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The Piano Teacher: Stigmatising BDSM

Michele Haneke’s Piano Teacher (2001) is a French erotic drama about – to paraphrase the blurb on the DVD cover – “a repressed woman in her late thirties”, Erika Kohut (Isabelle Huppert) who lives with her tyrannical mother. The plot follows her relationship with her handsome student, Walter Klemmer (Benoit Magimel) and how her “claustrophobic” world shatters as she gives free reign to previously inhibited desires.

This film has nothing positive to say about BDSM, which is surprising since its protagonist is into BDSM. Judging by the blurb, you could be forgiven for thinking that the film was a statement about the acceptability of BDSM, since it has an educated, successful protagonist contrasting a vanilla and domineering mother, and the entire plot centres on the unleashing of BDSM desires.

Nothing could be further than the truth. The movie actually manages to stigmatise BDSM even more than E. L. James has done (by linking BDSM to childhood abuse and having an abusive, possessive hero and an idiotic passive heroine).

Here is a list of why this movie sucks, because it is so bad that I can’t write it out properly:

Childhood abuse/current emotional abuse raises its ugly head as the possible cause of BDSM desires, as Erika’s mother is abusive

BDSM is conflated with self-harm as Erika cuts her genitals deeply for no apparent reason and derives no sexual satisfaction. There is a lot of blood. Even I, who wants my labia pierced in a BDSM context and has attempted to drink Roland’s blood, was disturbed by this scene, as it smacks of self-harm and not play.

Walter is the pursuer and is sexually aggressive, even jumping up and leaning over a stall door in a public toilet to watch Erika (his professor) using the toilet. Erika is passive to his advances – reminiscent of stereotyped gender roles and the double standard.

Erika has incestuous desires towards her mother and attacks her sexually; this is untypical of the BDSM community.

Erika is not independent; she still lives with her mother in a small rented flat. Again this is untypical of BDSM-ers and, considering a professor’s salary, is unrealistic.

Walter is disgusted upon knowing his girlfriend is kinky. This isn’t realistic and is hurtful, yet Erika just takes his disgust and does not call him on it. Hardly the behaviour of a professional.

Erika deliberately injures her pupil’s hand permanently by putting smashed glass in her coat pocket, then pretends to commiserate with the pupil’s mother. BDSM is confused with psychopathic tendencies and criminal behaviour.

Erika displays hypocrisy by blaming her pupils for looking at porn, as it is degrading to women, but then she watches porn herself.

Erika self-harms with a knife in public.

When Erika finally gets what she wants – a rape fantasy which initially angered and disgusted Walter – it doesn’t turn out to be as good as she thought it would be, and she is upset by it. This is the end of the film. This is a very negative portrayal of BDSM, and an explicit suggestion that BDSM is dangerous and emotionally damaging. It could also be taken as a dim view of female sexual expressiveness, as realised desire turns out to be traumatic for the woman but satisfying for the man.

In sum, the protagonists are a psychotic criminal with a history of abuse and repressed desires (Erika) and a sexually aggressive person (Walter), both of them in need of treatment to ensure they do not cause any risks to those around them. This is not representative of BDSM. The entire film portrays both BDSM and female sexuality as perverted, dangerous, criminal and destructive – or perhaps the implicit message is that only a disturbed, traumatised individual would like BDSM, or assert her sexuality?

 
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Posted by on October 5, 2012 in Film

 

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Life between the parallel lines

In the mid-1800s, the virgin/whore dichotomy was at its most extreme, which meant one simple social rule: there was a line drawn on the ground, and if you crossed it you were no longer a virgin – you were a ruined woman, a whore. These (slightly) more enlightened times have brought more freedom to women (and men) but paradoxically the rules, for women, are now harder to follow.

This is because there is now another line – you can’t be “frigid” or a virgin. You have to date, you have to have a boyfriend, but at the same time you can’t step over that other line into glorious slutdom. You’re trapped, between the parallel lines.

The contested space between the lines is most overtly expressed in high school. If you’re percieved as too close to one line, you’re frigid, ugly, a lesbian, a snob, a virgin, a girl who can’t get a man. Yet step too close to that other line and you’re a slut, a whore, cheap, easy, a ho, skank, slag, or nasty girl. And the lines aren’t only present in high school; they’re prevalent everywhere.

In offices and families and friendship groups everywhere, women are trying to fit into that little space between the lines. Your colleagues might not yell “Slut!” at you or snicker that you’ll “die a virgin” but they can gossip behind you. Your relatives might moan that you’re still single or frown when you tell them you’ve got a new man (or more than one man). And a lot of us are familiar with the feeling of not being able to keep up with our friends who somehow effortlessly lay man after man, yet wonder how they’ll judge our own behaviour when we finally do get up the nerve to do something adventurous.

For those who are abstinent, there is pressure to “do it the world’s way”. Yet the world which seems so liberal to the abstinents is often judgemental and rejecting to polyamorous or kinky women – or even simply women who regularly have NSA sex.

So, whether you’re abstinent or polyamorous (or both!), maybe it’s time to fly upwards – out of that confined space between the painted lines on the ground. They are only paint, after all.

 
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Posted by on October 3, 2012 in Feminism

 

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The Starlight Crystal

Some of you may remember that, apart from this blog and doing other things, I (try to)find time to reread all of Christopher Pike’s books that I read aged 9-12, by buying them for a pound or two off Ebay.

Tonight I reread the Starlight Crystal, about a girl who voyages on a spaceship travelling at near lightspeed and so doesn’t age. She lives till the end of the universe and watches it begin anew. She lives for two Creations, the last part in the body of her clone who has inherited her memories, and works to fulfil her destiny by making everything come true that happened to her in the first creation – including creating an alien race that will nearly wipe out humanity. In the end she attains a sort of enlightenment and becomes Creation, able to finally spend eternity with the man she has repeatedly loved and lost.

I can see why these rather fanciful books, full of philosophy, metapysics, astronomy, murder, whodunnit, violence, science fiction, horror and the supernatural were able to appeal to my young and curious mind.

There is, I feel, a certain significance in rereading these books at the time that my wish is being fulfilled. I did reread two of Pike’s books a couple years ago – The Last Vampire 1, Remember Me, and Remember Me 2: The Return. But rereading the rest of them now, it is nostalgic and honestly I could cry for the nine year old with such powerful desires, such vivid fantasies; I could weep for her knowing of the long barren years that lie ahead when she will lay panting under the covers, lost in the world of the Village whee every day brings spanking, pants pooping/wetting, forced nappies and torture. And public humiliation. True, she never believed her fantasies would be fulfilled, that someday a version of her stronger and taller than she’d imagined her Asian genes were able to grow her, would stand in a man’s house while she caned him. And that he would allow her willingly, without the use of blackmail or bribing needed (which my nine year old self assumed would provide an opportunity for her to spank boys of her age.) Little Kali didn’t know why she wanted a man to spank her so badly, yet felt both desire and extreme embarassment, anger and disgust at the thought of her mother spanking her. But now I know the answer – my younger self was instinctively not incestuous, and perhaps also not bisexual.

Sometimes, reading those books, I feel like I’ve travelled back to that point as Little Kali; I’m still virginal, still filled with lust, still endlessly waiting. The only difference is, I have more hope that these fantasies will be fulfilled and I know I’m not the only one with them.

Lost years, wasted chances for losing my virginity. So many wasted chances. But I knew those men weren’t the one. That I would save myself for something special, for a kinky night of untamed lust and wild depravity. For that special someone. And now my God has given me to him. I have been rewarded for my chastity with £8,000.

I believe that some things are meant to happen; some people are meant for us to meet. That some ideas or goals we have are not from ourselves, but we have them so we can fulfil particular goals and what’s meant to happen can happen. Say you’re meant to meet your future partner in Mexico. But how can you meet them without having an idea or wish to travel, or to go on an exchange, or become an international student at a Mexican univesity, or to accept a job in Mexico?

Yeah, I know that belief is flawed from the ground up and I can think of two objections right off the bat; there are obviously many more objections on grounds of logic and the desirability – indeed, the risks – of such a belief system. But it’s what I think, and I make no pretensions as to its acceptibility.

So, although I thank the Universe for granting my wish to sell virginity and giving me the greatest gift I culd recieve, the only thing I have ever really wanted, and certainly the most meaningful thing I have desired; even as I thank the Universe, I wonder if, really, I should – if the fact that I wanted to sell my virginity wasn’t a predestined wish so that I eventually would sell my virginity. Perhaps before we’re born we know the main things that will happen in our lives. Maybe that’s why we have those wishes, because we know that’s what we’re meant to do. (Though obviously some wishes just come from our experiences, upbringing or culture. They’re the ones that don’t come true).

My belief gives me comfort, of course; I know that if I’m outed by a journo or Roland is violent to me that it was all meant to happen. I believe Brooke was meant to be forced to reveal her identity, and that her books were meant to be published. This means that laws are meant to be, too; if journalists were subject to better human rights laws they may not have been able to stalk Brooke enough that they’d find out her identity; or even if they did, they might not have been able to reveal her identity. You see why I’m not a fan of popularising this “it was all meant to be” belief – because you could justify any law, political action or crime by saying “it was meant to be.” (Though if all society believed everything was predestined, and justified laws accordingly, this disaster would, of course, be meant to be…) Heh heh.

Still, I thank the universe almost every day.

I feel even more fulfilled and happy since I began my prostitution. It gives even more meaning to my life, as does this blog. I feel at peace, and that is a new feeling. I also experience feelings of validation, self-love, great strength and power, as well as feelings of accomplishment and self-actualisation. It is incredible, and brings me joy and feelings of what I can only describe as honour or ‘glory’, though I’m not sure why. I am no good at analysing my own feelings, nor those of others; I can very easily pick up on what someone else is feeling but I’ll be at a loss to say why they’re feeling it. As for why I feel the way I do, that’s even more of a mystery. Emotions are inconveniences – at least that’s what I was taught as a child.

As for Little Kali, her kinks and fetishes are no different from mine. My sexuality was fully developed as a nine year old, a fact which matches the experiences of gay and trans people who typically claim to have felt that way since a very young age, often much younger than I was. Some parents also claim to have known their children were lesbian or gay from when they were toddlers.

At the age of 12 or 13, I casually picked up a teen fiction book – one of a series, this book was called ‘The Apprentice’, I think -in WH Smith at Glasgow Queen Street Station. The blurb on the back was about an imprisoned serial killer who, at night in bed, senses the presence of one of his own kind running around killing. He calls to me. He is one of my own kind. The killer decides to break out to join the other killer. Lying there in the dark, [imagining or dreaming of killing and the blood] and wake up, my cold imbs suffused in the sweat of sexual excitement… I put the book back. That last sentence – which may actually have been the first sentence I read – had described me perfectly. At age 12 or 13, I understood that my murder fantasies were sexual – I just knew, though I didn’t think spanking or pants-pooping was sexual. Was I destined to become a serial killer? I did sometimes fantasise about prowling the streets at night as a huntress, spanking, beating and murdering men, seeing them bleed, their mouths open. Making my blade dance over their bodies, punching their faces. Stabbing them in the heart. Slashing their throat. And drinking their blood of course. But now I know that being kinky isn’t the same as being sadistic. I am not doomed to be a killer. And serial killers are never kinky; they do not do BDSM with their partners. I don’t worry about murdering Roland in a fit of lust. I just worry about accidentally hurting his delicate, fragile body through overexcitement. But I won’t; I value him too much (£6,000) to put a scratch on Magda’s most prized piece of ass.

Back then, I was reading these books and fantasising about boys getting spanked, and about myself being spanked by a man and spanking boys. And now I’m reading them again and I’m still a virgin, but experiencing all this spanking at long last. If I was 11 when I read this particular book, another 11 years has now elapsed. Time goes full circle and then after much struggle there is a happy ending. Like The Starlight Crystal.

 

 

 

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BDSM Bella: The knife, the needle and the newbie

So, there’s me on the floor in this big room giving my first blowjob and discovering that far from feeling disgust, I actually enjoy it! It was so much fun seeing the effect I was having on him! It made me feel powerful, and for a moment I fantasised that I could control Roland’s reactions, thoughts and senses completely.

After about 15 or 20 minutes, I told him I couldn’t breathe properly and needed a break. He said that I was good. This made me very happy. I was curious about his cock, it seemed very rubbery to me, like Matt’s. I pressed it in places and moved it around; it surprised me that I could move it to all angles, straight up or to either side, very easily without hurting him.

Growing up, I’d always believed that urine and semen came out of the same hole. But, knowing that they were two different tubes, I had sometimes wondered if they wouldn’t have two separate openings, one nearer to the underside, maybe. I’d never had an opportunity to check either theory, as with Matt it had been outside in the dark and the first time in Roland’s company office I hadn’t been paying attention. As I was moving it up, I asked “where’s the other hole?” and he goes, “What other hole?” so I explained and he said there was only one; two tubes opening into one hole. I said that was disgusting because urine particles might get mixed with semen on ejaculation. I said women were much more hygienically designed; he seemed to agree. He chuckled and said “Well, I’m glad I could give you an anatomy lesson.” I continued to feel and squish different bits of Roland experimentally. It was all new to me. I also wanted to see if the underside of balls had hair, and how hard you could squeeze them, and how they felt when you squashed them or rolled them in your fingers. Roland seemed amused by this exploration; having never been with a virgin, he must never have had a woman experiment like that.

I thought it was quite fascinating, and I got down on all fours and pounced on his thing for a bit, batting it with my hand, doing each pounce from a different spot. It was so much fun!

“You’re like a little cat,” he said, “Come back over here.”

Dunno what happened next, but after a bit we were talking about shaving (why don’t men shave their balls, razors vs waxing) and I said I plucked hairs out of my legs and it’s called trichotillomania and I hate being medicalized as I just do it for fun. I said I go Brazillian because it’s easier as I pluck out so much hair from my pubic area, and he said if I want I could pluck hairs from his balls, and I plucked two, which didn’t hurt him but didn’t satisfy me because the hairs were too long. I only pluck short hairs. I also prefer thick, gel-like white roots or black, sticky roots – not dry small yellow/white roots or no visible roots.

Then I lifted his cock upright, took a needle off the tray. However, when I asked Roland if I put it down the hole as an experiment to see what would happen, he was not keen – even though, if I had dropped it down the hole, he could have urinated it out. Or put his thing in the ‘down’ position so it would fall out. I was all, ‘pleeease?‘ with my best puppy-dog expression, but he wouldn’t budge. He seemed to find it amusing. He said I couldn’t use the needles but I could use the knife. I needed no further encouragement!

I laid the knife against his chest and took it on its glinting dance down to his groin. I was moving its flat side over his balls (at one point he was all ‘owww oww that isn’t flat – HAHA hilarious!) and up and down his cock. After a bit I stretched myself up as far as I could go while kneeling and kissed him, pushing my tongue into his mouth as I held the blade against his cock. Our tongues writhed and fought and mated like snakes, and my hand was caressing the blade against his flesh.

The above paragraph is in bold because it was my favourite moment of my selling virginity adventure (so far).

Of course, then I just had to make a teeny cut. Roland wouldn’t let me cut, or use the needle to pierce him. He wanted to see me pierce myself, and I attempted to pierce my inner labia but the needle wouldn’t go through. Then he changed his mind and decided that he would try it.

He used the needle to try and pierce his cock to draw blood, and we were trying for ages but it didn’t work. He said that piercing or cutting the skin wouldn’t even draw blood; it needs to be a bigger cut.

“Well, let’s pretend it draws blood,” I said, pretending to stab him, laying the knife aside, applying a smidgen of reddish sauce to the ‘cut’ and saying, “So, you’re bleeding now.” Then I sucked off the sauce. Roland went, “You are a vampire!” as if it was somehow a little bit surprising; I thought I’d given him plenty of clues. And there’s loads of vampires in society, if the internet and vampire porn is any indicator.

I put on more sauce and gave him another blowjob, then I asked if he wanted to spank me again. Soon I was once more over his lap.

 

 

 

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Finally…photos!

Well, my faithful followers, it looks like you’re in luck! I have decided to post some photos for your viewing pleasure. The small print: no, neither me or Roland feature in these photos…sorry. But here they are:

I just found this a few hours ago while tidying my room – it’s Roland’s Post-it Note message that he sent along with a cheque for just over £12.00 for doing a spanking drawing commission on Gumtree. I charged £10 per drawing, and he sent a little to cover postage, which was nice of him. I got the idea to do commissions from Animeotk.com, a spanking art/forum site where I was given artist status and a gallery, and some other artists on the site would get commissions.

“Hi Kalika, Thank you for completing my commission. I look forward to seeing it 🙂 Here is £10 fee + something for postage, Roland.”

And the brush:

 

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A long spanking

Roland made me lie over his lap on the sofa, in my favourite position. He lifted my navy and cream dress and pulled my tights down a bit, and of course I was in heaven. Then he just started spanking me, lightly, with the wooden dog brush I’d brlought. It was very relaxing and therapeutic. He was talking to me sometimes, I can’t remember what he said. His voice was measured and calm, like always.

“You can do it harder,” I said, and the smacks suddently fell heavier with a bigger slap/thud sound. After a while it began to sting and I shifted a fraction. Roland continued to paddle me much harder than the other times, and I sometimes moved my legs a little because of the pain. Then he made me pull my dress off, saying “Queen Tut was naked when she got spanked.”

“Well, her bum was naked, but she had clothes on,” I said.

“It’s the same thing,” said the CEO of the company I’m not allowed to name. (What a classy gentleman). “And let’s get rid of these as well,” he said, pulling off my tights. One thing I’ve noticed about this particular sex maniac is that he likes to undress me progressively instead of all at once.

He let me keep my bra on, for some reason. (I was wearing red and black underwear and bra; usually I wear red, sometimes black, occassionally prints in brown, cream or gold colours – not that it’s of any consequence since nobody ever sees it except Roland).

The brush seemed to hurt more now; maybe he was smacking much harder. Roland twisted my arm over my back because I kept trying to deflect the brush and rub; I liked that a lot. He tried out the different implements, saying “this is the spoon – and this is the other side of the spoon – now which do you prefer?” and “that’s the flogger, last time you said this was your favourite.” He took a few experimental swings, although I doubt he could swing very well sitting down.

It seemed like a short time but we probably did this for an hour or two (by the way, it was 2am before we attempted to go to bed and we were doing spanking stuff the whole time from about 7:30pm, which means I’m not as expensive as Roland claims because I was his prostitute for about either 7 or 8 hours, including the studio stuff, so it’d be a rate of either £150 (approx) or £125 an hour which is average price.) So he definetly got more bang for the buck that time. Heh. Anyway if he ever says my price is high again, I will point this out to him. It’s just a matter of him using his time with me constructively and making me stay for more hours.

Then Roland went to change the music which was pumping out in surround sound from his laptop to a playlist of songs about naughty girls, and I went to the bathroom and looked smugly at my reflection, just very happy (I’ve heard Ana spends a lot of time staring in the mirror in 50 Shades; I hope this blog isn’t becoming like the trilogy. But I don’t think it is, because I have my own agenda, motives, kinks, hobbies and character-specific skills, unlike Ana who is pulled into BDSM by Christian and just does whatever he says (with or without endless agonizing beforehand). And Roland isn’t an abusive, controlling stalker with feelings of shame about being kinky.

We had more coffee. Then the spanking resumed to the Scissor Sisters’ ‘Filthy Gorgeous’, Beyonce’s ‘Naughty Girl’, Sting and The Police’s ‘Roxanne’, Ciara’s ‘Love and Sex and Magic’ and the Pussycat Dolls’ ‘When I Grow Up’. Though I would also think Queen’s ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’, R Kelly’s Ignition/remix to Ignition (songs I’ve always loved, as it is actually the way I think about boys), Your Sex is On Fire,  and (from my point of view, and not necesarily about naughty girls/girls who should be spanked) Big Brovaz’s ‘Favourite Things’,  Gwen Stefani’s ‘Rich Girl’, Lady Marmalade,  R Kelly’s The World’s Greatest, Mika’s Love Today, Nelly Furtado’s Promiscuous Girl, The Bad Boys (are always catching my eye), The Fratellis’ Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night, Shakira’s She Wolf, were also appropriate…should I just Google phrases like ‘naughty girl’, ‘naughty boy’, ‘pervert’, ‘prostitute’ ‘slut’ and ‘spanking’ with the word ‘lyrics’??

Although who knows, maybe all those songs were on the playlist; how would I know? In the state of lust I’m barely aware of anything, though Roland seems capable of thinking clearly when in heat. I certainly can’t.

