daddy used to do. Yeah, he’d seen them both a fair few times. They were a good-looking couple, but their daughter – here, cradled in his arm – their daughter was HOT! Chastity’s heart sank; she really wanted to get up and let all her poo come out. She clenched her asshole but the large load kept insistently poking her brown pucker.

“Look at us,” Roland purred, “We’re like an old married couple.” Poor Chastity shuddered as the horror-movie music built to a crescendo. She slipped out from underneath Roland’s arm, with only one goal in mind: the bathroom. And in that instant, Roland realized his ineptitude, his own weakness and the fragility of his plan. But only for an instant. Because Chastity was still in full view of Roland and the TV screen. As she looked at the screen, her mouth opened in a wide O of horror, there was a farting noise and a large Yule log pushed out of her frightened asshole and plopped into her pants. Chastity had lost control again. But it wasn’t pee. It was solid. It was squelchy. It was shit. A brown patch spread over the back of her bulging white skirt and her now chocolate brown pants sagged lower and lower, way below her little skirt. Chastity grabbed the waistline of her pants as they slipped downwards under the weight of her accident as the shit slipped out.

Roland’s member leapt into action and he pitched a huge tent in his jeans. Chastity was filling her knickers right in front of him. The shape and length of the stinky sausage could so easily be seen – he was surprised at how the pants had moulded around the squidgy cucumber. Her knickers had never been so full.

“Well, that obviously scared the shit out of you,” Roland observed. “Out of you and into your panties. You were scared shitless.”

“Ohhh…I think I just pooed…oh no I did, I pooped my pants!” She could smell her accident, it was disgusting and she wrinkled her perfect little nose. Chastity began to cry as her face turned red with embarrassment. “I did a poop, I didn’t mean to, I just got scared!”

Roland smiled, an evil smile. “Oh dear, Chastity got fwightened and made fudge. But only liddle girls poo-poo their knickies. So I guess you need another botty warming.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her over his knee.

“Oh no!” Chastity squealed, “It was an accident, the poop just popped out!”

The doorbell rang. “You’d better answer it,” Roland purred.

“But…my pants are full of poo,” murmured Chastity, hanging her head in shame.

“You should have thought of that before you let out your shit,” he replied smoothly, “You laid that chocolate Easter egg in your briefs, now hop to the door like a good bunny.”

The red-faced, unhappy girl walked upstairs and along the landing to the entrance, holding her loaded frillies up with one hand. When she opened the door, a young, well-built but slim guy was smiling down at her. He had light brown hair, green eyes and dimples; what her mom would have described as All-American good looks. It wasn’t the slightly exotic beauty of Roland’s features; this guy was cute rather than gorgeous, his lips were not full like Roland’s, but he had a more chiseled sort of face. He was wearing a checked shirt and chinos.

“Hi, I’m Ewan,” he said in a slightly posh voice. “My, you’ve completely emptied your bowels!”

Chastity blushed an even deeper red. Then she realized another guy was walking to the door. This one had brilliant flame-coloured hair with shaved sides; the gelled spikes on the small Mohican reminded her of fire. He was wearing a blazer, t-shirt and jeans. He had wonderfully detailed tattoos, four tongue piercings, a lot of ear piercings and stretched earlobes with mahogany plugs. He too was handsome, and taller than Ewan.

“You must be Chastity,” he said, extending a beautifully tattooed hand, “I’m Arthur, but usually I get called Art. ”