Roland spanked me for a long time with the spoon, brush and a paddle, and got me naked. He then bent me over a footstool or coffee table to whack me a few times with the flogger, then over the arm of the sofa. The fire was burning in the fireplace with no guard; it was beautiful. […]take me home tonight/Ooh down beside your red firelight…I like fire. Then he said it was time for me to be tortured/interrogated into revealing 5 things, and if I revealed them I’d have to give him a blowjob. It’d been my idea and I was pretty confident, a confidence that was to prove completely unfounded…COMING UP: more spanking, caning, anal toy, knife play, attempted vampirism, other weird random stuff…

 

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I take the ‘vampire test’

I just found this vampire test online from a truly stupid site that claims vampires exist. (I was looking for BDSM vampirism, which is a kink I discovered I possess the moment after I tried to cut Roland’s penis and drink a little of his blood. Anyway, this site may be ludicrously stupid and medically flawed, but it’s still not as stupid or harmful as the verbal stylings of the likes of Santorum or Rick Perry. So, here is the site’s vampire test and me answering the questions in bold like [this]:

The sole purpose of this page is to help you figure out if you are a real vampire or not. This is to be used with the finding a real vampire page on this site. After all if you don’t recognize yourself as a real vampire then you aren’t a real vampire. All of the traits below are accurate for more than half of all real vampires. All real vampires have at least 85% of them, in other words if at least 85% of them don’t apply to you then you are not a vampire. Assuming that you are a real vampire, the fact that so many of these traits are accurate for you may shock you.
Those are the traits that I am saying are 95% so that I don’t rule any real vampires out that the traits may not be accurate for. If you are convinced that you are a real vampire, yet have few to none of these traits you really need to read up on a term that is known as enabling and stop claiming to be one. You could even seem to have all of them but there is still no guarantee that you are a real vampire.
Copyright 2005 Steve Leighton, copying without permission is forbidden by law, and will result in a DMCAreport being filed against you and sent to your domain provider or to the owner of where ever you posted your copy of this vampire website.


“I didn’t draw blood at first, but I did get an overwhelming feeling”

If you can relate to that quote don’t waste your time reading any farther because you are definitely not a real vampire. You are, on the other hand, a classic case of Reinfeld’s Syndrome.

  • 1. Do you have unusually pale skin? You don’t have to be white to be pale. [Yes]If yes then cook up one or two (depending on the size) medium rare steaks (the best way to do this) If, by the time you’re done enjoying the second one, you have a new pinkish color throughout your body that you haven’t had in a while, read no farther; you are a real vampire. Humans can’t digest blood let alone get color from it, real vampires do.
    NOTE: The extra work involved in trying to eat medium rare or rare meat can cause a temporary pink color to the skin which is otherwise known as being flushed. Temporarily being flushed is not the color that is being referred to when a vampire gets color from the blood in the steak. It takes a lot less human blood than animal blood to get the same effect but animal blood is way easier to get.) If you were white before and still are you should see a doctor. Odds are you aren’t a real vampire, you’re just malnourished, and they can help.
  • Have you ever been told by professionals that you’re lucky you survived an accident with only a few scratches or cuts? [Yes…but so have many people]
  • Are you a naturally strong magic/energy user self-taught or self-realized? [????]
  • As a kid, were you the strongest, smartest, or quickest kid in the class, and at around 16 years of age maybe all 3? [Yes, so? Lots of kids are top of the class or strong, and I excercised a lot by climbing in parks, walking in the Highlands with my mum, skipping, swimming, climbing trees…]
  • Did your dad disappear from your life while you were at a young age? [Yes…but that’s quite common and I’m sure there can’t be THAT many vampires around!]
  • (NOTE: 52% of vampires out of a large range of vampires have answered yes to this question. This includes people who believe they are real vampires however may not really be one.) Click for one theory on how this is vampire related: The Truth about the ”Vampire Community”.
  • Do people often tell you that you look very young for your age, or that they would have never guessed how old you are? [I look younger now, but used to look older. But my family all look young so it’s simple genetics. Or are we ALL vampires??]
  • Are you extremely energetic at night but around the time the sun comes up become extremely tired? [YES, most definetely! I even have to write most of my poetry at night and blog at night, or it wouldn’t be good.]
  • Are you a slightly quicker healer than most, if not a much quicker healer? [Dunno. I never let injuries stop me, and don’t fuss ovder cuts so I’ve no idea.]
  • Do you have an unusually high tolerance to alcohol and other poisons/toxins? [Alcohol – I can take 11-12 drinks without getting drunk. Poisons – don’t know.]
  • Do you tend to switch between very social and antisocial frequently? [No, never. Not even in my teen years. It’s called hormones, being moody or mild bipolar disorder.]
  • Do you rarely get sick, or when you get sick does your body recovers quicker than most people? [Yes, most definetly. However, that’s because I excercised a lot as a child/teen and eat a lot of fresh meat and fish. Optimistic people get sick rarely, and I’m extremely optimistic. I also take hair vitamins now.]
  • Are your six senses more enhanced than most other peoples, i.e. vision, hearing, touch, smell, taste, and intuition? [Very much, especially smell and hearing; however my vision is actually not good at all]
  • Do you have extremely good vision in the dark? How many times has some one said it’s too dark they can’t see while you were doing something like reading? [Yes, it’s been commented on; and 0 times, it’s not THAT good!]
  • Do you tend to NOT be surprised or scared by the typical sudden loud noise in a movie or things like that because you sensed it coming? [Yes; definetly]
  • Do you tend to react to things like catching a falling object or other normally unexpected things at an almost psychic speed? (As if you were expecting it to happen)? [debatable]
  • Do you tend to get a high from human blood? [Sometimes – it depends it what context. Someone gets a cut? Ewww, gross, don’t get it on my sleeve!! Blood sprays everywhere in a film? Yummy, let me at it!]When drinking someone’s blood do you tend to find yourself being able to do something that they could do (that you couldn’t do) about 2 weeks after drinking it? [How would this be because of the blood? Blood is broken down by the digestive tract, that’s why you probably can’t catch HIV by drinking it! Blood is just red blood cells and plasma, it doesn’t have any magical quality/life force!]
  • Are you sensitive to light [yes] or the heat from it? [no, I like heat and easily get cold] (Ranging from getting a bad headache from the glare to burning very easily.)
  • If, while your skin is white from lack of enough blood in you, do you bleed quite noticeably less than a person normally should, or more likely not bleed at all? [no]
  • Are your nails clear like glass, yet very strong?  [no, they actually break easily and so don’t grow super-long without the hair vitamins. Even with the vitamins, they still break easily.]
  • Is your bedroom the coldest and darkest room in the house? [yes, so what?]
  • According to multiple news articles easily found online, older adults can’t hear this sound. So far I haven’t found someone over 36 who is a non-vamp that can. click to try to hear it. Warning: if you can hear it, it will be loud. (ALWAYS FOLLOW THE WARNINGS ON THIS WEBSITE) My reference: yahoo homepage/news 6-21-06, and testing it on friends . [didn’t try this]
  • A legitimate Vampire is able to safely digest more than 600% of the daily recommended amount of iron (RDA is 18mg. 600% of RDA is 108mg) when in the form of blood. (ALWAYS READ THE WARNINGS ON THIS SITE!)
  • How often do you look at the person that almost bumped (or bumped) into you and think “you idiot” or “people are so stupid” because they didn’t know you were only a couple feet away from them, because you always know when someone is that close to you? (Which, when you think about it, you only know because you can sense when someone is that close to you). [Yes, I can ‘sense’ people near me, but in my experience, most people can. And most people including me can sense someone staring at them.]
  • Do you always feel a strong urge to travel? [YESS!! Constantly, every day.]

  • How often does something smell so strong that you can literally taste it, whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing? (NOTE: When most people say it smells so strong that they can taste it they only say it as a figure of speech. And the people that agree with you when you say it rarely can taste it. Think I’m wrong? Ask them yourself!) [All the time, which is normal as the nose and mouth are connected and, if you hold your nose, you can’t tell the difference between chocolate and coffee.]
  •  Can you hear a whisper from across a room? [sometimes; so can everyone]

  • Is there a dark colored ring around the iris (color part) of your eyes? All real vampires have this, however not everyone that has it is a real vampire.  [dunno]
  • Is there a noticeably different color surrounding the pupil? (Inner part of the color of your eyes.)  [dunno]
  •  Do the words “come on outside, it’s a nice bright sunny day, and there’s a lot of people out,” seem more like a bad thing than a good thing to you, as opposed to the guy who said it to you, saying it with a big happy smile? [No, I love sunny days and lots of people having fun! That’s a symptom of depression, or of being an emo or a goth.]

  • Regardless of how normal you may consider yourself to be, do you tend to meet a lot of weird people that you quite often hit it off with relatively frequently? (Keep in mind, normal is just a politically correct term for people that have no creativity. And definitely is NOT something to be proud of calling yourself). [I’m not normal, most people aren’t. There’s a lot of weirdness beneath everybody’s surface.]
  • Do you have a predator instinct that is so strong that it makes most people seem to act more like herbivores than the omnivores they consider themselves to be?  [dunno]
  •  Does sunlight/bright light in general hurt your eyes and head, in most cases to the point of a migraine? (But you can still go out in it). See point 17. [No]

  • Do electrical appliances generally tend to hate you? (Watches mess up often, computers malfunction for no reason, etc). [Yes, consistently]

  •  Are your dreams often extremely vivid and sometimes result in cases of déjàvu? [Very frequently]
  • Do people often find you very empathetic to how they feel? [No. Especially if they’re feeling sad. I can tell if someone is feeling sad, but I can’t always tell why, especially if I consider it to be attention-whoring, being oversensitive or immature, etc.]

  • Do people usually either trust you completely or not trust you at all? [No. It’s usually in-between].

  •  When you will things to happen do they usually happen? [Yes.]

  •  Does your mood have an obvious effect on the mood of others around you? Only count this if it happens to the people that can’t see you. (Especially on babies and animals like cats). [dunno]

Click Here To Find Places Where You Can Meet Others Like You. For those of you who want to try to feel important by poking holes in this list Read this first and don’t waste your breath trying, because I know I’m right. This list only applies to vampires that need blood aka the only real kind of vampire, and your belief isn’t required nor do I care if you disagree with me. For those that wonder how I know I’m a vampire, or are asking themself who is this guy to judge me, this is how I know that I am a vampire.

Do you really need me to ask you more of these questions? All of these can be passed off as just a coincidence, although how many coincidences can happen at the same time for the same person? Synchronicity a word coined by DR. Carl Jung, which basically states that it is not just a mere coincidence for something like that to happen.
Yes all of these can be explained but for all of them to happen to one person, as well as the fact that they are all vampiric traits should make you wonder. Not to mention, if you only knew how many people that think they are vampires, give me hell because they don’t have any of these traits. Those people really should learn about something known as enabling and not complain to me about it. You would really think twice on the fact that as a vampire, you take these for granted. The only reason why I haven’t listed all the people and their statements on it is because regardless of what they think or tell me I really don’t care. Real vampires have had awakenings because of this page and wannabe vampires have bitched and complained to me about this page. All in all it is helping vampires and that is all that matters to me.

 I dunno if I got 85%. I think this guy has stumbled on a medical condition where many individuals find that all of these traits are linked. I share quite a lot of these traits too; I think it is a medical or biological condition, or natural human variation. The traits are connected – having more energy at night of course relates to better night vision, which is connected to superior five senses, including sensing people standing behind you. This could be due to an evolutionary advantage of having some people awake at night to look out for predators. I frequently stay up all night when it’s not term time, going to sleep at 5am or 6am. This is the most natural sleep pattern for me. I’m also more creative/awake at night. All my blog posts have been posted between midnight and 5am. However I don’t think it’s because I am a vampire, it’s just natural human variation, or a possible undiscovered medical condition.

 
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Posted by on August 6, 2012 in Spanking/BDSM

 

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Why this blog/Kalika’s Q and A:your sordid questions answered!

Why this blog?

1. ‘Cause Belle de Jour did it.

2. I wanted to write a diary, then I thought, ‘why not a blog? Then it wouldn’t be so pointless, and other people will see it. And nobody’s done a selling virginity blog before, because most virginity buyers don’t want to drag it out like Roland.’

3. I like writing complete shit and ranting against the homophobes/Ann Widdecombe/Nadine Dorries/Rick Santorum/Rick Perry/the pro-lifers/the conservatives/the Conservatives/the government (which is mostly Conservative)/the conservatives who pretend to be feminists/the Conservative feminists…Is anyone even still reading this? Anyway, I like ranting against all of these loons, so why not rant on the internet, call it “blogging”, call myself “a blogger”, act smug about it and put it on my CV? And I can smear my complete shit all over the internet and act like it’s some kind of socially-worthy activity! (Some have called me an activist, even though all I’m doing is writing down what I say every day. Saying stuff to your friends is just slagging off people, but when you stick it on a blog, it’s activism!)

FAQ

(No-one’s asked me any questions…well, maybe one or two, but I forget what they were. Anyway, here are some questions I think would be FAQs if this morally reprehensible blog had more followers:)

Q. What prompted you to sell your virginity?

A. I’ve always dreamed of prostituting myself and been very jealous of sex workers. I especially fantasised about selling virginity. I love money, and love the idea of being paid for sex. It’s kinky.

Q. Why did you choose Roland instead of auctioning it as you would’ve got more money that way?

A. He was the safest and easiest option, and I liked his personality. I preferred it to be someone I liked and knew slightly. Sacrificing thousands for these paltry preferences was ridiculously stupid, of course – I wouldn’t pay thousands for those things, so why throw away thousands for those things? – however I don’t regret my decision, and I’ve never claimed to be intelligent.

Q.Do you enjoy being sexual with Roland?

A.Yes. I think I naturally am very into kinky sex. I didn’t know that before. I think the moral of this unseemly contract is: love sex. (Durex paid me £562,621,869.74 to say that last bit. The massive but somehow invisible prostitution corporations paid me twice that amount to say the first bit. I actually hate doing anything with Roland, because he forces me at gunpoint to do it, and has cut me with very cool-looking designer knives. On one occassion, he stuck a hot poker up my bum as an experiment, but forgot to record the result so had to repeat the experiment five times, then press a hot frying pan to my bottom as a control study. He then spanked me with it for not staying still and compromising the experiment. He also tortured me with electrodes and taser-like instruments, and has set my butt on fire repeatedly.  I don’t enjoy these things because Roland works for the despotic government of Fantasia and I think government torture is morally wrong. Roland agrees that it is indeed morally wrong, but he counters that it is also sexy, an observation which I find difficult to rebutt.)

Q.Why don’t you have two separate blogs, one for your perverted, badly-written diary, and another for your half-baked thoughts on feminism, BDSM laws, 50 Shades, and other sociopolitical things you obviously know nothing about? Or even a third blog for your kinky fiction that either goes on and on for thirty pages or is total rubbish?

A. I wanted to make the point that sex isn’t a separate sphere of our lives. It’s part of our social life, our family life, etc. We have sex with people we meet socially or through work; we use our social skills to pick up men or maintain relationships. We have sex with people in our family such as our spouses and partners. Our children are (usually) born by sex, or even if they’re not, the method used to create them was a secondary choice because the usual method wasn’t a viable option for us. We have a tendency in the west to segregate sex off from the other parts of our lives, and have distinct attitudes or unease towards it. (The forced therapy on two 6 year olds who had oral sex in an  American classroom proves that while dressing up or playing house is acceptable for children, ‘playing doctor’ or exploring each others’ bodies is not. Worryingly, this exploration used to be shrugged off as ‘playing doctor’ in the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s but now in our supposed ‘freer’ times, it is pathologized and medicalized. Facebook recently banned a user for posting a photo of her 5 year old pretending to breastfeed her two year old, because the photo was ‘sexual’. There are more examples, obviously, those are the first two I thought of.)

I also wanted to make the point that you can talk seriously about feminist issues and issues surrounding BDSM, sexuality and sex work alongside a sex diary – that the academic/political discourse around sex can’t be completely separated from the lived experience itself. When we research, analyse, discuss and legislate on sex – from gay marriage to abortion to the legality of BDSM – we are affecting real individuals’ lives and freedoms. When we don’t legislate on/discourage sexism, homophobia, slut-shaming/stigmatisation of lone mothers/the double standard enough (or, indeed, at all) this affects real people. I don’t think sex – or anything else – can be completely divided into two spheres as the academic-political discourse and the separate private experience. The lines are blurred.

I also wanted to show people that sex workers are well-rounded people who can be feminists – not victims – and do other things like write fiction etc. So I didn’t see a need to have one blog for my diary and feminism and a separate blog just for the few stories I have, especially since those stories are connected to the diary in that Roland and I frequently talk about them and Roland has mimicked the Queen Tut spanking scene/Kemet 1 twice and occassionally calls me by that name.

Q. Don’t you understand that you’re being exploited by that disgusting male who is little better than a rapist?

A. Yes, I feel very exploited. I went to a photo shoot with the intention of giving Roland a trial-run so that if he passed I could initiate a deal to sell my virginity. I’m a kinky student being paid £8,000 to have kinky sex with a millionaire I actually like personality-wise, who looks young for his age, pays for my food when I see him, and is overly concerned about my emotional health/consent issues. I have money saved up anyway from working part-time the last couple of years, I could get a career job as I just graduated; I’m doing casual work now anyway and have student overdrafts so I’m not dependent on him. I can stop this whenever I want. Of course I’m being exploited, please rescue me.This is horrible – I’m oversexed and have too much money.No woman should be treated in this way.

Q.Is there anything about selling virginity that you feel negatively about?

A. Two things – his age, and the hair thing.

Q. Do you ever detach yourself while doing it?

A. Once, for about three minutes, though I didn’t realise other sex workers do that sometimes, I thought it was only me. I did it as a precaution, but it got so hot that I began to like it so I un-detached myself.

Q. Why aren’t the Feminism and BDSM sections of your blog more objective?

A. In this stage that our society is now in, I don’t think we can afford to be objective any more. People’s freedoms and quality of life are at stake. You only have to look across the pond to see that, once a free country is on the way to becoming a theocracy, the slide is difficult to stop and lots of innocent bystanders will suffer a lot (If you haven’t heard of the ‘war on women’, Google it, or Google ‘last abortion clinic Mississippi’, or ‘teen abortion parental consent North Carolina’ – which wasn’t even part of the recent controversies, but an older law.) Who knows how many women especially young or poor women, are, right now, being forced by government (or in N. Carolina, abusive parents) to bear babies as a result of that? How many people got AIDS or pregnant because of abstinence education (which has mostly declined now but still exists)? These are the ‘invisible children’ that we- well, Americans – can actually do something about. The solution is simple – scrap all those newly-enforced laws. It doesn’t take millions of dollars or decades of scientific research to do that. The Americans know this, of course – they aren’t as dumb as they portray themselves in their films- but the loonies won’t let regular Americans put things right and save the children and themselves from unnecessary harm.

We don’t want this stuff to happen here and American abstinence programmes and anti-abortion government control have already been attempted (by Dorries. Most recently in January, which was her 4th attempt).

Q. Why do your posts go off on tangents?

A. They just do.

Q. To you, personally, what is the best thing about free speech?

A. Well we all know why it’s massively important, so my answer is: Being able to write the Santorum gets spanked scene in my story ‘The UK Government Torture Act’ and not get spanked by the police for writing it. Wait, is that actually a good thing?

Q.When did you begin to have BDSM fantasies?

A. 9 years and 2 months. This is also when I began to draw and write kinky stories and comics.

Q. At what age did you realise these fantasies were sexual and accept your desires?

A. 18

Q. Has Roland ever done anything to you that made you feel bad?

A. Woke me up at 5.45 am. In his defence, this was totally necessary.

Got a question? Ask me in a comment! 😀

 

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Spanking, lies, and Paradise

Roland got the phone and we walked a bit. I was still wearing my purity ring, just twisted round so that it was plain silver except for a little Christian fish that was barely noticeable, so you couldn’t tell it was a purity ring. On my other hand I had a snake ring I’d got for £1 from Hillary’s Bazaar in my bellydancing days. It goes with my Egyptian(-y) style, though my looks are also influenced by Goth and Steampunk as well as current trends. I’m currently thinking of trying out a Steampunk-inspired ‘adventurer’ look with combat trousers/cargo pants, corsets and utility belts. (I can afford to experiment more now because of Roland.)

Roland’s neighbour walked right past us. Ah, the thrill of discovery! Roland said, “It’d be a good idea if we didn’t talk too loudly about what we’re doing when we’re inside, because someone might recognise me,” and this delighted me for some perverse reason. I couldn’t resist teasing him, saying “You know, if you didn’t pay me the 8k I’d go to the media with this story and then everyone would know. Like everyone you work with and your neighbours.” (Not good call girl etiquette, of course, but sometimes I just gotta be Kalika, and she is one nasty fucked-up li’l bitch.

(Going to the papers is plausible, as there have been media stories of girls selling virginity and we have yet to have a story about this happening in Scotland so the Edinburgh papers would be interested. Though I’d go to the national ones too. I could remain anonymous, and even if I didn’t, it would look bad for Roland more than it could for me.).

“If I didn’t pay yu the 8k?”

“Yep. Well, not just you, I mean before I met you I figured out that whoever it was that I sold it to, if they didn’t pay me I’d go to the media.”

“And what if I pay you?” he asked. He was amused but I knew inside he was worried a teensy bit.

“Well, then I wouldn’t, of course.”

“You wouldn’t?” he said. This was delicious.

“Of course not.That would be wrong.”

“That would be blackmail,” he said, grinning. He has a special Roland grin.

I have a short attention span, so while this conversation was riveting, I was also a little irritated at the way that Roland continually and persistently wore clothes the entire time. But I reasoned this was only natural, since if he had walked around naked that would be quite a scandal, and he would therefore be impervious to my go-to-the-media/blackmail-after-I-get-paid-8k ‘threats’.

DIRECTOR OF £4m COMPANY STRIPS NAKED IN BUSY STREET

Now that’s a great headline.

We went into a little place to eat. When we were sitting at the table (next to the window) Roland said he liked my jacket; it was a cropped black faux leather jacket that I’d chosen to give a bit of edge to the dress/tights ensemble. It doesn’t keep me warm at all, especially since I wear it open. (I was wearing a bronze-coloured choker and a gold headband too.) If anyone is wondering if I dress sexy for Roland, the answer is no. I just make sure I look good, but then I do that every day anyway; the way I look is important to me. I always try to have a nipped-in waist and slim silhoutte so I like dresses/long tops belted over leggings, tights or jeggings. If I wear shorter tops I like them to be fitted and I like layering. I love corsets, too, and they make great layering options when worn over a shirt, long knit, or t-shirt especially if they are underbust corsets. Actually the only time I can remember having a less ‘feminine’/’elegant’ look was that time I told Leanne about Roland, when I was wearing a long red knitted hoodie over black combats/cargo pants. However both items were quite fitted though, unlike the average combats or hoodie.

Where was I? Oh, yes, we were sitting at the table next to a pane of glass through which a canal and office buildings were visible. Roland had to answer a couple of calls, which was very hot and business-y (is that a word? No) and I just watched him being all Boss Guy and dealing with business stuff like he isn’t sat here with a prostitute. He was telling the guy/girl on the other end that “I’m not here right now, I’m out of town, so I can’t actually see the [piece of technology I haven’t got a clue what it is]”.

I told him that this was the first time in years that I’d sat with my back to a door, because usually I won’t. He said he’d heard of a belief that evil spirits could attack you if you did, and asked who I thought would attack me.

“I dunno, the Russians?” I said (I just got that out of another wonderful WordPress blog, The Vulva Revolver, a fiction about a delusional who thinks he’s a historical aristocrat. In the first post I read, someone knocks at the door and he wonders who it is: The Russians?? As in the James Bond sort of Russians, I presume (i.e. not ordinary citizens but the KGB or something).

Roland says, “Why, what do you have against Russians?”

I explained about Mann Smoothe’s blog/not being xenophobic towards Russians. (Actually if I did hate Russians, wouldn’t that be racism and not Xenophobia, since I’m not white?? Questions, pesky questions!)

I said I knew his friend was Russian and I didn’t mean him. He said that his friend was a slut when he was young and now that he has a daughter, instead of encouraging her to be a slut like he was, he jealously guards her from men. I aked if he’s the same to his son and Roland said no, and I said that’s just the double standar. Roland thought the whole thing was really funny, and he said, “No, he doesn’t…but the mother does!” He thinks that guys know what other guys are like, so guard daughters, while girls know what other girls are like so they guard sons. Interesting.

A slightly incestuous illustration of paternal possessiveness (and other sexist gender-role/parent-role stuff. (Obv Mummy hasn’t got the balls to be a hero.)

He thinks kids are the opposite of their parents and that’s why I’m selling myself in direct contrast to my mother who only ever had one man and is very chaste.

Our food came; I had chicken.

Roland also said I’m a psychopath and a cold-hearted bitch; he finds this very funny.

Roland said that the employee he sent home got sent home to have a think and come back on Monday because he kept refusing to do his tasks and saying he wouldn’t do them. If that’s true, I quite honestly think it’s ridiculous and he should be sacked. If I can obey my insulting, offensive boss’s every instruction in a crappy one-day-a-week, 5-hours-a-day job, then why can’t someone listen to reasonable instruction in a good job? I would’ve fired him if I was a boss.

“Did you want to fire him?” I asked.

“Well, no. I’m sorry to disappoint your ideas of me as being cruel, but I wanted to give him another chance and I don’t enjoy firing people [blah blah blah non-hot waffling].”

“If spanking was legal, would you spank him if he was a woman?”

Roland laughed. “Well…yes, then I think I would, if it was legal to spank employees. But of course it’s not, there’s lots of things you can’t consent to. I think you would like to spank him, or maybe if you were his boss you would put him in Paradise [the British government’s torture machine in a story I wrote. It’s in the fiction section of this blog] wouldn’t you? ‘You’re being sent to Paradise for two weeks!'”

“If I was like an intern at Luxor, and I didn’t do my work well, would you spank me?”

He looked at me with bright eyes and a thoughtful, satisfied Roland(TM) smile. “Yes, you would be spanked,” he nodded, “Oh yes.”

We talked about the cases in America where bosses got jailed for spanking consenting employees for not doing goodwork, and I told him about a guy in England who was only caught when he tried it on a 15 year old girl in a work placement, who told her teacher.

I also learned this: When Roland was a toddler, his dad let him stick his fingers into electric sockets and taught him which one was the earth wire that would kill him. This frightened his mother. (An extreme example of the ‘challenger’ and ‘protector’ parent gender roles which I learned during Higher Psychology at school. I thought it was utter nonsense then, and also now. Gender roles and parental roles are created by society and actually they have lapsed quite significantly in these two or three generations.) Unfortunately his tale of nearly being electrocuted through sticking a part of his body into an electrical outlet did not do anything for me at all, because my mental picture was of course of a baby-Roland (awww, cute!).

Baby Roland almost discovered the basis of Paradise’s technology.

I also saw his passport cos he had it for some reason (and he saw mine which is usually in my bag in case I get ID’d at a bar). Anyway I was right that he’s 46 and not 42 as he claimed, because I could tell from his passport. (I know this because, before the photoshoot, he said he’d seen pics of me on the interwebz and one of my poems when I won a poetry competition. So I decided to stalk him on the interwebz and see how he likes it!)

Roland got another call from work and pretended to be in a lawyer’s firm; as we left he was saying “Yes I’m just at their office right now; I’m just leaving”.

I’m doing work stuff! Honest!!! What do you think I’m doing, skiving off work to see a prostitute?Hahahaha…

Coming up….smut, smut and more smut.

 

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Why 50 Shades of Grey is anti-kink, anti-sex and anti-feminist

It seems impossible to get away from 50 Shades right now. I can’t go on Facebook, WordPress, to the supermarket, on the bus or train or sometimes even check my texts without hearing about or seeing the book. After I give the evidence/reasons for the claims I’ve made in the title of this post, I’ll copy/paste this conversation so you can get an idea of how I (and apparently some other people) feel about the trilogy:

Evidence that 50 Shades is all the things I claim it to be:

Anastasia is economically dependent; when she does get a career, Grey then buys out the company she works for, making himself her boss’s boss

Ana is virginal in direct contrast to the very experienced Christian who is such a playa that he has never spent the night or done ‘the girlfriend thing’

Christian’s kinkiness is explained as being a direct result of child abuse including sexual abuse, not just his sexuality. I.e. it is unnatural (he was not born with it) and pathological

Christian has a kink-shaming thing going on where tells his therapist that he thinks something is wrong with him (as the therapist explains to Ana)

Ana has a sex-shaming thing going on where she feels that it is surprising or wrong for a 21 year old to want to have sex.

Ana displays the classic traits of an enforcer (female enforcer of the double standard, see my post on ‘SM and the double standard’) by judging her flatmate Kate for sleeping with Elliott

Both protagonists are codependent and appear more interested in having some kind of little boy or sex slave to take care of than an actual sex partner or boyfriend/girlfriend

Christian is abusive, not a Dom. BIIIIIIG difference, James. BIG difference.

BDSM is linked to emotional damage by the title ’50 shades’ which corresponds to Christian’s assertion that he is “fifty shades of fucked-up” due to childhood abuse

Ana is a complete idiot, barely able to ‘research’ BDSM online without Christian’s guidance or find sex tips although she has a degree. Most kinky people were ‘researching’ BDSM online at age 12 or 13. (I started at 14 because we didn’t get internet access at home until I was 14, though my first attempt was at age 9 or 10 on a school computer).

Ana’s passivity, submissiveness and physical weakness are an antifeminist portrayal of women and, as she is well-educated, young, and not overweight, is completely unrealistic.

Ana is portrayed as having extreme physical weakness, i.e. taking four strokes of the crop is too much for her, sex exhausts her and a hand spanking is injurious to her physically (Christian has to use baby oil to soothe her) and emotionally (sje doesn’t want to repeat the experience).

The above portrayals also stigmatise BDSM as a very dangerous and harmful behaviour when actually this level of pain and exhaustion is very rare. Christian obviously was not paying attention/didn’t care (which is another disturbing aspect of this story).

Ana is not only a virgin but also asexual, having manifested no sexual desire before meeting Christian and exhibiting very little desire even after that. She has never masturnated. Even after being spanked she does not experience the spanking in a sexual way (either positively or negatively).

This asexuality is in direct contradistinction to Christian’s hypersexuality and extreme fetishes (no, I don’t think he is either of those – nor would I use ‘hypersexual’ on anyone who hasn’t been clinically diagnosed with nymphomania) but this is how James is presenting Christian. This contadistinction is just the double standard made more obvious and extreme.

Ana’s submissiveness and low self-esteem are portrayed as meaning that she is a natural submissive; similarly, Christian’s billionaire alpha male status mean that of course he is the dom. This stigmatises BDSM and is actually completely false. Sexual kinks and proclivities have no bearing on reality. Gays aren’t all effeminate, are they? Lesbians aren’t all butch, and cross-dressers only cross-dress sometimes. Transgender people can be gay or straight. ‘Tomboy’ girls and sensitive boys don’t grow up to be gay.(As a child I wore boys’ clothes/shoes and refused to wear skirts, dresses or play with Barbie dolls. A family ‘friend’ told my mother I was “a homosexual”.Now I love style and am so feminine that I’m prostituting myself; I love sex and men.)There aren’t any rules. If anything, powerful individuals are more likely to be subs because it’s relaxing for them.

Ana expresses disappointment that she was not raped while asleep by Christian, and questions her attractiveness because of this.

Ana is one-dimensional, superficial, whiny, has low-self esteem, lets herself be abused, has no confidence, possesses a very conservative view of sex, is sexually repressed, doesn’t know how to use the internet, and is stupid. (All unrealistic traits in a young educated American woman).

Female drinking and partying is presented as dangerous, with Ana being sick and having to be rescued by Christian and taken to a hotel

Christian exhibits the traits of a stalker and is overprotective; he buys her a new car because her old one is potentially dangerous (how? Are all poor peoples’ cars dangerous?) and takes her to a hotel when she is drunk instead of just taking her home. Also, he didn’t have to trace her call; she was just feeling sick from drinking too much, hasn’t that happened to nearly every 21 year old student? However, it is portrayed as deviant.

Christian’s character-specific skills are evident at all times (dominance, confidence, clear goals, persuasiveness, taking the initiative both in the bedroom and out of it, etc). As is the money that his skills got him. However, despite having a degree  in English Literature, a part-time job, a possible insight into journalism through her friend Kate’s involvement with the student paper, as well as interviewing Christian, Ana’s skills and experience are never evident. She doesn’t even have any hobbies apart from reading classics (i.e. a hobby synonymous with her studies) or any goals, career plans or interests. Her CV must be pretty short.

Not only is Ana asexual, she has no actual goals or wishes for her relationship with Christian. She just does whatever he says

She is stupid enough to believe that a contract binding her to be a BDSM sex slave would be legally binding in the United States of America in 2011/2012

There is no sex for about half the book. This is not porn. It is not even erotica. If I was buying erotica (which I did, but it was far too mild so I didn’t like it much) I would not expect to read over 200 pages to get to the first sex scene. I’ll bet most Romance genre novels are more erotic than 50 Shades; after all, no self-respecting woman in 2012 is going to read romance novels that end ‘so we finally held hands AND kissed, AT THE SAME TIME! Phwooarr!!!! And rode off into the sunset.The End.’

There is no explanation given for Ana’s sex-repression or willingness to be raped while unconscious/asleep. It’s presented as the right way to think. Given that teens are reading it (it’s socially-acceptable porn, they can read it in school, of course they’re reading it) this is actually very harmful to society.

The message of these two things is that it is acceptable for men (even educated business professionals) to be so bestialy hypersexual that they cannot wait till the morning or even 1 second to wake up a woman and ask if she would like to have sex, but instead have to rape her while she is asleep, like a dog. However, it is totally unacceptable for a woman to want to have consensual protected sex with a hot billionaire in a potentially-committed relationship at above the average age of losing virginity.

Rape is portrayed as totally acceptable and to be expected if you are a female who gets drunk with her friends. (You’d deserve it, because girls shouldn’t drink. That was reckless and wild. Only boys get drunk.)

The lowest, most cowardly form of rape (raping the victim while they are drunkenly asleep so they’ll never know and you won’t be jailed; if they get pregnant they’ll never figure out how it happened or maybe not find out in time to get an abortion) is totally acceptable.

Ana’s reaction to suspecting that she has been raped (which in itself is paranoia) and subsequent reaction to not being raped is very stigmatising of rape victims and survivors. It suggests that they may have wanted it or not cared very much that they were raped.

Linking being a Dom and being a potential rapist is a misrepresentation of kinky individuals

The ridiculously large gap between the protagonists’ incomes/wealth is hardly conducive to feminism (or realistic)

The unswitchability and extremeness of the maledom and femsub roles is antifeminist; they could have been a malesub and domme which would be statistically more probable for a billionaire. Or one or both could be a switch.

Christian uses more pressure on Ana to get her to sign the contract than the average person would be comfortable with

Contracts aren’t often used by the BDSM community and contracts lasting as long as three months are rare. James has chosen the most ‘extreme’ example of BDSM (the Master/slave relationship) as opposed to much more common forms of BDSM like DD, being switches, doing it for fun, spanking as foreplay, or just doing it for fun sometimes to spice up a vanilla sex life (the most common form). And of course every nuance in between. (Should that be ‘every shade in between’? Ha, ha ha [despairing laugh]). By choosing this extreme form, James has rendered BDSM less acceptable to vanilla people and more scary, as they will assume that everyone who likes spanking is in a Christian/Ana relationship. Woop de doo.

Now, you can’t get any more anti-sex, anti-feminist and anti-kink than 50 Shades.

Excerpt from online conversation:

Me: 50 Shades of Grey is a conservative patriarchal fantasy. It may have been written as the poster child of sexual freedom. It may be being read as the promise of liberation. But it isn’t. It is antifeminist, slut-shaming, and stigmatises kinky people. The fact that lots of women ended up so sheltered that it took this badly-written travesty to make us explore our sexuality just shows how repressive and sex-negative our society really is.

David:There’s nothing sexually free about it. The main character feels guilty for having sex, and for wanting sex, and that’s presented as a good thing; the way to be. Also, I hate the way they try to justify the main male character enjoying BDSM- it’s the result of severe childhood abuse, as opposed  just liking it. Urgh the trilogy is disgusting.

Me:omfg – TOTALLY. And she judges her flatmate too for sleeping with Elliot. The whole juxtaposition of virginal, vanilla Ana (who, unbelievably, seems practically to have never heard of BDSM) with Christian who’s such a slut that he’s never stayed the night with a girl, is very radically-conservative. (i say ‘slut’ ironically; i don’t believe in the concept of ‘slut’ – its just a patriarchal device to control women). Anyways, female drinking/partying is also degraded in the book, as is female sexual agency. Ana is economically dependent. Obv E L James has never tried BDSM, the descriptions are very unrealistic and OTT. And yeah, its verystigmatising, like all BDSM-ers were abused. Lots of abused ppl are into vanilla, maybe NOT liking BDSM is a result of abuse, James? And when she wakes up in the hotel room and is all, ‘why didn’t Christian rape me while I slept? I mustn’t be pretty enough for him’ is very disturbing.

Susan: Or maybe it’s just a book? That doesn’t have to have hidden antifeminist agendas? Maybe just a mediocre but slightly entertaining read? Just saying.

Me: Yeah I hear u, and I’m not saying it has a deliberate antifeminist ‘agenda’ – if anything, I think it was written to be sexy. What I’m annoyed about is that absolutely everyone thinks the book is feminist and helping to give us sexual freedom but it’s not. I can’t get away from hearing about how wonderful and freeing it is, whether its on Facebook or the media or just friends.And women being like ‘oh I never dared to try spanking until I read this book and found out I wasn’t a deviant’ and ‘this book gave me the courage to finally explore my sexuality and tell my hubby what turns me on at age 48’ is sad.

David: @Susan:- Even if it isn’t deliberate, it’s still ingrained. Also if you look up the author, especially taking a read of her Twitter, you’ll see she’s very set with gender roles and Man is Provider, Woman is Nurturer. Which isn’t exactly someone who makes for a great representative of sexual freedom. Also, remember it started life off as Twilight fanfiction. The only difference is the names were changed for publication. Twilight is a metaphor for no sex before marriage, being a subm issive wife before anything else (like being independent, going to college etc) and not having an abortion, no matter how much danger you put yourself in. All written by a devout Mormon.

Emma: A Brigham Young University graduate friend of mine described ‘Twilight’ as ‘Mormon porn’. There’s something in that, I suspect 🙂

Me: Isn’t it interesting how all the teen-aimed billion-pound movie/book franchises of the last decade have dealt with abstinence themes? Even Harry Potter hints at minimal sexual contact in the teen/young adult years and the characters end up married to their teenage boyfriends/girlfriends – Ron marries Hermione and Harry marries Ginny. And 50 Shades has a ‘wait until hot rich traditional gender-role guy’ as its moral. The franhises that were not abstinence themed (I Am number Four, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Hunger Games, LOTR etc) were either not aimed specifically at teens or aimed at teen boys. Whereas Twilight and 50 shades are aimed at women, and Harry Potter was aimed at teens of both genders.Vampires, witches and kinky sex are being tamed down and re-packaged in an abstinence-themed context for teenage girls and young women (judging by the characters’ ages, James probably intended to appeal to young women; it is the media who subsequently dubbed it ‘mommy porn’).

Emma: The Hunger Games is a genuine kids’ book, written by a classicist. Pretty much all of it is lifted from ancient Rome, one writer in particular. It’s well done, but the very different morality had to be dealt with carefully, and Collins does that. She can also write exceptionally well (as can Rowling). The trilogy is well worth a read. I don’t plan to read this 50 Shades book, not because I disapprove (I really don’t care what other people read; I’d rather they read than burn down their local Poundland or whatever), but because if I wish to read smut, I have my trusty classics major in hand 🙂

Calling all parents, teachers, social workers and psychologists: Where swere you when the female children under your care were going through puberty and adolescence? How could you let us get so repressed that 50 Shades is our sexual awakening?
 

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What I learned last Thursday

1. Men can control whether or not they get an erection, unlike women

2. Men (at least that one) do not get turned on by having a knife jabbed into their cock or by needles or the thought of drills being used on them (pity, that) but hot forks are okay

3. I like sucking dick

4. Millionaires are stupid. Force them to eat cream.

5. I can be tricked into thinking that Roland has the key to my handcuffs when actually they will spring open at the touch of a button and I could’ve got out of them at any time

6. It is rare to enjoy knife play (I thought Roland wouldn’t be surprised about the knife since he’s poly and has probably been banged by more cunts than he can shake his thing at, but he was surprised, which means that most other women he has encountered were not into knife play). So it must be more rare than spanking.

7. Cum and urine come out of the same hole, not two separate ones, which makes absolutely no sense since they are two completely different tubes. (I used to think they came out of the same hole but then I reasoned it must be two different ones.) But it isn’t. That totally blows my mind. I think it’s unhygienic. We need to redesign men.