He stared at her sagging underwear before a redfaced Chastity mumbled “please, come in,” and the two hotties stalked into the house. Had Chastity not been sexually repressed, she would have drooled over their deliciously rounded bottoms and muscular thighs, Art’s toned abs pressing against his t-shirt and the perfect v-shape of Ewan’s slender body. Roland grinned as he saw them and told Chastity to fetch them all some cokes. A few minutes later she shuffled into the living room, awkwardly serving the drinks while painfully aware that her full pants were on display. She sat down with a loud squelch. “This one wet herself earlier and I had to spank her,” Roland said with a smile. “You’re not allowed to use the bathroom,” he added to her. Chastity wasn’t particularly bothered by this – she didn’t need to go. But as the movie wore on and her fear of it increased, Chastity got a fright and wet her panties. She burst into tears of embarrassment as the boys laughed. Her bowels felt loose and watery and soon the only ring she could think about was her own. Chastity stood up and pressed her hand into her bum. She pinched her poohole tightly shut, but the wave of diarrhea sprayed out of her poo-gate, swamping her panties. Chastity slowly sank into a semi-crouch as brown water spurted down her legs and lumpy faeces fell out her ass. The smelly sludge squirted all over her knickers, making a chocolate lake, and the boys were in hysterics, pointing and laughing as brown goo slopped down her thighs, solid craps slithering out of her twanging poopchute. Chastity whimpered and hung her head, she could feel the shit slipping out of her, the mushiness sticking to her buttcheeks as her bowels released all down her legs. It felt like a poo explosion in her panties. Liquid shit splattered onto the floor. Finally, it was over and a now very messy Chastity looked fearfully at the boys. Art’s jeans were stretching at the seams. Ewan had his phone out and was videoing her pooping accident.

“Well, the liddle girl has diarrheared her panties,” Roland mocked, “I’m going to diaper your sorry ass.”

Chastity gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. “Please Roland no! You can’t be serious! A- a diaper…! I’m not a baby!” Her cheeks were ass-red, she was blushing so much.

“You sure look like a baby,” Ewan sniggered, “Dumping in your pants…pissing yourself…baby clothes all covered in shit…”

“NO! No, I’m NOT a baby, I just had a little poo-poo accident!” Chastity pleaded desperately as her boobs fell out of her cutesy baby top, picturing herself, a big girl, wearing a diaper…it didn’t bear thinking about!! Her poo-flap sharted out a chunk of hot brown chutney with a loud farting noise. Fluid faeces squished into her overloaded panties and some of it trickled down her leg. “I’m NOT! I don’t need to wear a diaper!” the unfortunate girl wailed. She doubled over as diarrhea splashed onto the rug and a steaming load was emptied into her pants; her pants fell down instantly with a loud, heavy splat. Filled with shame, Chastity attempted to cover her wet cunt and shitty asshole with her stained skirt, but it was too short.

A few minutes later, the poor pants-pooper was lying on her back on a baby changing mat which the boys had laid on the floor. Her legs were raised, her hands clasped over her thighs. The boys were cleaning her panty area, as Chastity would have called it, with baby wipes. They were good at it, getting into every nook and cranny to make sure they got her as clean as possible. Roland was being nice to her; he rubbed baby oil all over her bum and crotch so she wouldn’t get a rash. Chastity started feeling tingly all over her lady parts. Then she felt Ro’s finger going a little deeper into her wedding-hole than was proper.

“Oh, dear,” Chastity gasped, “I’m not sure daddy would approve.” Roland’s oily finger was thrusting in and out now, producing a most peculiar feeling.

“It’s okay, honey, I promised your mom and dad that I’d look after you, and I take my responsibilities seriously. I never make promises lightly – it’s not godly, princess.” The finger continued oiling her for a while, and for some reason the friction became more pleasant, then Roland announced, “Okay, that’s that done, I’ll just put a drop more on your little love button.” Chastity found herself purring as oil was massaged into her now throbbing jewel, and this must have stirred up childhood memories of innocent joy, never again to be relived, because soon she was sighing with happiness, forgetting all about the humiliation of the day. This was peace, not breathed from the pages of the holy book but present in the depths of her soul. She began thrusting to meet Ro’s hand; her dear, sweet friend – how lucky that she could share this moment with him! A bliss like electricity rippled through her and she was back to earth, but her spirit still afloat in a sea of calm. Roland was paddling her ass with a ping-pong paddle but after a few swats he stopped and Ewan diapered her, pushing the front over her pussy and doing up the tapes. The diaper enfolded her bottom snugly. Art pulled a pink thong over the diaper and then a pink micro-miniskirt.

 
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Posted by on August 4, 2012 in The 7 Nights

 

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