8. The answer to my experiment ‘What happens if you push a penis up and then drop a small needle down the hole’ is that Roland will not let me conduct  the experiment.

9. BMW’s patented ‘easy-shag’ reclining seat design really works.

10.When a man is actually interested in why and how you got into feminism, and suddenly asks you about it so that you have a brilliant opportunity to actually explain this misunderstood and stereotyped position to them, and raise awareness of issues that mean a lot to you, you will feel stupid trying to explain it while half naked and bent over in a studio while he takes pervy erotic photos of you. You will especially feel stupid trying to explain objectification, rape culture and the feminisation of poverty and have to tell him you’ll tell him later.

 

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Summary of what happened

We went to a cafe and Roland looked less disgusting and more attractive this time, also less fat.

Roland said I’m a psychopath and a very happy person.

I found out he is a millionaire and he gave me a statement of one of his accounts showing 1.6 million which I’ll upload in redacted form here (in another post) and to Facebook.

We did another photoshoot in his studio involving oral (me recieving), a vibrator and the whipped cream I bought from the student shop while waiting for him to turn up;

At 7pm we went to his house where he spanked me for a long time with different implements (hand, wooden spoon, hairbrush, flogger, paddle, cane) and forced me to give him a blowjob; I tried to run away but he caught me so I had no choice but to use the strawberry and cream flavoured sauce I’d got in case of this worst case scenario. So at least it tasted good.

I tried to use the knife and needles I’d brought but he didn’t trust me to pierce his cock; instead, he did it, trying to draw blood that I could suck (as per my intentions). This was unsuccessful. So I used a firelighter to heat up a fork instead, which was a bit too sucessful.

He caned me and then let me cane him, but only too strokes because he said I did it “very hard” though I would call it mild. But I am more of a domme than a sub.

What happened next? How did he end up ‘abducting’ me to Newcastle at 5:45am the next morning? What other stuff happened and how did we feel about it, what did we say etc? And how did he end up paying me and dropping me off in the small area/town that I live, where I could potentially be seen with him and getting out of his car when I was supposed to be somewhere else? WHAT MADNESS WAS THIS?!!I’d LOVE LOVE LOVE to write it now but I’m tired, and I still hurt from yesterday thanks to him. I can’t even guarantee that the ‘highlights’ I just gave you were the most dramatic, surprising or important bits; so many weird dramatic things happened, like me holding a knife to his neck, or the handcuffs wrestling where I squirted him in the face with the cream and in his mouth so he had to eat it…heh. And learning what would’ve happened if I’d told him my tuition fees were 12k, our plans for taking my virginity, his Chastity theory about me, calling Roland by his fake name for three hours as two models got naked, and a load of other stuff, like lying to our families (and others) about where we were, as well as the other sexual stuff we did. I discovered a lot about myself. I think Roland did, too.

 

 

 

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SM and the double standard

Gagnon and Simon coined the term sexual script to describe the norms of sexual interaction and maintenance of relationships specific to each gender. While men are encouraged to enhance their skills via multi-partner experience, women are compelled to avoid this lest they are labelled promiscuous (Linsey 2011,  Peplan and Hammen 1977; Radlove 1983). As a result of these gender-differentiated scripts in which the male is honoured and permitted to express his sexuality while the female’s sexuality is degraded, denied and ultimately forbidden to her, “Women may perceive themselves as sex objects, not sex actors” (Phelps 1979). Perhaps the adventurousness of s/m is a route to becoming a ‘sexual actor’.

The double standard necessitated a virgin/whore dichotomy which still exists in some form today whereby women’s choices are constrained because men wanted to marry sexually repressed women but sleep with less repressed women (Frith 1976:66; Lees 1983:51; Whyte 1943) which forced girls to accept the repression and monogamous submission.(Willis 1978:45; Wilson 1978:72). Boys demonized ‘sluts’ Lees 1983:51; Wilson 1978:71; Whitehead 1976:179).

The double standard stems from a sexist and biological-determinist Freudian view of human sexuality. Dinnerstein concludes that “What the double standard genuinely hurts in women is…self respect…” which ultimately leads to the crippling of  “human pride” (Dinnerstein in Williams and Stein 2002). Dinnerstein’s article is of particular relevance to the issue of s/m as the typical sm-er is white and middle-class.

However sometimes women themselves may demonise and police their sisters. Wilson (1978) claimed that women policed the sex codes themselves, but only within the framework policed by men. A recent example of this occurring in the political sphere is Nadine Dorries MP’s Private Members Bill (due for a second reading in January 2012) to teach compulsory abstinence education in all schools to female pupils but not male pupils. By placing the blame for rape, intercourse and pregnancy on women and denying their sexual agency as well as their right to have sex, Dorries is perpetuating the double standard. Recent examples of this occurring in the social sphere are widespread and a part of our daily lives; gossip, bullying, the use of words such as ‘slut’or ‘tart’ occurs in high schools and offices on a daily basis. Since these women are enforcing the double standard, I will refer to them as enforcers to distinguish them from ‘patriarchal’ sexual repression.

The double standard is harmful to women (Dinnerstein 2002; Heidensohn 1996).The creation of the double standard in its contemporary form is partly due to a nineteenth-century confusion of sex and morality. At first glance this appears nonsensical, as morality and sexual behaviour are two radically different entities, and are also different fields of academic study. However this idea of confusing the two is not as controversial as it seems – after all, no reasonable individual would assert that rape or paedophilia are moral or ethical – ample evidence that, as a society, we do apply moral standards to sexual behaviour. The male-dominated Victorian society enlarged this moral distinction between sex and rape by making sexual repression synonymous with morality. The relevant issue here is that women were – and, to a lesser extent, are – indoctrinated into confusing morality/ethics with sex; and ultimately conditioned into believing sexual repression is ethical and sexual exploration unethical. Thus they are made complicit in their own sexual oppression; this is especially so in the case of enforcers.

This begs the question of whether female sm-ers are acting as if ethics and/or human rights have prevailed over sexual repression, or whether they have successfully escaped internalising the double standard and therefore are not sexually repressed; having thoughts which are pure, free from the taint of repression, are they free to explore s/m? My research has proved inconclusive on this point. Whichever it is, women who do s/m are more likely to be challenging gender than doing gender, as s/m is sexual exploration – precisely what patriarchal society has forbidden them. As middle-class women are less constrained with gender roles and, arguably, the double standard attached to gender roles than working-class women, they may feel free to do s/m which may be one of the reasons why s/m is a predominantly middle-class crime. This is reminiscent of Adler’s theory that emancipation causes crime, and suggests that class is a factor in s/m.

Mocking sexism through s/m

Millet (1970) rejected the biological reductionist theorists and argued that women are forced to accept unequal gender roles, with the family fostering patriarchy in society. One woman’s re-enactment of sexism as an s/m scene vented her anger at her personal experiences of sexism (Easton 2007:224). Therefore it appears that s/m is not only a vehicle to challenge oppression, but also a means of psychologically dealing with the injustice by experiencing the sexism through a narrative or drama. S/m may also resolve inner conflicts caused by the conflict between indoctrination of the code of sexual repression and the individual’s natural biological sex drive and/or sexually adventurous personality. Although femsubs could be construed as expressing passivity and obedience to patriarchal gender relations, as discussed above middle-class women are unlikely to subscribe to such notions and therefore it is probable that femsubs are mocking traditional gender roles, an opinion expressed in Califia (2002) and Thompson (1994); this is also similar to Weait’s (2006) assertion that s/m mocks the State and the legal system, which historically used torture to enforce laws.

 
 

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Kemet: a story about an Egyptian Queen who gets spanked publically

Prologue

It’s dark here. There are no oil lamps, and underneath the thin cotton and cushions that cover me it is dark anyway. I take deep breaths but it still hurts even with the magic potion I drank that stops pain. I fold my arms around a huge cushion and pull myself into it; if I cry again nobody will hear me. I feel my face burn as I think of the emperor Quinox here in my palace, laughing to himself as he pictures me lying here with a blazing butt, tears streaming from my sore eyes. I suppose I brought this on myself.

I first saw the emperor when I was a teenage slave, having sneaked into this palace with a few friends to scout around in preparation for a coup to get rid of King Kaphor. We successfully bended in with the palace slaves.The emperor had come to the palace for peace talks or something – I didn’t know the details. To cut a long story short, the entertainment in the great hall that day was the Dancing of Lions, where anyone could challenge anybody else to martial arts combat with blunted weapons – or none. The person who was knocked down three times was the loser; it was a simple, enjoyable game. The emperor was then in his mid twenties having just become prince regent a few months ago, taking over from his father. Their nation had been alternately at war with and, during periods of optimism, merely on unfriendly terms with, Kamet for a few centuries. It was only slightly shocking therefore that the new emperor insulted Kaphor. Patriotism must have got the best of me and I said directly to the emperor, “My king has extended life but you do not! You are no god.” The assembled nobles and servants turned and stared at me. But I was not afraid. I had nothing to lose but my life. The emperor turned his eyes on me and I feared he would strike me down with his gaze, but he obviously had no such power because he told Karfra that he wished to fight me in the ring and kill me. It was a historical first. We fought unarmed, and twice I threw him down. He was mad – literally. Insane with anger. His large eyes were nearly popping out of his head as he lunged toward me – I jumped on top of him and would have won if Karfra hadn’t thrown a chair at me; why he did this, I am not sure. I ran back to the foot of the throne and lay there, as I was accustomed to do. The emperor rose slowly, strode over to Karfra and pointed at me. “Kill her!” he spat out; I’d never seen anyone so livid. It kind of amused me.

Karfra grabbed my wrist and dragged me to another building; it looked like a huge temple. The place was a stone maze. Finally he thrust me in front of two high priests and told them how I had defeated the emperor, something that was impossible given my lack of martial arts training, and the emperor’s royal blood. “It is an omen, a terrible omen. But of what?”

“We will have to see her alone.”

Karfra nodded curtly and left.

The priests kneeled down in front of me. I was astonished, almost frightened. One of them took my hands.

“My queen, do not be afraid. We know of your plan. We knew even when the King was a boy that you would come. You do not know the decades we have spent waiting for you.”

“Plan? What plan?” I lied.

“Yes, do not worry, your plan will succeed,” said the second priest, looking into my eyes. “The gods have told us that this was ordained by them. We are loyal to the King but we cannot reject their will and, whatever we do, we cannot stop destiny.”

“It’s okay, Tari,” said the first priest.

“You know my name?”

“Yes, of course we do. I am Ay. Do not fret so – all you want now, you will achieve in a few months’ time, and you will be queen.”

And so it was to be.

It is dark here. I imagine how I must have looked over his lap and I feel so embarrassed. Very gently, I touch my tender sit spots, feel the swelling back there as my fingers probe and cup each cheek. The sudden pulse of heat makes me gasp out loud. Burying my head in the pillow, I close my eyes but the hot throbbing in my backside won’t let me drift off. I rub it again. It doesn’t help. I realise there are tears on my cheeks. I reach for the sleeping potion that Ay gave me a few hours after the emperor let me go. Then I hesitate. I have to work out how exactly I got into this mess.

Chapter 1

The sun rose high over the Nile and the palace complex cradled in its sweeping curve. I gazed out of the window, smiling. This was a big day; we had achieved so much since the coup and I’d been looking for some excuse to show off how far we had come, despite the best efforts of certain states to break off their treaties with us and even attempted to invade. But now Kemet was more powerful than ever and the best excuse for a big event to send this message to everyone else was my birthday. I would be 100, [or in my early twenties by today’s reckoning]. This was also the last day of the period that Quinox had vowed revenge on me for tying him to my throne for four days to keep my promise of giving him the throne of Kemet. (I’d only made that promise under duress, at blade-point after a sneak attack, though admittedly I’d planned to make a fool of him when I made it.)I’d worried a bit about his revenge and as today was the last day for it, it was well worth celebrating.

I touched my hair; it had been braided by my male concubines into an intricate, interwoven style and some individual braids were clipped to others with gold clasps to form a crisscross design.  The rest was tumbling down my back and curling down to my chest. I had hair that was less frizzy and more curly than most of my peoples’. I was wearing a gold coloured top with thick shoulder straps and a see-through long sleeved top over that, through which my upper arm bangles and navel jewel were visible.  A belly chain was attached to it and I had on a long skirt with jewels on, lots of bangles and anklets, and one of my favourite necklaces. Studs and rings peeked out of every fold in my ears. In my jewel-studded belt there were two daggers; a large gold ceremonial one and a concealed steel dagger that was much smaller. I had on one of my favourite pairs of shoes.

Two hours later, every important person in the known world was seated in the great hall; tier upon tier of these foreign royals, ministers and nobles that I’d bested, either on the battlefield or at the negotiation table. Being on the highest level, my throne was at the very back on a raised dais. From there I had a great view of my peers engaged in the Dance of Lions. As one combatant pinned down another for the third time, a cheer went up, and they returned to their seats. Then Quinox stood up. Wearing purple, he looked like a plump fruit ready to burst. Okay, so he was slightly chubby and not actually fat, but that didn’t stop me making fun of him.

“I challenge you, Tut-Ankh Amon,” he said. He had an aloof expression on his round face; that usually meant he was planning something. Of course this reminded me of my first encounter with him and I couldn’t stop a little smirk from playing around my lips.

“I accept,” I replied.

We fought with blunted daggers. Once again, I floored him twice – unremarkably this time, as I was now trained in martial arts. As the emperor stood up I backed off and we circled each other. Then his minions rushed into the arena. I drew my concealed steel dagger from my belt, poised to strike. A rope landed around my shoulders, fell to my waist and tightened as I leaped at Quinox. Quinox’s soldier tugged on it and I fell to the sand, slashing at the rope with my dagger. Another soldier pulled it out of my hand and Quinox knelt beside me, grabbed me around the waist and pulled me over his lap.

He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Let me go you crazy idiot, before I give the order to cut you up into tiny bits of foreign, fatty jackal food!” I snarled at him.

“Cut the rope,” he ordered in his own language. A man bent over me and I felt it snap but I still couldn’t move even though I squirmed as much as I could. I thought of calling out for help but I knew everyone could see and hear what was going on anyway, plus I didn’t want to embarrass myself further by seeming unable to take control of the situation. I turned my head and spat in his face. This didn’t seem to bother him. Someone held me down over his knees as he wiped it off.

“This is for tying me to the throne,” he said calmly, as he raised his hand. Then he smacked me very  hard in the middle of my bottom. I yelped in pain and shock. I couldn’t believe what he just did and I felt myself blush as tears of embarrassment came to my eyes. I could see all the faces in a tiered circle round the arena and I knew every single person just saw me get smacked on my butt. Quinox lifted my chin and looked into my eyes.

“Aww, is the little baby queen upset? You’re not so tough after all if one smack can make your eyes tear up.”

“Let me up this instant!!” I screamed, the familiar battle-rage coursing hot through my blood as I tried to wrench myself out of his grasp. Another hard smack landed on exactly the same spot and I flinched, clenching my teeth so as not to cry out. “This is your revenge?” I said, projecting my voice loudly and clearly so that all present could hear, “I tied you to the throne for four days and this is your idea of sufficient revenge – hitting me?” Quinox slapped the undercurve of my butt and the sting spread through my behind. I wriggled a little. I was starting to worry a bit more now. Could Quinox carry on doing this for a few minutes without intervention? After all, I couldn’t escape and my side would have to go through the mob of Quinox’s bodyguards and minions which surrounded me. I decided to distract him by annoying him. “Why do you take revenge?” I announced loudly, “You should appreciate me…I let you sit on my throne!” A flurry of spanks were applied all over my stinging backside. “I let you sit on my throne, I let you  shit on my throne…that is a privilege, even I don’t shit on my throne, I use the bathroom.” I heard muffled laughter and smiled to myself. Quinox shifted me slightly and lifted my leg. “You didn’t leave me a choice in the matter…just as now I won’t leave you a choice in the matter of being spanked like the naughty little girl you really are, over my knee and for the entire world to see.” He slipped off my shoe; it was gold coloured, light and soft, more a sandal than a shoe though it covered most of my foot. “You have nice toe rings,” he said, conversationally. Whoever had taught this arrogant, bullying tyrant anger management must have been a godsdamn wizard.

“Give that shoe back to me RIGHT NOW!! You are crazy, you fool! Kemet is an empire and you think this little show scares my people? I could rule the world if I wanted to, and you think I would be afraid of mere violence? You need to grow up!”

“Poor little Tut,” he said almost soothingly, “You shouldn’t annoy me, it makes my hand so restless.” I twisted my head round and saw his hand holding my shoe above my butt. I felt close to tears as I realised he was about to hit me with it. The shoe was light but the sole was hard and flat, and the emperor had made it obvious that he could smack hard. I knew it was going to hurt; but how sore would I feel?

I gasped as the first swat landed, leaving a warm sensation back there. “You coward, Quinox;  why don’t you – ahhh!” I struggled furiously but he kept me pinned across his lap, smacking my butt again and again with my shoe. I realised I was utterly helpless.

The emperor found a rhythm, alternating between each side of my rear. He lectured me to the rhythm of the spanks, “I’m-going-to-teach-you-a-lesson-you’ll-never– forget.” “In your dreams,” I replied coldly, barely able to keep my voice from wobbling. “You-will-lay-here-and-take-this, you. Conniving. Devious. Egyptian. Bitch!

“Owwww!” I groaned as he struck me with a tremendous blow right in the centre of my ass on the last word. Tears rolled down my cheeks and my hand flew back and was instantly caught and held. I tried to stop the tears but they had been held back for a while and the hot smarting in my butt was too much for me. The emperor paddled me firmly, perhaps encouraged by seeing me break down. I kicked madly and whimpered with pain as heat flared across my tail, weeping silently and then sobbing as he lit my ass on fire. He peppered my bottom with firm whacks as tears streamed down my face. I closed my eyes as he gave me a series of harder slaps on my sit spots.

“P-Please let me go!” I wept, on the verge of fully fledged crying, “You got what you wanted, you’ve won this round!” He just continued spanking me, feeding the fiery ache in my behind. I was determined not to let him make me cry more than I was already, so I pleaded with him: “I’ve learned my lesson already!”

“Well I suppose there’s no harm in showing leniency right now,” Quinox mused. “I do indulge myself at times. And look at you, you’re a sorry mess, I didn’t expect it to be so easy to spank you to tears. It rather ruins the dramatic effect of the original plan, but no matter.” I felt my shoe being pushed back onto my foot. Quinox gently removed his hand from my back and began to stroke my hair. “Poor thing,” he mused, almost sympathetically, “I feel sorry for you, but what needs to be done must be done, but now you can rest.” The hand holding mine let it drop, and I squeezed my backside with both hands, rubbing and kneading the sting away. Even through the cotton I could feel the heat.

I took deep breaths as I held my butt and gradually I felt a bit calmer, though a sudden wave of embarrassment gripped me as I saw all the faces watching. I pulled out a small bag that was hanging off my belt, took out a tiny mirror and some pigment stubs and re-did my eyes perfectly. Then I got off his lap and slowly stood up. My legs were trembling and I was shaking all over. There was a chair beside me and I held on to it until I stopped shaking and regained my composure.

“I’ll take revenge on you for this,” I told the emperor in his language, “You went too far this time. You could have really hurt me.” He didn’t look up. He seemed to be drawing something in the sand with his finger. A hot flash of anger bolted through me. “I will NEVER forget this! You ruined everything !! How could you – how could you ruin my special day, why do you do this to me?”

He carried on kneeling there, pushing his chubby finger through the sand.

“ANSWER!” I screamed. “Answer me, you dog!” He didn’t move.

“You knew I planned it and put a lot of effort into this, and you deliberately planned to destroy all that effort! You would take that away from me and reduce it to nothing, that is pure evil, you are unforgivable. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He lifted his head and looked directly at me. It was a look that gave me chills.

“Let me ask you a question,” he said coolly, “How stupid are you?”

I glared at him. My heart was pounding. Quinox stood up and strolled over to me, every pair of eyes fixed on him.

“I bribed your priests, I made two deals and a few smaller ones, and you think that this is all? That five minutes of being spanked like a child pays off the massive debt you owe me? You broke trade agreements with me, then a few months later you tied me to the throne, then just a few months ago you broke treaty obligations.”

I smirked in his pudgy, scowling face. “You left out the part where you declared war for no reason and I won; you surrendered the rights to tribute from your empire’s Lanean colony…among other things…”

Quinox’s eyes bulged. “You would never have been able to take over! It was a stalemate until I surrendered and I only did so because…because…”

I leaned closer to him. “Well…I didn’t surrender.”

Quinox shrugged. “Well I see you have your poise back. Which makes this the perfect time to tell you that you are stupid because you assume your punishment is over, when my subordinates have you completely surrounded – and not just right here; I know you can’t see over their heads because you are a woman, but the entire perimeter of this arena is now impenetrable, thanks to my bodyguards and soldiers.”

“Then I will kill them all.” My hand drifted to the hilt of my gold dagger.

“Oh please,” the emperor sighed, then he chuckled. “We all know gold doesn’t make sharp or strong swords. That’s why you have your micro-dagger.”

In a moment I had my gold dagger in my hand and with all my strength I hit his face with it – he staggered backwards, arms flailing to a gasp from the audience. I turned to the assembled minions. “Let me pass. I order you.” The one in front of me looked terrified but he held his ground; presumably his king’s torture machines could command more loyalty than kindness ever could.

Quinox sat down in the chair, holding his cheek where the blade got him. It was turning into an ugly bruise.

“What I did just then wasn’t planned,” he explained, “The original plan would have begun with me sitting here, but I couldn’t resist giving you a few smacks when you fell down. Then you kept annoying me so I used your shoe, but that doesn’t matter, the real deal can begin now.”

I had started to tremble again. “But-but you just had your revenge, I’ve already been spanked and it was sore.”

Quinox just burst out laughing. “You really are that dumb! I haven’t even started my revenge yet, that was an impulsive bonus. Now get over my lap.”

Chapter 2

“Never,” I said. “I’d prefer you to murder me.”

There was an absolute silence from the stands. I wasn’t looking at the audience but I could feel the heat of their gaze.

“You can’t do that!” my prime minister yelled from high up in the stands, “release our queen immediately or we will take military action without further warning.”

Quinox smiled like a snake as he reached into his robe and pulled out a scroll of papyrus. “How can you? You agreed to this. It says here that in the case of breach of treaty obligations, my empire is not permitted to apply any kind of trading, military or any other sanction to Kamet – your queen insisted on this point – one of the best negotiations your state ever made, if I may say so. And this was agreed on the condition that all sanctions must be brought against Tut-Ankh Amon herself…a five-year agreement non-binding on successors or any -”

“That only refers to bringing her as an individual before the Council of States, and you know that!” snapped the prime minister.

Quinox made a show of holding up the papyrus and reading it. “Hmmm…oh how unfortunate, I don’t see anything about the Council of States in here…oh dear.”

A collective murmur ran around the stands.

“And the sanction can be of my own choosing and must only take place in Kamet or its colonies…the only precursor needed is for the queen to have breached or indicated a refusal to breach treaty obligations…Tut, I formally charge that you have breached treaty obligations. Do you deny this charge?”

I managed to grin, though I was scared. “I do not recognise your authority to accuse me,” I said evenly.

Quinox’s eyes lit up. “Then you are in breach of this agreement as well!”

“Show me the evidence that I breached a treaty,” I challenged him, looking deep into his eyes. He stared back, then turned away, signalling to a member of the audience.  One of his priests came down from the stands, holding a leather bag. He set it down and pulled out scrolls of papyrus and parchment.

Quinox leered at me. “I can call an open court right now, and by international law the arbiter must be from an impartial third state, when the arbiter sees all these reports he will have all the evidence he needs to find you guilty, and that means I can spank you.” I shook as it all began to sink in – he had obviously planned this for months.

“Okay,” I conceded, hearing the tremor in my own voice, “Then I want to postpone it.”

Quinox nodded to his soldiers and one of them grabbed my wrist.

“Nice try, bitch,” Quinox said serenely, “Appeal it to the Council of states – not that it isn’t my legal right to spank you, not that the agreement provides for your right of postponement, and not that the council will find in your favour. I own them all, they are all shit-scared of me and my economic power, and we both know that quite a few countries would be only too happy to see you get what’s coming to you.”

I really wanted to cry knowing I was about to be spanked in front of the whole world, but then my inner strength won through. I was determined not to give Quinox any satisfaction; I resolved not to cry or show any signs of pain or weakness. Hands gripped my calves and a soldier walked over to me and held my arms. He avoided my gaze. They lifted me up and carried me over to Quinox, but he motioned them to set me down.

“I’ll do it myself,” he said quietly. Remaining seated, he grasped my wrists forcefully, tugged hard and flipped me over his knee. Suddenly the sand tilted and I was lying on his lap looking down at the sand. My butt was sticking up in a very vulnerable position.

“You deserve this!” Quinox snarled, unable to conceal his fury. He raised his hand. “You’ve had this coming to you!” He smacked my butt hard. I didn’t flinch or let any expression show on my face. Smack! Smack! Smack! I kept still, my eyes open, facing straight ahead. It’s going to be okay, I told myself, you can do this. Quinox reached below my belly button and fumbled with my belt, loosening it. I didn’t resist this as I thought I’d be more comfortable that way, especially if this spanking was going to last as long as the first one. Then he slipped his fingers into the gap and undid the tie on my underwear; it looked more like a skirt because of the large dangling folds of cotton each at the front and back, under which the concealed tie passed. “What are you doing?” I snapped, “Get your filthy paws off me, you dirty slut! You know I always make the first move!”

“There isn’t even a word for slut in your language,” he pointed out, “And I know you in particular don’t even understand the concept, you’ve just heard foreigners using the word.”

“Just stop that,” I replied sharply. “And besides, one day I will learn what that word means.”

“I’m done, anyway.” The trespassing fingers retreated and thwacked down on the undercurve of my backside. Then I felt my skirt being lifted, higher, higher until it was pooled over my back. “Stop it! What are you doing??” I gasped, squirming furiously as he held me down. Quinox pulled my underwear down to just below my butt, then yanked the skirt down too. It hurt as the belt scraped over my bottom. I burned with embarrassment as I realised that everyone could see my bare bottom. I couldn’t believe he was doing this. I felt so exposed and humiliated, bared for all to see. My bottom suddenly felt much more helpless without anything protecting it from the emperor’s hand.

“For breaking the terms of the treaty, you will get 500 spanks,” Quinox announced, “Plus extra for mocking me, hitting me with your sword, breaking the terms of the agreement  and trying to get out of your punishment. Let’s settle it at ten hundred, because that’s a nice round number. Also, I totally hate you and will enjoy seeing you suffer.” He patted my bare butt and I burned with shame knowing that he was seeing and touching my naked cheeks. “I can only imagine what sort of state you’ll be in by the time it’s over; it will be interesting to see what your behind will look like.”

“That’s impossible, you fool,” I sighed, shaking my head at this fresh idiocy. “You’re not strong enough to hit someone a thousand times and I couldn’t take that many blows – I’d die under the spanking and I know that’s the last thing you want because it would mean war. A real war, not those small, couple of months long bravado-exhibiting border wars we’ve been having.”

A smack landed on the centre of my unprotected, naked butt. The sting  was warm on my bare buttocks. I kept my facial expression neutral.

“You wouldn’t die or get hurt, and there’s ways around my not having enough energy to see this through – I planned this with the help of two of your priests and two other kings, and it was five months in the planning. So I’ve perfected every last detail. By the way, ten of my civil servants are standing near us, they’ll be keeping the score.”

There was a prickling behind my eyes. Surely he wasn’t serious? There was no way I could endure such a long spanking – I couldn’t even allow myself to visualise it. How sore would it be? How would it feel? I’d probably be screaming by the end. How long would it last, anyway – how much time does it take to smack me ten hundred times?? I felt sick. I couldn’t even breathe.

“ You’re only getting what you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve this – nobody does,” I whispered.

Another firm smack landed on my ass.

“That was number one. Yes, I can see it’s unfair because you must have had fifty at the very least, but I do not want to be fair to you. My goal is to see you bawling in pain and feeling extremely sore in your backside, which is the only part of you I can beat without injuring you or being accused by your country of torture.”

He delivered a brutal swat to my sit-spot; it was all I could do not to jump.

“I’ll declare war!” I threatened, “Stop it RIGHT NOW or I will make war!!” Smack! Smack! “I’ll do it! I will!” I shouted as I struggled to free myself from his grasp. Smack! I flinched slightly.

“You dare threaten me with war when you’re bare ass over my lap getting spanked?” he laughed. I kicked out at him but missed.  The emperor spanked rhythmically , every slap soundly applied to my hot buns.

“I’ll flatten your kingdom! Your empire will be MINE!!” I yelled. The swats seemed to be getting harder. It felt like a fire was building in my ass. The sound of every spank seemed to echo. Smack! Tears pricked my eyes but I blinked them away. My butt was tingling all over as he soundly chastised my behind, swatting the sides of my butt as well. It was increasingly hard to remain stoically in place and my arms and legs were all trembling from the effort of remaining still. Smack! I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out. Every whack was a new shock to my ass. Then his fingers scrabbled at my loosened belt and withdrew.

Chapter 3

A bright blur was shoved near my face and I realised that my gold dagger was being shown to me by his soldier.

“I’m going to spank you with your dagger,” Quinox announced to all present.

I was filled with horror at the thought of the pain and of my own weapon, one of my favourite possessions, being used on my already tender backside. All the faces around the room were turned towards me – what were they all thinking? I couldn’t see anyone’s expression.

“I don’t think that would be necessary,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. I was shaking and I felt that sick feeling again. Quinox reached for the dagger and the soldier placed it in his hand. I turned my head and saw him rolling the gold hilt in his chubby hand. He ran his finger tentatively along the thick, rounded length of the blade, then touched the broad and useless tip. Apparently satisfied that I wasn’t going to bleed and leave him vulnerable to accusations of injury, he grasped the hilt and lifted it slightly.

“Please,” I whined, “Please no. Don’t use that on me, I’ve learned my lesson.”

He placed the blade against my skin. It was slightly cold and felt good on my hot butt.

“It cools you down, doesn’t it,” Quinox purred almost theatrically, “But it’s going to warm you up again my little queen.”

I twisted my head round and looked at him. “Please no, I’m sorry.”

His full lips twisted into a bitter sneer. “Oh, you’re sorry, are you? You are helpless in your own palace, about to get a serious butt beating, and you are suddenly sorry? I know you’re not. But you will be! You’ll be the sorriest queen in all four corners of the earth when I’m finished with you.”

He slapped my dagger down firmly on my behind and I bit my lip to stop myself screaming. Again he let it crash into my bum with more force. I yelled out but the noise was caught in my throat behind my tightly held lip. I was utterly determined not to make a sound. Quinox swung the dagger in an arc and it connected sharply with my upturned backside. I bucked over his lap involuntarily, biting down as hard as I could – the next stroke laid itself like a line of fire across my cheeks and my whole body jerked. I focused only on intensifying the pain in my lip. Nothing else mattered. As long as that pain grew, I would not cry out. The dagger thudded into my flesh. I nurtured that pain, holding my lip in my teeth, engraving grooves there. Another whack sent heat tingling across my bottom and I closed my eyes, trying to breathe deeply through my nose. This was so embarrassing and I knew everyone was watching, picturing all those times I’d fought for my country on blood-drenched battlefields and won, or been driven in the gold chariot Challenger 3 as I was hailed as the empress of a colony I’d just taken over…and now here I was facedown over my archenemy’s lap being spanked like a child…what were they thinking??

Quinox gave me several hard swats in quick succession, all on exactly the same spot. I writhed on his lap and heard a little crunch as blood spurted into my mouth, dribbling down my chin. There were a few gasps from the onlookers. Someone standing near Quinox came over to me and squinted at my lip. He turned to someone I couldn’t see and said “She’s bitten clean through – you could put a lip piercing through it.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” said a voice.

“The determination not to scream elevated to the extent that the person effectively performs body piercing on themselves is not impressive, it is stupidity,” snapped Quinox. “And furthermore, my lioness, it was useless because your spanking is far from over and I will have you bawling and begging me to stop before the end.”

He slapped the dagger down on the centre of my behind – I bit the other side of my lip and my arm swung involuntarily.

“I will NEVER beg you to stop! I am the Lioness of Kemet! I am Queen of the Empire of the Sun! I will never beg you!”

The dagger crashed into the middle of my backside again and my legs kicked. “You will beg me, over and over again,” he declared in a ringing voice that could be heard three rooms away, probably. He smacked my globes hard. “And you’ll howl and wail like a little child.” He struck the lower portion of my buttcheeks and I yelped. There was clapping from an area of the stands.

“See how they want you to cry,” Quinox purred.

“I don’t need a godsdamn commentary, you foreign fatty.”

The dagger smacked my ass firmly and I couldn’t help it, I squealed out loud again. An even harder smack thudded on my buns. “Owwww!” I groaned, jerking my butt away from the dagger. Smack! “Oooh!” I yelped, twisting my body sideways. Smack! “Owweeee!”

Chapter 4

There was a pause, then a heavy weight slammed into my backside – I squeezed my buns tightly together as I shrieked in pain and pitched forward, away from it. It found my butt again, crashing down on my defenceless ass as I yelled out. It crashed into my sit spot, falling on my backside again and again as I wriggled my butt from side to side, shot forwards, flattened myself into Quinox’s lap and raised one side of my bottom. Whatever I did, however I moved, it found me. I tried moving my hips from side to side, tucking my burning ass in, everything I could think of. My vision was getting very blurry and I knew I was on the verge of tears.

“Cry for me, Amon,” the emperor hissed in my ear, “Who’s a mighty queen now?”

The object walloped my rear and I cried out “Owwww!” as my legs kicked and my eyes brimmed with tears. Then it landed with a thump right in the middle of my seat – my tears overflowed and spilled down my cheeks to a cheer from a couple of Quinox’s minions and some of the audience. He smacked my rump again, sending fresh tears trickling down my face as I writhed across his lap. Quinox hauled me back into position and swatted my ass over and over as I bucked and squirmed, weeping and yelping.

“Owww! Ouch!! I’ll give you anything! Oooohh! I’ll give you all the gold you want, just – aaahh! – just stop this!”

“This is what you’re being spanked with. Five months I developed and tested this – look!” An iron or steel paddle was shoved in front of my face. “It causes a lot of pain but with minimal bleeding or tearing of the skin. Isn’t it wonderful?”

He renewed the paddling with fresh ferocity, banging the thing onto my tail as I kicked higher and more wildly than ever, throwing myself from side to side and yelping.

“Aaaghh! Please I’ll give you-owwweeee- anything you want!”

“But all I want-“ Smack! “is to paddle your backside until you cry a lot.” Smack!  Tears flowed freely from my eyes. I tried to stay strong but I couldn’t even think with the paddle making my butt jump every couple of seconds. Quinox kept up a steady rhythm and soon I was wriggling desperately, my legs scissoring up and down. I began to cry openly. I knew I couldn’t take much more of this. I heard voices demanding that I be released instantly, contemptuous laughter, and Quinox’s steady voice above it all, reiterating the terms of the treaty. But I no longer really cared. I just wanted the spanking to stop.

Suddenly, I heard him saying “Only a few more to go, it’s almost over. You’re going to be okay.” I almost didn’t dare believe it. He slammed the paddle down – the smack pushed me over the edge and I started crying in real earnest, intense sobs wracking my whole body as I thrashed around over his lap. His voice was almost gentle as he said “Only a couple more to go. Just stay strong, it’s going to be alright.” He smacked my ass again, and again, and again as I cried but the next smack never fell. Instead he rubbed my tense back muscles and slowly pulled me into an almost sitting position, holding me and trying to calm me down.

“Come on, sshhh, shhh, it’s all over now. It’s all over,” he murmured as he rocked me gently. I struggled to overcome my emotions but he continued to hold me as I grew aware of a commotion in the stands that gradually faded. Two of my enemies were standing at the side of the front row; they must have left their seats to get a better view of me being spanked. Eventually I managed to stop crying and calm myself a bit. When I was reasonably composed, he said “You know, you shouldn’t just blame me for this. I had help from Lazer and Hetmus – I think they were annoyed at their failed invasions of Kemet and well, then you took parts of their countries as colonies…that was most unwise.” He chuckled. “Of course, their help came at a price – this was no collaboration, we all knew they were helping me more than I was helping them. And part of that price was getting to spank you too.”

The two kings standing in the front row must have heard what he said, because one of them – Lazer – raised his hand and nodded at Quinox. I panicked, unable to believe what I was hearing. “But you said it was over!!” I hissed at Quinox.

“I lied,” he shrugged. “If you’d been crying and snivelling like that, you wouldn’t feel ashamed that you are going to be spanked by two more people who are going to thoroughly relish your pain and embarrassment.”

I started to cry. “Please no! You can’t!”

He looked down at me with an expression of pure disgust. “Gods you’re so pathetic.”

Lazer and Hetmus were approaching me now with big grins on their faces. They were straight-haired with paler skin, as both were from what is now the Middle East. I felt my stomach turn over. Quinox twisted me back down over his lap and I closed my eyes. I heard their footsteps scraping over the sand, drawing closer, closer.

“Please, please don’t do this!” I wept, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Quinox don’t let them spank me – I don’t want to be spanked, it hurts!”

He snorted. “Don’t be an idiot – am I meant to carry out ten hundred spanks all by myself? Have you never heard of delegation?”

I struggled madly to get off his knee but he had me pinned down. Hands grabbed my ankles and started tying them together, but Quinox ordered the soldier to stop and let the world see how much I squirmed and kicked.

Lazer intoned, “This is for everything you’ve done to piss me off so far. I’m enjoying this.” I heard a crack before a wave of heat flared across my backside. A scream hit the air and I realised it was me screaming, then a second stroke landed and I screamed again. Lazer slashed my butt rapidly, landing each blow before I had a chance to recover from the last one. There were bright flashes of light behind my eyes as I kept them tightly closed. I could feel tears coursing down my face and hear myself shrieking loudly but it all seemed very far off. Lazer was shouting at me as he beat my rear but I couldn’t make out the words. An intense heat was rising back there like he was holding a flame to my flesh. Maybe he was. A rush of something swarmed up my throat and I threw up on the sand. A noise seemed to stop and I realised I’d been hearing the swish and crack of Lazer’s implement all along. I could hear my own heartfelt crying. It sounded loud and desperate in the sudden silence. Then Lazer’s voice cut in, saying something about him thinking that I’d had enough, then thanking Quinox. Footsteps scraped across sand, getting further away. I heard muttering, then someone moved in front of me and lifted my chin. I found myself staring into Hetmus’s narrowed eyes. “You deserve it,” he spat, “This is payback for –“

“I don’t care what it’s for! You can’t do this!” I sobbed. He laughed. “Yes I can! I’m going to beat your ass with this whip, it’s good for close proximity punishment; specially designed for you.” I sobbed hopelessly and he must have struck me with it because a hot line sizzled across my backside and I flailed madly over Quinox’s lap. “Please! Have mercy!” I gasped. Hetmus just laughed, but I could sense the hard fury in his voice as he said “After every scheme of mine you thwarted?? You dare ask me for mercy? I’m giving you a sound thrashing and it’ll do you a lot of good, I bet. At the very least it should teach you –“ the whip lashed my buttocks  and I howled in pain – “not to be so arrogant, and –“ he whacked my tail again – “not to underestimate your enemies.”

I heard laughter and Quinox remarking that this was the most hilarious thing he had seen in his life, ever. Hetmus  striped my rear end ruthlessly and soon had me crying hard, my whole body shaking with heavy sobs. “It hurts too much!” I cried out between sobs, “I can’t take any more!” He vigorously applied each stroke, taking real pleasure in my shrieks and writhing. Then he turned to the crowd and shouted: “Has she had enough punishment?” The arena rang to mixed replies, from death threats to encouragement. Hetmus flogged me even harder, meticulously laying each blow on top of the one before. He paused, then roundly slapped his handprints all over my ass before cruelly squeezing my thoroughly chastised buns. I let out a whimper as he pressed and pinched the tender flesh and he chuckled. “What a little crybaby you are! I expected more from such a great queen.” I blushed with embarrassment and anger but didn’t dare say anything. I thought of my friends and my prime minister, hoping they would get me out of this soon and then I could curl up in my cool bed and go to sleep. Finally Hetmus walked off and I breathed a soft sigh of relief.

A slap landed on my butt as Quinox resumed punishing me. He spanked and spanked until the whole of me went limp and I just laid there and accepted that it was my fate to be spanked. I was exhausted. I was crying hard but I didn’t so much as twitch – I didn’t have the energy to move. I wondered vaguely what number they’d reached now. Suddenly, the spanking stopped and there was a commotion in the stands; I think I heard someone calling out that Quinox couldn’t hurt me without retaliation. Then something red hot was thrust up inside my butt and I shrieked loudly- it was a concentrated, intense pain. The thing twisted around rapidly, over and over then just as quickly was yanked out of me while it turned. I gasped and another thing rammed into me, spiky but cool and wet, rolling over and over as it pushed forwards and carving out my insides (or so it felt) with its tiny spikes. I was screaming and thrashing my head from side to side but the thing inside me swiftly withdrew and I lay motionless, sobbing. It was over so quickly but I felt embarrassed by the whole thing, knowing that Quinox or his minions had violated me. And they’d done it so easily; I hadn’t even put up a fight. A wave of shame washed over me as I realised that everyone must have seen me get defiled by him and I cried even more.

“You’ve been poisoned,” Quinox whispered in my ear, “It’s inside your blood now.” I didn’t understand what he was saying. “How could you do this to me?” I wept, “You raped me! In front of the whole world! And nobody’s ever…I never found anyone kinky enough who wanted to – and it was my first time, it will always be my first time…!” I dissolved into tears and Quinox whispered in my ear again, “There are many blood vessels in our digestive tracts. I burned off the skin inside your colon and then, that second time you felt it, that ripped up the flesh. The poison was on the spikes and as they dug into you, they spread the poison into your blood. Burned flesh absorbs poison easily, you know.”

“So you – you’ve – killed me?” I said, stunned.

“No, not really. Think how bad that would make me look. No, you’ll just feel really bad for a couple of weeks. So you won’t be planning revenge too soon.”

I said, “I hate you so much.”

“I know. And that doesn’t qualify as rape, or I wouldn’t do it.”

He smacked my bottom again before yanking my underwear and skirt back up. The belt scraped harshly over my raw skin and I cried out. Then he was lifting me up and I struggled madly, shrieking curses and twisting and thrashing around as I was carried by his people across the arena. I had no idea what they had in store for me and the deathly silence that had fallen chilled me to the core. I realised that they were carrying me over to the audience and I quivered with fear, wondering if I was going to be beaten even more. They carried me higher and  higher up the stands and I had my eyes tightly closed, willing it to be all a terrible dream and that I’d wake  up in a minute safely in bed. Then, if it was the middle of the night, I could get someone to make me a cup of tea to calm me down and then I’d go back to sleep. Or chocolate-covered strawberries. Or dates. Or maybe if it was dawn, I’d get up, have breakfast and go out on the lake. I felt myself being lowered and I opened my eyes as I was draped unceremoniously over the arm of my throne. It wasn’t too uncomfortable.

“That’s right, my queen,” Quinox announced with unconcealed delight, “I’m going to spank you over your own throne and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

I raised my whole upper body in one swift movement but Quinox’s hand pressed down hard on the small of my back, forcing me into the bent-over position with my elbows resting on the seat. I kicked and squirmed violently, shouting swearwords and curses and eventually crying as he raised my skirt, lowered my underwear and bared my bottom for yet more punishment. I turned this way and that, seeking hopelessly for some way out of this humiliating predicament. Finally, I pleaded “please, not like this.” Quinox smacked my bottom hard and I shot forward a bit, squealing in surprise and pain.

“I-I’m sorry,” I wept, “I am really, truly sorry.” He smacked the undercurve of my backside. He was using only his hand but on my already very hot, tender bottom the slaps were agony and after two more, my butt felt like it was radiating heat and I was sniffling and weeping loudly. Quinox paused to survey me, lying there with my naked butt sticking up. “Please,” I whined, “Not in front of my own people.” A volley of firm smacks were vigorously applied to my behind and I wriggled, kicking madly and making a small puddle of tears on the seat. I heard Quinox’s voice from behind me, saying “You deserve this. You brought this on yourself and you will take every bit of it. And if I find that I break your spirit, so much the better. And if I find that doing so means I have to beat your backside black and blue, then so be it. You’ll never dare mess with me again, Tut-Ankh. Not after what I’m about to do to you.”

I had never felt so sorry for myself in my life. I laid there in that most embarrassing position, longing only to escape or hold and cup my throbbing cheeks, but I dared not move, not even to put my fingers back there. The urge to rub, just to soothe the fiery stinging even for a few seconds was so strong but I fought it in case they decided to spank me even more. I knew I couldn’t take another spanking without making a spectacle of myself (again). I was paralysed with fear about what he was going to do. Maybe I was in for more beatings, or something worse. There was no way out, no way around this. I would have to accept the fate that Quinox had decided should be mine. It was this thought that made me break out into fresh crying and Quinox laughed.

His stubby fingers groped at my belt again and I went cold as they touched the sacred flail that hung there. It was only ever used for ceremonial purposes, and nobody except the ruler could touch it – it was holy. Quinox, being foreign, obviously did not believe in its divine magic; he freed it almost reverently from its cords and held it up. “Give it back! You’re not pure enough!” I yelled. He turned his head, taking in all the witnesses, who were craning their heads to watch. I hated them all. I wanted to burn them! Quinox looked at me, face tilted slightly.

“You know what’s coming next, little one?”

I shook my head. Whatever madness his overheated little mind had come up with, I couldn’t imagine, and I wanted away – far away. No-one was restraining me now but I knew I shouldn’t try to move. I winced internally at the image of myself splayed over the throne completely under his power.  The flail smashed into my butt with a sickening thud, I screamed “NO!” and lunged forward, only to be held fast by someone I couldn’t see. Several rapid smacks, without a single pause, landed on exactly the same spot. Then it stopped. For a few moments I didn’t feel anything. Then a slow wave of prickling heat crept over my behind and steadily grew into blazing pain. I clenched my teeth and tried to ride it out, closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see his gloating pudgy face. In a few seconds I was whimpering, then crying as the heat seemed to expand and intensify. I cried hard for a few minutes while everyone watched and nobody tried to help me. I felt so miserable knowing that no-one cared about me, after I had given gifts to some of them to cement alliances. I saw the puddle of tears on the seat grow bigger, big, fat tears dropping into it and rippling it. The puddle was wiped off as I was hauled upright and Quinox sat on my throne – fury rose up in me and I punched him hard in his face, he flipped me back over his knee and shoved the flail in my mouth. I spat it out and felt his hand thwack down on the centre of my butt. A hand picked up the flail and pushed it more gently between my teeth. It was thick and very uncomfortable to hold that way. Quinox spanked me for what felt like a very long time, and I didn’t move. I just lay there exhausted, sobbing and groaning. Sometimes I screamed and the flail dropped on the floor. Then it would be handed to Quinox who would roast my buns with it, then stick it back in my mouth. Suddenly the spanking stopped and slowly my breathing returned to normal. My bottom was almost numb but I could still feel someone rubbing it very gently. It felt soothing but also stimulated the pain more as the numbness receded.

“You’ve been very brave, little baby Tut,” Quinox said, and I wanted to kill him right there, “But now you need to pay attention because this is the main event. These are the other deals I made, that were not to my benefit – except the benefit of seeing you get utterly humiliated, of course – and I trust there will be some volunteers. You’ve pissed off a lot of people with your expansionist achievements.” I shook my head and looked at him, my heart pounding. I felt like I was going to be sick again, and my breath came in fits of panting sobs. Quinox rubbed my back and tried to calm me down, probably so he would get more pleasure from seeing me break down. Gradually I found the resolve to force myself to accept this in as courageous and resilient a manner as possible. Quinox called out: “My friends who have called first place in line to spank this naughty girl, come and let your presence be known!”

Four men stood up and advanced towards me. As they drew closer, I realised with a shock that two of them were my own priests! I jumped but was held down as I cringed inside. They all queued up behind me and I began to struggle furiously, using all my strength to push myself away from him. It was no use. The first guy landed a few blows on my butt and I went still, trying to show that I wasn’t frightened or hurt. I felt very warm back there but I thought I’d be okay if I could just concentrate on remaining calm, then everyone would think I was brave. The second guy smacked me hard and fast and I had to grit my teeth to stop the tears from spilling down my face. But when I saw Irety, one of my senior priests/ministers, looking down on me, the humiliation was more than I could bear. There was a contemptuous sneer on his face, like I was nothing. I knew how helpless I must look to him – stretched over Quinox’s lap bare assed and completely at his mercy. Irety pinched my butt and my skin crawled at his touch, I was absolutely mortified that he was seeing my freshly chastised behind and although I wanted so much to stay strong I felt so embarrassed…I would’ve done anything to be anywhere else. He looked directly into my eyes and I could not believe he was betraying me, and for Quinox, that he would really spank me. Irety smacked my left cheek hard and it smarted. I felt a tear roll down the side of my face.

“Traitor!” I hissed at him. He smacked my bum harder.

“Go on, teach her a lesson,” urged Quinox and Irety gave me a harsh spanking. I tried to stay strong but it got to me and it wasn’t long before he had me weeping from embarrassment rather than actual pain. Irety was pitiless; he kept beating my butt until I was squirming and yelping. Quinox seemed to find this really funny – I heard him chortling to himself. I was weaving my head from side to side trying to escape and pleading with Irety to stop, promising him gold, jewels, anything. He did stop eventually, leaving me crying over Quinox’s lap, my bottom burning. My other priest Bethon took over, smacking me even harder (or so it felt), a short but intense flurry of slaps that made me howl in pain. I was way too tired to kick but I was pretty sure everyone in the stands could hear I was getting soundly punished.

Quinox then picked me up and carried me all the way down the steps into the arena. I had my eyes closed so I wouldn’t see them all looking at me but after a bit I opened them very slightly and saw that Quinox’s soldiers and minions were folding into place after him, making the arena impenetrable. My priests, now dressed in the robes of Quinox’s realm, were quickly ushered out of the hall by Quinox’s people and into small roofed chariots, now doubt to start a new life in that country. I prayed that I’d meet them soon. (I truly love revenge). I’d have my revenge someday, I told myself consolingly, and I’d be fair; I’d give them a couple hundred cubits’ head-start before I went hunting…

A bench/couch thing was waiting in the arena and Quinox sat on it, pulling me over his lap as I resisted him. All my enemies queued up and they all gave me a smack or two each on my bared butt. It was sore enough to keep me crying. Then I saw my friend Juke in the front of the line. He was a prince from another kingdom and had mocked Quinox a lot and force-fed him when he was tied to the throne a while back. Juke gave me a very gentle pat on the bum, then as one of his people distracted Quinox, he stroked my hair and rubbed my tense back muscles. Another of his people held a waterskin to my mouth and I drank it, it tasted bitter but it calmed me and Juke whispered to me that it would stop the pain a bit.  He relayed a message from the prime minister that they would rescue me by sending in the army and firing upon Quinox if necessary. He would be vastly outnumbered and forced to let me go.

“Just hang on in there,” he whispered, “You’ve been really brave and you’re going to be alright, I know you can do it.” I felt him rubbing a cooling liquid into my butt and the fiery tingle died down. It felt so nice to be cared about. Juke looked into my face intently as if searching for something there. He put his palm against my forehead and said I was burning up just as Ay had told him I would. The man who’d given me the drink took a cloth and mopped all the tears and snot off my face, holding it to my eyes as more tears spilled over, whether of gratitude or emotion I wasn’t sure.

Juke was stroking my hair. “Ay says: watch out for Zannanzah, he’s preparing to come down. They’ll try and get you out before then but it’s unlikely they’ll manage it…you’ve done really well. But you’ll have a hard time if Zannanzah gets you, the word is he’s taking revenge for his father.”

I turned cold. Then a prickly heatwave washed over me. Zannanzah was from a rival Middle Eastern kingdom, a very ancient enemy of Kemet. His father was King Supilumah, who I called The Snake. Snake had been very cruel to me after the coup and as a result I’d tried to kill him with a knife; in more recent times he had gone to war against us and lost and had given us some colonies in exchange for peace. Not two months ago I’d taken bits of his empire by force. The only thing we could agree on was a shared hate of Quinox, but I had a feeling that today Snake and Quinox would collaborate a lot. Juke shhhed me as I began to cry, and Quinox told him to move along because other people wanted to spank me. Juke slapped his face hard. Quinox froze; he looked shocked. The audience clapped.

I had to catch my breath as the tall figure of Zannanzah entered the ring, flanked by a couple of people from his kingdom. I realised that Snake and Zannanzah must have witnessed my entire humiliation and I felt my face burn. Some random person smacked me three times on the middle of my butt, but Juke’s potion was working and the smacks drew a few tears but didn’t hurt too badly. Juke and his people sauntered off as my bum was smacked by someone else. I just closed my eyes and moaned softly as the disjointed spanks thudded on my defenceless behind. A slow fire started building back there. I snatched my hand out of the minion’s grip and squeezed my butt for a wonderful few seconds before my arm was twisted over my back. The fire grew into a mass of hot pricking all over my bum and I bucked and wailed as it became even hotter. “Stop it, please! I’m really, really sorry!” I pleaded, “I’ll do ANYTHING!” But it went on and on relentlessly, no rhythm, no respite, just a very long hard spanking.  Suddenly it all stopped.

“Do you want it to stop?” Quinox asked. I knew it wasn’t over. Zannanzah was near me, and his punishment would be terrible. I pointed over in his direction.

“You don’t want him to spank you?”

I shook my head.

“You’ve had enough? And you are sincerely sorry?” I nodded miserably, barely able to stifle the sobs. Quinox placed a pre-written clay tablet in front of my face. “Then give me back the colony of Lanean,” he said.

“Never,” I retorted. I was crying as I replied but he got the gist. The iron paddle slammed onto my bottom, once, twice, many more times until the blazing heat and pulsing was overwhelming. I was shaking violently when he stopped. I could hear myself bawling like a baby but felt oddly distanced from it.

“Now will you sign?”

I shook my head. I’d never hated him more than at this moment. This time, he passed me to Zannanzah. Zannanzah had a hard time keeping me still, because I was writhing so much, but he managed to get me in a position where my head was down. One of my hands was clasped on my butt but Zannanzah prised it off, finger by finger. He didn’t say anything. Although I knew it was useless, I tried to appeal to his better nature. “Please don’t…it’s really sore… I’ll make it up to you,” I sobbed half-heartedly, knowing he wouldn’t care.

“Stop your whining,” he said disdainfully, rasping something against my butt. “Anyway, you needn’t think you’ll get off so lightly. Daddy has a little surprise for you.”

“Snake?” I gasped, panic setting in. “Here?”

“’Course. Anyway, this” – he showed me a looped belt- “Will warm you up a bit first. I bet you can’t sit for a week!” he sniggered. The belt whacked my tail and I screamed over and over each time it hit me until the screams melted into one. When he stopped I was lying limply over his knee, waterfalls of tears pouring down my face and wetting the sand beneath me. Then he broke a jar of oil over my bottom. Intense heat flared over my cheeks and as I turned to look, I saw fire! I screamed in fear and tried to escape but a cascade of sand put out the flames instantly and Zannanzah gave me a grin, albeit an evil one. He was holding a waterskin above me; damp lumps of sand were dropping from it. I was shivering from the shock as Snake’s face loomed above me, twisted in an expression of pure cold anger, and I was dragged over his lap. He held up a glove that had jagged bits of metal and brass studs sewn into it. He wriggled the glove onto his fingers and I felt very frightened, after all Snake was very tall and broad, taller even than Zannanzah; he probably had a lot of strentgh. He smacked me. Stinging heat erupted in my sit spot, then all over my backside as Snake landed each spank. The blazing grew into an inferno, a pain raging across my buns. I couldn’t even tell when one spank ended and another began. I bawled and bawled until I had no tears left, all I could do was shriek and heave dry sobs. I screamed “Mama! Baba!” like a little kid, wishing someone would make it stop and then hold me tight. The stinging and throbbing in my seat was gathered into one long pulsing ache and I felt dizzy…there were flashes of light going off. Snake threw me to the floor but the fire in my butt didn’t change. My hands flew to hold my bum but I was spanked more and I closed my eyes…

When I opened them, I knew I must have fainted. My bottom was still ablaze. I was lying facedown on the couch with my hands tied. Quinox held a bowl of water to my lips and told me to drink it because I was obviously dehydrated. I shook my head, in case it was poison or something. He drank some and offered it again, and it tasted deliciously cold as I drank it. He cut the ties and looked down at me sympathetically. “You can go ahead and rub if you want. You’ve been through a lot.” I cried with gratitude as I kneaded and squeezed my ass. With a start I realised that after drinking the water, I could cry again. Quinox stroked my hair for a while as I held my cheeks. It felt oddly comforting. I could feel the stress leaving my body.

“I know you hate me, with good reason,” he sighed, “And, well, I guess I was too brutal with all the…with everything that happened here today, and well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” One of his priests gave me a bowl of green stuff. “It’ll help you heal faster,” Quinox said, but feeling slightly paranoid after everything I’d endured, I hesitated and he drank from the bowl to show me it wasn’t poison. I drank it slowly, still feeling shivery and hot from the spanking. Quinox was silent and I wondered what he was thinking. My whole body was tired but I felt calmer and kind of wanted to go to bed and sleep for a long time. Quinox coughed into a cloth and I looked at him.

“You’re sleepy, poor little thing,” he said, slightly mockingly, but there was a tenderness in his voice. He patted me on the back. “Now drink up and then I think your prime minister wants to give you a tiny cuddle…because you’re tiny and a normal-sized cuddle wouldn’t fit.” I ignored this. He was always making comments about me being a little baby and/or being cute because I was so little. Quinox lifted my skirt and touched my butt very lightly, brushing his fingertips along the curve. It still hurt though. “It’s so bright and colourful!” he exclaimed delightedly, “This bit’s as red as a strawberry but where you sit is all purple…and look at all the pretty hues, you’ve got lilac and lavender shading to violet, and indigo, and on all the reddened bits it goes crimson, scarlet, cherry, and you can even pick out all the welts and bumps- I think it looks lovely, it’s a great artistic effect. It totally works as an aesthetic.”

Listening to him making a joke out of the whole thing really hurt me. I was too worn out to feel really angry though. “I reckon I can get it all purple, though,” he added as he thumped the paddle onto my swollen rear. I let out a wail of anguish and he whacked me right on my sit spot. “Mum! Dad!” I yelled, which was pretty stupid because they were both dead. The paddle walloped me again and I .broke down and burst out crying, bawling as Quinox thrashed me over and over, giggling madly as he tried out different distances, angles of his arm and angles of the paddle. He was hopping from one foot to the other and quivering with paroxysms of ecstasy at having me suffer under his hands.

“STOP! JUST STOP, I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING!” I wailed.

“Beg me,” he said coldly.

“NEVER!!”

He struck the undercurve of my butt.

“Say, ‘I beg you’.”  He smacked me four times in quick succession.

“I…I b-beg you,” I sobbed.

“Louder. For all the world to hear, Daughter of the Sun.”

“I beg you!” The paddling stopped abruptly.

“Very well then, I suppose this episode is at an end,” he sighed. Zannanzah came stalking over, trailing a horsewhip along the sand. I felt an instant terror. I tried to get off the couch and run but my behind was too sore for me to move and all I could do was lay there. “Q-Quinox stop him!” I pleaded, holding on to his robes, which he seemed to find amusing. “Don’t let him do it!! Please, you musn’t…” as I dissolved into tears, Quinox sighed deeply and said “You did what I asked so I can no longer discipline your cheeky butt. So Zannanzah will have to do it. By the way, the green-coloured medicine you drank was the same poison I put inside you, with some plant extracts that stop the body’s natural healing process for a while, I spat it out when I pretended to cough…so Ay and the other priests can try to heal you all they want but you’ll still be a very sorry baby Pharoah.” And he laughed.  Fury gave me strength and I jumped at him – Zannanza leapt between us, upended me on the couch and Quinox pulled my legs back from behind my head. Zannanza spanked me in the diaper position, the pain was unbearable and I cried and bawled helplessly, unable to even wriggle because my legs were held. Zannanza stopped, and Quinox let my legs go. They pulled me forwards until I was bent over the arm of the couch. Zannanzah drew back his arm, let the whip fly and grinned as I shrieked. The sting travelled all through the earlier weals. He flicked his wrist and a prickle buzzed in my bum before swelling into a burning tingle over my entire backside. “Rhemasphut! Nefertiti! Help me!” I wailed and I saw Nefertiti crying in the stands and watching me. He was standing right in front, he must have left his seat. Zannanzah whipped me for a long time and afterwards Quinox took it and applied it far more competently than Zannanzah; he was after all the world expert on these things because it was his hobby. Quinox had turned torture into a fine art and had a huge palace complex and university completely devoted to the study of torture and dissemination of best practices…(or should that be worst practices?) He’d also written several texts on the subject and experimented daily with his priest-scientists in his ‘laboratory’. (The upshot of this was that thousands of his citizens per day tried to run over the border into Kemet, which created a lot of work for the border patrol. Some actually made it and as I hadn’t the heart to deport them back, I’d changed the laws to make it very easy for them to stay. Quinox didn’t like this change in our laws because he feared underpopulation of his country as a result – it was a major reason why he hated me so much. And he could not be convinced that a less zealous pursuit of knowledge of his chosen subject would eliminate the problem.)

So unsurprisingly when he finally stopped, I was the picture of misery, kneeling on the couch over the arm, my hair, drenched with tears, hanging half over my face. I fumbled at my neck and took off my heavy gold necklace; it was actually more of a collar.

“I-I’ll give y-you this. If you let m-me go.”

“No. As soon as my arm is rested, I’ll beat you till your backside is purple.”

“I’ll g-give you ANYTHING!!”

He smiled like a snake. “Then give Lanean back to me. Just sign the document and I will stop. I promise.”

I nodded. His priest put the tablet in front of me and handed me a stylus; my hand was shaking so badly I could barely sign but Quinox didn’t seem bothered by this; in fact, he reminded me of the many witnesses to the transfer of the colony. Clapping issued from one area of the stands as I wrecked the clay with my stylus; I was crying as I signed. I felt sorry for the Laneans, having to adjust to new regimes all the time. But at least I would escape another punishment.

“Okay,” said Quinox, rubbing his hands together with glee as his soldiers fitted ropes around my wrists and ankles, “It’s time to put you in the spanking machine.”

“Y-YOU S-SAID YOU’RE LETTING ME GO!!” I screamed.

“I lied.”

“But-but I…I don’t want you to-to…”

“Yes we could all listen to another babbling whinge about why you’re shirking your accountability, but we have a lot to get through and –“

I sank to the floor with my head in my hands; the soldiers relaxed the ropes to allow me to do this. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid, or that Quinox had developed an actual spanking machine that he was about to use on me. I felt so panicked!

“…so really the question becomes: will you be mature and accept your punishment and the consequences of your actions?”

I lay down in the sand and cried. After a bit I raised my head, looked directly up at him and said: “So this is how you rationalise it when you’re ripping your own innocent citizens into bits?”

His voice was dangerously low. “Naïve girl. Is there a government in the world that doesn’t rule by fear? And anyway I don’t often rip people to bits, it makes such a mess on my nice mosaic floors.”

His soldiers dragged me across the sand, then jerked the ropes and forced me to stand. I refused to walk but with some encouragement from the whip, I was persuaded to walk to the machine. It was a tall A-frame wooden structure; wooden wheels were being held in place by soldiers pushing blocks in front of them. The last block was pushed into place and they stood back. Two horses were standing nearby, freshly unhitched from the machine. It must have been waiting outside my palace and just been brought in. It actually looked like a modified torture machine to me (Quinox had given me a tour of his laboratory and interrogation rooms the year before, when I visited his country, under the misapprehension that such a tour would be amusing to me as it was to himself.) But here, looking up at the spanking machine, I was filled with terror even more. Then I noticed the hieroglyphs carved on the top bar: Ra-ta. I trembled, because in my language the most important hieroglyph comes first in writing but not in speech; so the name was actually Ta-Ra – the closest approximation to my unwritable birth name, Tari. This meant that Quinox recognised me as the slave who’d won over him in the Dance of Lions. He must have known all this time! He was looking sidelong at me now, smirking all over his chubby face!

The soldiers bound the ropes to hooks in the machine so that I was standing up. “This is for taking my colonies,” Quinox declared, looking around at the audience. I was shaking with fear. Quinox stood on the side of the machine and pressed a lever – a stick whacked me and I screamed for Nefertiti – he did it again; then he pushed the lever as low as it would go and the cane cracked me a terrific blow that blossomed into an excruciating pain over my well punished bottom. “I’m SORRY!” I yelled but his expression didn’t change. His eyes were bright with mirth. Then he moved a slider in the side of the machine and locked it with a large wooden pin and the next stroke caught me on my sit spot and I thrashed around, making the machine move slightly. Now he pushed the lever shallowly and quickly several times, and a series of sharp swats peppered my blazing butt. It felt like an inferno was being lit there. One of Quinox’s people walked over to him and whispered in his ear, holding out a clay tablet. Quinox looked at me triumphantly.

“Well, we have reached 999,”he beamed, “Such a pity for you that I’ve lost count now.” And he made a fist and scrubbed out the marks on the clay with his rings. I shouted incoherently at him, throwing myself from side to side in an effort to break free.  Quinox moved a beam into a vertical position and I was slammed onto the cloth floor of the machine; wooden handles were turned round and the ropes wound themselves around the poles attached to the handles, slowly pulling my legs apart.

“This is for declaring war on me three years ago.” A foot-wide mallet dropped onto my behind and I screamed; someone shoved a bowl under my face to catch my tears. The mallet descended nine more times and I filled the bowl half way with my hot tears. I was crying for Amon-Ra to protect me or destroy Quinox, or let my people rescue me. I couldn’t even feel the individual spanks any more, just a raging fire; a kind of burning numbness.

Suddenly I was lifted up and swung backward so that I was dangling upside-down by my arms and legs. “This is for not letting me go to the toilet when you tied me to your throne for four days!” Quinox yelled. I saw a wooden hand get closer and closer to me until it swiped past my butt; after an adjustment it came zooming back and a smacking sound reverberated; my bum didn’t feel any different – just the same sensation that my bottom was as on fire as it had been when Zannanzah had set me on fire. Then the hand-shape was replaced by a few leather straps all clumped together at the base and I heard his voice pronouncing “And this is for writing and directing a play about me being tied to your throne and performing it in front of other heads of state.” The burning intensified and I heard a slapping sound as it hit me. “Do you regret it now?” he taunted. I shook my head. His face twisted into a scowl and I heard the slap again, again, and a fourth time. “What about now?” I shook my head furiously. I didn’t care what he did; I wouldn’t give him any more satisfaction. Three loud cracks hit the air.

“I thought I had broken you. You said you were sorry.”

I glared at him as contemptuously as I could manage, sobbing hysterically as the cracking noise beat out a staccato.

“But you only said  that so I would let you go. To manipulate me for your own devices. To trick me, Tari. To use me.” His eyes were on mine. The heat was rising – or prickling, I couldn’t tell which.

“You disappoint me,” he added softly.

My gaze bored into him, trying to communicate without words: I’m strong. I’m not like you. I will fight to the very end. I might say what you want you hear but inside I will never submit!

I was pulled into the upright position and the ropes cut off me; they swayed like snakes onto the sand. I fell over, curling up into a ball, tugging my clothes back over me. The cloth scraped over my raw skin. Hands pulled at me and I closed my eyes. I felt myself being carried; then I was dumped down and my eyes flew open – once again I was over Quinox’s knee on the couch. To my horror, his father Hiram was sitting next to him. He wrapped his fingers around strands of my hair as Quinox smacked me with his hand.

“Remember, she deserves to be punished. Don’t go so easy on her,” he admonished. The slaps became rapid. Hiram lifted my chin and looked deep into my face, searching for something there. “You’re not sorry,” he said at last. “And this was partly my idea. You shouldn’t have done those things, child. You only have yourself to blame.” As he yanked me roughly over his lap, he hissed “This is for tying my son to the throne!” and energetically pounded my scorching butt with an imported hairbrush for straight-haired people (not the afro-picks we used in Kemet or Quinox’s land.) I was beyond crying and just lay there limply. The brush felt harder, covering only a small area of my bottom at a time, and it was light; this meant that Hiram could paddle me recklessly, landing many smacks in a matter of seconds.

“Your butt looks like a raspberry,” he snickered. He set the brush on the couch and pinched my butt.  I was passed to Quinox who pelted me with the iron paddle. Suddenly a loud, carrying voice called “We have you surrounded. Release our pharaoh or we will open fire.” It sounded like the army chief Hora’s voice through a megaphone. Some of Quinox’s minions broke ranks and my army forced their way through, pointing arrows at Quinox’s heart. I quivered with relief! Amon-Ra had answered- I would be free! Quinox raised the paddle threateningly. “Retreat, or I’ll beat her harder!”

I was absolutely mortified, being held hostage over his knee like this. Quinox smacked me five times and I bawled uncontrollably He smashed it down with such force that I felt it through the blaze and screeched in pain. My soldiers hesitated. Quinox did it again and I wailed loudly. Then a bucket was set down near him and he placed the paddle inside and withdrew it. It was red-hot. I heard gasps. An arrow whizzed over our heads.

“That was a warning shot,” Hora’s voice boomed. Quinox pressed the paddle firmly against my butt and…I felt a sizzling agony, it was unbearable, intensifying every moment the paddle wasn’t taken away. Finally he removed it and I realised I was hearing myself bawling and shrieking. Hora yelled “TAKE HIM NOW!” and a smack after smack descended on my backside, every one red-hot.

“Tell them to retreat and I’ll stop!” Quinox told me, and I made the hand signal for retreat. The army went back several paces. Quinox stopped spanking me. Another arrow arched past his ear.

“Hora, listen to me,” Quinox said loudly, “If the army does not get outside the arena within thirty seconds I’ll give your precious pharaoh another dose of the hot paddle and this time, I won’t take it off her until you get out of the arena.”

“And if you do not release her, the next shot will end your life,” Hora said coolly.

Fingers ripped at my hair, tearing the gold clasps and ornaments from the braids; some of them tumbled in a mass around my face. A bronze knife slashed off one of the braids at the side of my face. I gasped. “Stay still, or I’ll cut all of your hair short,” the emperor snarled. I felt a sharp jolt of pain as he stabbed the knife into my butt and started painstakingly etching his name, in cuneiform, into my flesh. The insistent scratching of the knife was so different to the jarring heat of the paddle. Every slice and puncture was a fresh torment and I hissed in pain no matter how hard I tried to keep silent.

“You know, I don’t think this is going to last,” he mused. “I’m going to brand you instead, that’ll last as long as you live. You hear that, Hora?” he added loudly.

A hail of arrows thudded into the sand in a circle around me and Quinox. Sand flew up in all directions, a gold veil obscuring the stands. When it fell back, a soldier pushed an iron bar into the hot bucket for a minute and withdrew it; it glowed red instead of black. I realised it must be much hotter than the paddle to be glowing like that. The rod had a patterned grid at the end of it that glowed even brighter. The soldier carefully passed it to the emperor; his stubby fingers clutched on it.

I signalled to Hora to shoot to kill. Another flurry of arrows soared towards us; every one buried itself in Quinox’s flesh. He groaned, and I looked up at him, pushing myself off his knee. I was grabbed from behind as Quinox began pulling the shafts out of his robes and disentangling the arrowheads from the cloth. He must be wearing armour beneath his robe, I thought, as the smug expression resettled on his features. He stretched out an arm lazily, caught me and flung me back on his lap. He held the branding iron over my backside. “Could you read it, baby?” he jeered. I was too exhausted to respond. “It says ‘property of Quinox’!” he exclaimed delightedly, then, to Hora: “Well, what’s it to be? Get out of the arena or I’ll do it.”

“Retreat,” said Hora’s magnified voice, sounding furious.

Quinox threw the branding iron onto the sand and resumed pelting me with the paddle; it felt more like a constant aching than burning now. “If the army does not retreat to outside this building I’ll give her ten more.”

“Do as he says,” Hora ordered and I cried bitterly as I watched my last hope of salvation disappear. As the army trickled swiftly away, Quinox paddled my extremely hot butt and there was nothing I could do about it. I hated him for making me helpless. The aching in my butt was dull now, but persistent- it seemed to grow until it was unbearable. Gradually I realised that the spanking had stopped. My bum was still on fire but the swishing and smacking noise was gone. Quinox pulled me into a sitting position and looked into my eyes, smiling. “I taught you a lesson you’ll never forget. You’re free to go now.” Quinox threw me onto the sand – I landed heavily and rolled onto my tummy. Quinox stood up, and his soldiers and priests filed out of the arena. Hardly able to believe it was over, I lay in the sand crying with my face on my arms. I couldn’t even feel relieved that he’d let me go because it felt so sore and my butt felt like it was broken. I covered my face with my hands. The dull ache was lifting, leaving a prickly fire in my butt. I felt crushed, completely defeated. I’d never been so humiliated in my life. I shut my eyes against the staring faces all around and above me.

“Come on, it’s all over,” a voice said gently. Nefertiti knelt beside me and his long arms were around me, pulling me close. He held me tight.

“You did well. You were wonderful, don’t feel bad about Lanean, we’ll get it back.” He rocked me, telling me how brave I was.

“I’m sorry,” I said, after a while.

“For what?” he exclaimed, “There’s nothing you could have done. He had the legal right, and you were surrounded. It was better to acquiesce nobly than have them chase you all over the arena and then drag you over his knee by force.”

He pulled me up so my head was on his shoulder, running his fingers through the soaked tangles of hair and dislodging little clumps of sand.

“Don’t,” I muttered, “I don’t deserve you to hold me.”

“You were so brave, I’m so proud of you. Don’t say that.”

“No I wasn’t,” I said, with real anguish, “I cried and I begged him to stop.”

Rhemasphut and Hora draped an opaque orange cloth around my shoulders. They cuddled me too, but I was inconsolable, I wanted revenge, and to kill Zannanzah.

“Get up, darling,” Nefertiti urged. I shook my head; I was exhausted and would have gladly stayed in his arms or lying in the sand forever.

“They are watching you,” Rhemasphut said seriously, as I wiped my face with the back of my hand. My necklace was missing; where had Quinox stowed it? Nefertiti tried to help me up but I wouldn’t move.

“It hurts too bad,” I whined.

“Look, I understand if you can’t do this, but just hear me out,” said Rhemasphut all in one breath.

“You’ve been so brave already, darling. Just one more act,” Nefertiti pleaded, “It would repair your image. We want you to go back up and watch the rest of the Dance of Lions. Then everyone will leave and go into the other hall for the rest of the shows – we moved everything a few minutes ago. So then you could go to your rooms. Just think about it, please.”

“No,” I said flatly. I couldn’t imagine anything more horrifying than actually sitting down especially now that the numbness was being prickled away.

“Well…it would annoy Quinox,” said Nefertiti casually.

“You’re just trying to persuade me. But go on…”

“It would save face for Kemet.”

I had to walk the gauntlet of humiliation up to the throne, with all those faces looking at me or pretending not to, but I kept my gaze straight ahead and my facial expression impassive. It was so difficult to keep it together, when one half of me wanted to break down and the other half wanted to scratch their eyes out for watching me get spanked and laughing at me. My peripheral vision picked up faces turning ever so slightly towards me, especially as I passed them. Some were sympathetic or even respectful, but I knew there were eyes on me that had thoroughly relished my ordeal. I don’t think I could have done it without Rhemasphut and Hora walking behind me. There seemed no end to the staring faces – tier upon tier of them, from every corner of the world, including my own subordinates who’d just seen me being spanked like a little girl, bare over my archenemy’s lap. They would have had a great view, too.  My legs were wobbly and it was hard to force myself to keep walking up the stands…the journey seemed endless. A wave of dizziness struck me and I had to stop, blinking hard to hold back the tears. I felt Hora squeeze my hand, rubbing the small of my back where the muscles were still tensed up in fear of Quinox’s hand.

“Almost there,” Rhemasphut whispered. I made my feet move again and they did not stop until they touched the top step, a wide plinth on which the throne was set, with narrow steps leading off on the side. Ay was standing there, looking anxious. The two gold lions that guarded me as combined chair supports and armrests looked the same as always, as if I had not so recently been spanked over their glowing backs. Sitting down didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, especially with the cushion they’d placed there and Hora passed me a painkiller drink Ay had somehow mixed up on the spot. It was still uncomfortable though. I spent the rest of the game with my head propped up on my right hand, weeping silently, but luckily nobody noticed because I was sitting at the back. Hora and Rhemasphut did, though, and they tried to comfort me.

Later, in my chambers, Nefertiti  removed all my jewellery and fine clothes and washed all the gritty sand off my skin in the pool; the water was so cool on my behind and I stayed in the pool for a while, just savouring it. Then he put me to bed lying on my tummy. My butt was swollen and he couldn’t get my skirt off so he just cut it off with a knife and gently probed my behind with his fingertips; I turned my head round to have a look but Nefertiti told me not to look at it. Then he rubbed some kind of lotion into my bum and wrapped me in a very soft blanket. The concubines were called in and they took my hair out of the style that had taken hours to achieve, and plaited it so it would be easy to manage. I felt so sad when they did it because it was meant to be my special day and I was meant to have worn the style for hours; only two hours  had elapsed since the start of the Dance of Lions. They must have known I was feeling hot because they kept fanning me. I was ill because of the poison but Ay found an antidote; however he said it’d be weeks before I was healed completely. I felt I’d been a coward, begging Quinox to stop and crying, and was very ashamed of myself.

Aftermath

I received compensation from everyone who’d spanked me except Snake and Zannanza, but including Quinox. I didn’t want to accept any of it but my ministers advised me to. Refusing it would satisfy me personally but would not do Kemet any good. Sometimes, Ay said, the greater good has to come before personal feeling or personal dignity. Otherwise you end up like Quinox. Lanean remained in our possession as Quinox knew the Council of States would not accept my signature as binding since it was made under duress; he did not try to take Lanean. We did not transfer it as we knew my promise-keeping reputation would not be affected by reneging on such a contract. I got Nefertiti to write to Snake pretending I was dead and asking for Zannanzah to be his groom; he’d always had a crush on him. As soon as he arrived I murdered him, but honoured his wish to be buried in Kemet; then we invaded Snake’s country and it became a part of our empire. We killed Snake. I took revenge on Hetmus through sanctions and treaties with other nations that were bad for his country. Quinox was too powerful so it was hard to take revenge on him or the two priests, but we are working on it.

It has been 4 months since the spanking took place. I can honestly say I’m glad it did – all the priests respect me much more now because they see me as brave and dedicated to Kemet, because apparently I displayed this during the spanking. The revenge we took because of it showed the world how far we’d come better than any show we could have put on on my birthday. I decided to own what happened and treat it as a kind of sacrifice I’d endured for Kemet; something to be proud of instead of embarrassed about. In fact I think being spanked on birthdays will become a tradition, since Hora, Rhemasphut and Nefertiti’s birthdays fell in the last 4 months and they requested to be spanked publicly to honour what I had endured which they were not able to share. Ay says if I keep expanding the empire at this rate, we will rule half the world and this Kemetian tradition will become a worldwide one! But the greatest reward is knowing that if I can endure the pain and humiliation Quinox put me through, and look all my enemies in the face after they saw me get spanked, then I can do absolutely anything.

 

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Rodney’s Rod (MFmm/m)

15 year old Rodney tries to lose his virginity.

Warning: This story is of absolutely no literary merit. It’s just for fun. It takes place in The Village (my fantasy). Also, it depicts a 15 year old boy as the victim, 2 counts of rape by a male and female, forced crossdressing, wetting and parental negligence by Rodney’s stepfather.

Rodney’s Rod

Rodney lived in the Village with his mum Susie, a blonde bimbo, and stepdad Terry, a dumbfuck. Rodney was above average in looks with a sharp, slightly freckled nose, big brown eyes and a long mouth that was perfect for kissing. The star of fifteen year old Rodney’s otherwise mundane life was Veronica, the mocha-haired angel who’d had him twisted around her little finger the moment their eyes had met in maths class. So what if she was dating other guys; she was top of the class, wore little miniskirts and tutus that kept him following after her like a faithful dog, and her beautiful smile gave him hope for the future. And tonight, he was about to deflower his lovely girlfriend! It was a crime in the Village, but let love laugh at danger! That’s what she’d told him, with a perfectly delivered quote from Baudelaire : “love will laugh at heaven and at hell.” And she did love him; of course she loved him, she had said so herself, teasing her fingers through his ruffled dark hair. And tonight, Rodney was going to finally be a man!

Rodney knocked on Veronica’s door and Corndawg, her dad, opened the door. He was muscled with short cropped hair the colour of straw and a blonde moustache. He was an educated man – by the standards of the Village – but looked like a redneck grappling with a particularly elusive thought.

“Good evening,” said Rodney breathlessly, his hard wood already poking at his boxers. Corndawg grunted and slowly moved aside. His wife Christine smiled up at him from the chintz armchair, then returned to her novel. She had brown mid-lentgh hair and pearls and was wearing a cardigan over a slightly expensive dress Rodney could only describe as “housewifey”. It suited her to a tee. Rodney scampered upstairs and Veronica ran down, kissing him eagerly on the lips and dragging him upstairs, tearing off his clothes and throwing herself down on the bed. Rodney had never felt more of a man as dropped his boxers, his tool jutting proudly out, ready to do the deed. Suddenly the door burst open and Corndawg stormed in. He sat on the bed as Veronica jumped up and pulled a terrified Rodney over his lap. Corndawg spanked Rodney’s ass very hard as the shocked boy yelped and squirmed as his butt turned red. Oh the shame! He was getting spanked over someone’s knee! Rodney looked so babyish getting spanked over her dad’s lap, like a little boy. Veronica giggled as she took lots of photos and videos on her phone, sending them to all her friends. Rodney was blushing as red as his rear. Corndawg’s heavy paw slammed repeatedly into the now hot cheeks, and Rodney felt warm tears trickle down his cheeks.

Footsteps plodded into the room and Christine, Veronica’s mother, sat next to Corndawg on the bed. Her pretty features were twisted in fury. Corndawg stopped spanking as Christine yanked Rodney over her lap, raised a large wooden hairbrush and swatted the boy’s trembling red behind. Rodney howled.

Christine thrashed the horniness out of the scarlet buns, whacking rhythmically as Rodney bucked and kicked, trying to do anything to take his blazing bum out of her brush’s reach. Veronica was still taking pictures. Christine turned her attention to Rodney’s sit spots, provoking anguished wails from the teenager as she toasted his ass. The brush was leaving oval, dark-red imprints on the boy’s swelling tail. Christine laid a few more cracking swats over the marks, put the brush down on the bed and picked up a fluffy pink slipper, which she swung at Rodney’s helpless naked bum. Rodney pitched forward, wailing. The slipper thwacked his burning asscheeks over and over as his legs scissored and waved frenetically.

Christine smiled grimly as she wielded the slipper, concentrating on Rodney’s sit spot which was rapidly blushing a deep poppy red. Finally, she laid the slipper beside the brush and helped the naked, crying boy up. Rodney danced comically around the room, clasping and rubbing his strawberry-coloured bottom. Veronica started giggling again. Corndawg grabbed Rodney’s arms and bent him over the bed; he trembled, waiting.

Corndawg called out “Buddy! Vincent! Get me a belt.” A few moments later, Veronica’s slim, 14 year old brother Vincent nervously entered the room and handed his father a large, heavy belt. “Buddy’s not home yet,” he muttered, then quickly left. Corndawg folded the belt, took a step back, eyed up the quivering red target and slapped the belt across both cheeks. Rodney jumped and howled. Corndawg laid the belt on Rodney’s butt four more times, his globes quivering like raspberry jelly. Then Corndawg dropped his pants and plunged his stiff fat cock into Rodney’s unsuspecting poophole. Rodney squealed like a little girl as Corndawg pushed himself fully inside and slowly screwed him while Veronica watched open-mouthed. Rodney’s pitiful crying and begging him to stop had no effect. Finally, Corndawg grunted and spurted hot cum right up Rodney’s poopchute.

“My turn! My turn!” cried Veronica impatiently, thrusting her father aside. She closed her fingers around Rodney’s limp member and stroked it back to life, then pushed him back onto the bed. Veronica grinned at him. “No! Please no!” Rodney sobbed, trying to push her off him, but it was too late – she was sitting on his cock, and now all of it was inside her as she bounced up and down. Eventually, Veronica pulled herself off him and Corndawg called Vincent, pushing Rodney’s legs up. Rodney blushed furiously; there was no way for him to hide his violated asshole and cock. Vincent wandered into the room and Corndawg said simply, “take your ping-pong paddle and paddle his ass.”

Vincent nodded, went out of the room and reappeared with his paddle; he began to spank each cheek alternately, and Rodney burned with shame that a kid younger than him was paddling his bare bottom. Well, Vincent was only a year younger, but still…he was his girlfriend’s brother…and Vincent was slim and weedy, not slightly tall for his age and broad-shouldered like Rodney. Rodney would have won in a fair fight, had he ever been inclined to start trouble. Vincent slowly landed swat after swat on Rodney’s swollen rear and Rodney knew he was seeing his torn asshole with Corndawg’s syrupy milk oozing out. There was no hiding what had happened; Vincent must know now that Rodney had gotten fucked. Rodney cried harder as Vincent continued whacking his tail. He thought that Vincent would never respect him now.

Rodney heard stomping coming up the stairs and realised that Buddy was home.

“WHERE IS THAT SHIT??” Buddy yelled. A door opened and slammed. Then the bedroom door was flung back and Veronica’s older brother strode into the room, carrying a heavy school paddle. Rodney whimpered. Vincent stepped away. Buddy swung the paddle at his ass and Rodney howled in pain, tears streaming down his red face like a little boy. After six very hard swats, Rodney was bawling like a baby. Buddy grabbed Rodney’s wrist and hauled him off the bed. Rodney jumped around clutching his blazing bottom and wailing for a few minutes until he regained control and stood there, rubbing his bottom and crying pitifully.

“Put your t-shirt and your leather jacket on,” Buddy growled. Rodney did so, trembling. Then Buddy threw him a pair of pink girls’ panties and a pink microminiskirt and told him to put them on. The cloth scraped uncomfortably over Rodney’s throbbing bum, and the revealing panties exposed his freshly spanked behind. Veronica laughed again. Buddy gripped his arm and dragged him down the stairs , opening the door.

“I can’t go out in a skirt and panties!” Rodney gasped.

“Well, you’ll have to,” smirked Buddy, “And next time it’ll be this.”

He punched out, stopping his fist an inch from Rodney’s face. Rodney didn’t flinch. He didn’t say a word. But he wet his panties. A warm wet patch spread over his dripping panties and there was a damp spot on the front of his tiny skirt. Buddy laughed, and slammed the door. Rodney slowly waddled off home, holding his hot bum and thinking miserably of his busted cherry and ass cherry. He tried not to think of what would happen when his dad saw him in a wet skirt and panties, or what school would be like tomorrow after all those photos and videos had gone round.Rodney was blushing beetroot red. He was supposed to become a man by screwing his beautiful girlfriend but instead he had been spanked like a little kid and deflowered and had peed his panties like a baby. Even Vincent had got a go at spanking him and an eyeful of his exposed cock and red ass. And now he was wearing a skirt and panties like a girl, not like the man he was supposed to be at all. Some youths across the street laughed and pointed, screaming and hooting. Rodney realised that other people were staring and pointing too. He hurried on back home, blushing as some kids from school stared at him incredulously before howling with laughter and taking photos on their phones.

Terry gawped at Rodney as he came in. He jumped to his feet, grabbed Rodney by the hair and yelled, “YOU’RE WEARING A FUCKING SKIRT?? And you pissed yourself! You’re going to get a good old-fashioned ass beating, you little sissy!”

Terry pulled Rodney over his knee, flipped up the skirt and started vigorously spanking Rodney’s pantied bottom. He alternated between each cheek as Rodney kicked and cried, then turned his attention to the boy’s tender sit spot. Rodney squirmed across Terry’s lap as his bum heated up in agony.

“You’ve been a very naughty boy, I know that because you’ve obvi – obvus – susly -clearly been spanked already,” declared Terry. “Where are your jeans?”

“Veronica’s big brother made me leave them,” Rodney sniffed, “he made me wear this.”

“He MADE you?!” roared Terry, “You’re such a wimp! Couldn’t you fight back? I know he’s bigger than you but you don’t have to do what he says. Or were you too scared of him so you just did what he said? And peed your girl panties?”

“He paddled me, so did Veronica’s mum and dad, and her dad put his thing in my butt and Veronica raped me,” Rodney sobbed, lying limply over his stepfather’s lap.

“Well no son of mine is gonna let himself get ass raped or is gonna get raped by a girl!” snapped Terry, sounding furious. “I’m gonna give you a good caning tommorrow on your bare ass and you’re gonna get it worse if you ever get raped again. Now go to bed.”

Crying hard, Rodney scuttled upstairs to change out of his wet panties and skirt. He rubbed cream onto his tender, stretched butthole and flaming red bum. His sit-spots were deep red, nearly purple. His poor poo-ring hurt so much, and he took an ice-pole from the fridge and, after eating most of it, gently pushed the remainder up into his bunghole. It felt cool and soothing. That night, Rodney slept on his tummy, his colourful bum sticking up behind him.

 
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Posted by on July 2, 2012 in Rodney's Rod

 

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The UK Government Torture Act (a sociopolitical BDSM satire)

The UK Government Torture Act

David Cameron was very unhappy. His pudgy face looked glum. ‘Why don’t people like all my reforms?’ he wondered sadly. He tapped his styrofoam coffee cup. ‘I really wish I could make people stop protesting.’ Suddenly, he had an idea. Jumping up from his seat, David ran to his office where he dialled a certain number. ‘It should be set up by now,’ he thought; I put the reform through months ago.’ “Hello?” he said. Nick Clegg was walking by and saw David through the open door. David winked at him conspritorially.”Is the Torture Fund ready?” he said into the phone. “Oh, yes, good! Well, I’d like to draw out two thousand pounds please, by virtue of s32 of the Torture Policy. Yeah, it just got put through; there was a law reform some months ago…the Governmental Torture Act 2012. Thank you.” He put the phone down and skipped around the room with delight. No longer would he have to endure the taunts of dictators at UN summits; no more would they tease him about how many people they had tortured while he was unable to get away with so much as telling a big fib or shooting a dog.

A week later, David Cameron’s torture machine, called Paradise, was ready in his office. This is what Paradise was: A machine that was first hand-operated then machine operated to spank the person. Then a studded pole would come out and go into their butt and come out, before turning hot and going back in. then Paradise would turn them into a sitting position and push them onto a studded pole. Then the person would find that the spanking arm had a lot of implements that could be changed at will such as whips and paddles. A hot light could shine down, burning their ass. Paradise could press hot iron onto skin, and pierce labia. Finally, Paradise could stuff people like they were turkeys with good, old-fashioned traditional British stuffing.

David Cameron began assembling his secret police, which he was allowed to do by S21 s6(i) of the Act, and in two weeks his state police were trained and ready to do his bidding. David wasted no time in sending the police out to capture protesters. The secret police would turn hot girls and cute boys over their knees and spank them publically on their bare bottoms for everyone to see, until they bawled. The BBC filmed it and the TV news was soon full of cute bums being spanked red. The protesters didn’t really care as they took it as a mark of pride to endure pain for a worthy cause and going through a spanking ensured the admiration and sympathy of friends and family. The more hardcore protesters, or those who dared resist too much when being spanked were informed that they were about to be “transported to Paradise”. They were taken in police vans to David Cameron’s office and put in the machine. Some struggled and some quietly accepted their fate. Some were strapped into Paradise while for others the policemen’s and Cameron’s aides’ tasers and electric batons were enough to force compliance. After a few minutes or sometimes several hours in Paradise the protesters would be bawling and begging Cameron to stop. When they were released from Paradise they would be escorted from the building by the police, always crying and rubbing their hot behinds, but with a glimmer of ecstasy in their tearful eyes. Kalika Rose shook her head angrily at the footage of protesters getting spanked on the news. It was a story about how Nadine Dorries MP was disappointed with the use to which the new government torture was being put. “She put forward a Bill to enforce abstinence by sending women – but not men -who are not abstinent into Paradise,” reporter Tommy Tucker was saying. “Of course this has attracted criticism that this Bill is simply a repeat of the abstinence education for girls Bill which she withdrew in January.” “God I can’t believe she’s at it again,” Kalika sighed, tossing her wild black curls over her shoulders and snuggling into her best friend Rudy’s shoulder, “This government torture is just unethical, it’s against human rights. The state has enough of a monopoly on the legit use of force without being able to get away with crimes.” “Yeah, we should totally join that protest against the Torture Act,” Rudy mused, “The university is sending buses to London.” Kalika raised her head, her brown eyes gleaming. “Yeah, let’s! Let’s put our money where our mouth is.” They high-fived each other, grinning.

Little did they know that, hundreds of miles away from Rudy’s student flat, former politician and all-round lunatic freedom-hating bitch Ann Widdecombe was typing up her column for the Daily Express.  Her hate-filled mind was fully engaged in trying to turn back the clock on the progression of ethics and human rights which had been achieved over the last five decades. Ann furiously typed that the torture program was woefully underfunded and perhaps Cameron – what should he be doing? She moved her lips a few times, then said out loud:  “should be putting more effort into solving the problem of people not being tortured enough instead of giving us equal marriage.” And she typed it. The next day, all the students were talking about – indeed, all everyone was talking about – was the Torture Act. Kalika and Rudy wandered into their seminar and sat next to each other amid a babble of condemnation of Cameron and the secret police. Rudy passed Kalika his iPhone and smirked “Read this Kali – doesn’t surprise you, right?” Kalika scrolled down the screen and read: Rick Santorum told FOX News that “Britain’s methods of enhanced interrogation should be used on homosexuals and unwed teenage mothers. No, I am not opposed to wed teenage mothers or unwed teenage fathers. John McCain may disagree with my stance on adopting Britain’s torture policy – I mean, enhanced interrogation policy – here in America, but that’s only because he doesn’t understand the procedure of how it is done. It is done by spanking, paddling and whipping people and screwing them up the ass. It is an exquisite pain, a beautiful experience and a refined agony.” He turned his trademark friendly smile towards the camera, then it disappeared. “Oh no, my penis has gone hard and that will anger God.” The mention of the offending word “penis” caused consternation among conservatives as did his defence of Britain’s human rights problems, which has been criticised by both the Left and the Right. Obama yesterday condemned Cameron’s use of violence…

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Kalika laughed, “Did you see Invisible Children’s new YouTube video? It’s called ‘Cameron 2012′ and it’s all about David Cameron’s crimes against humanity and how he can be stopped in 2012.” “It’s on Facebook!” another student exclaimed, “It’s got nearly four thousand likes – let’s all like it to make David Cameron famous so that he’ll be stopped. It’ll set an international precedent.” The headlines that night featured Mitt Romney declaring that America should start a war with Britain due to human rights abuses; he was backed up by ex-President Bush, who was quick to point out David Cameron’s weapon of mass destruction, Trident. “Trident was quickly discovered by the CIA through analysing the BBC’s online news reports about the existence of Trident,” the international correspondent reported. “As Britain’s weapons of mass destruction have now been uncovered, the UN Security Council may now be likely to see a potential war in Britain as legal, or at least this is what Mitt Romney hopes. Now, back to the studio.”

Tommy Tucker took over, reporting how “Legal scholars and judges spoke out against the reform, claiming the torture  policy breached the European Convention on Human Rights and also the Human Rights Act 1998. Home Secretary Theresa May previously responded by suggesting having the Human Rights Act struck down so the ECHR would no longer apply. We can now confirm that the Human Rights Act has now been struck down, as of today. In other news, former U.S. senator Rick Santorum has apologised for his use of the word ‘penis’ in an interview with Fox News. He staunchly defended his views on the Prime Minister’s handling of the protests-” Rudy switched off the TV.

“Ok, we have to go to the demonstration now,” he said, pulling his laptop out of his bag, “I’ll sign us up, right?” “Sure. But why did you draw a bunny on your wall?” asked Kalika, pointing at a pencilled scribble above the TV. “Oh, it’s because of the Axe Bunny. He’s a real-life superhero, like in the movie Kickass. He sort of saves people from the secret police and makes life hard for anyone who threatens freedom.” “I’ve never heard of him,” Kalika said slowly. Rudy turned his laptop towards her. “Neither had I till I found his website by accident!” There was text describing what Rudy had said, but in more detail, and death threats to Cameron. And a few photos of some guy in a sexy, scary pink bunny costume wielding an axe. “That’s just some stupid geek who’s made himself look like a twat, he’s not going to take down Cameron,” said Kalika.

Two days later, Kalika and Rudy were marching in London with six thousand others, demonstrating against the Torture Act and the repeal of the Human Rights Act. It was a warm, sunny day and although the distaste at what the government was doing hung heavily on everyone’s minds, the mood seemed more positive; the atmosphere was festive and hopeful. Kalika was wearing a leather jacket over a red dress and Aztec-print leggings, her hair flowing in a curly mass over her shoulders. Rudy was wearing a denim jacket, dark jeans and a t-shirt with a bunny on it. After about half an hour of peaceful demonstration, the black-clad secret police appeared, pouring out of various cars, buses and shopfronts. They seized protesters, pulled out little black folding stools from the slings on their backs and spanked them over their knees. Rudy began to shake and Kalika squeezed his hand. “Don’t be afraid,” she hissed, “Never be afraid of the government.” “What if they get us, you idiot? It’ll hurt so bad!” Rudy snapped. One of the policemen pulled out a paddle and started paddling a young man hard on the seat of his jeans. He started to squirm and cry. Rudy stopped dead in his tracks but Kalika pulled him after her. “If we stop now then it’ll all get worse, we’ll never be free again. We have to face them and show them we have no fear,” she said.

The older man walking next to them threw down his placard and unzipped his shirt…the zip kept unfolding; he was zipping down his jeans – the material fell away revealing the black police uniform. Everyone scrambled to get away – his hand gripped Rudy’s wrist. “It was my fault, I talked him into it,” Kalika said breathlessly. Arms encircled her waist and she was lifted up by another policeman; he had spiky black hair and looked about thirty years old; he was muscular and handsome. Kalika was carried bodily away, looking over her shoulder at Rudy, who was flipped over his captor’s lap. The man yanked down his jeans and boxers, exposing two warm rounded cheeks. Kalika thought Rudy’s butt was cute and small.

The policeman took out his baton and smashed it into Rudy’s bare bum. Rudy’s head jerked but his teeth were clenched in determination. Another very hard smack hit his trembling rear, leaving a pinkish mark. “Yeah – you watch,” said Kalika’s captor, pinning her arms to her sides. A series of whacks thudded down, covering every inch of the boy’s butt – Rudy began to yelp piteously. “We will win! How dare you betray your fellow citizens like this? Cameron’s whore!” Kalika snarled. The policeman spanking Rudy reached over his shoulder and his hand returned clutching a black paddle; he expertly paddled Rudy until his bottom was bright red – Rudy was squirming and making sharp kicks. Brown hair flopped sweatily over his eyes. The policeman changed rhythm and pelted Rudy’s sit spot; his legs were scissoring the air and tears rolled down his face. “I’m s-sorry!” he howled, “I’m sorry! Please stop – it hurts so much, I’ll never do it again!” The policeman’s hand fumbled at Rudy’s jeans and drew his brown leather belt from its loops. The policeman folded it and brought it down hard on Rudy’s well-punished butt. Rudy howled in pain, kicking frenziedly. The policeman thrashed his scarlet ass over and over – Rudy bucked and writhed around, wailing and then finally bawling like a baby. His face was nearly as red as his butt; his captor strapped him until his sit spot turned light purple and Rudy was lying limply over his lap, then he let him up, still bawling and with a fiery red ass. Rudy clutched his bottom.

Kalika’s captor released her and she ran over to him and hugged him. Rudy was crying so hard he didn’t even notice that his thick cock and balls were on display to the many women in the street, who Kalika imagined to be feasting their hungry eyes; actually, both sexes were more concerned with the use of violence by the secret police than the naked displays. Rudy’s jiggling equipment seemed a lot more obvious and shameful than her own, were she to be naked. She pulled up his pants and he winced as the cotton scraped over his swollen buttcheeks, clasping and rubbing his hot bum through the cloth. Then he slowly pulled up his jeans, zipping them but leaving the top button undone so they wouldn’t cling to his throbbing ass. Rudy and Kalika walked back to the bus that had brought them to London, Rudy crying and rubbing his seat all the way.

The next day, Rudy wasn’t in class. Everyone was talking about the protest and the spankings they’d seen on the news; Kalika and two other students were the only ones in class who’d actually been there and they soon found themselves in the spotlight. Kalika told them that Rudy had been spanked, which provoked further outrage. “I hope Cameron gets sacked,” Kalika said bitterly to Tristan, the boy who was sitting in the seat Rudy usually occupied. “Really? I think most people do,” he said slowly, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “What else do you feel about him?” “He’s using violence to take over democracy and censor free speech and control us,” Kalika continued, “I emailed the ICC and the EU about him, I don’t know if it’ll do any good though. But I hope the ICC puts out an arrest warrant for him.” A couple of people clapped. “Wow, you’ve been busy,” smiled Tristan, “What else did you do?” “Oh, I set up a Facebook group against him – well, lots of people did Facebook groups. And I made a couple of YouTube videos. Anyway Cameron must know about the Facebook groups, he’s watching Facebook.” “That’s just a rumour,” Tristan countered. “It’s true,” said the girl sitting behind him. “They just aren’t allowed to report it. He’s reading our texts too.” Professor Sharane Brown strode into the room, sat down heavily and surveyed her class. “I know this is going to be difficult, but let’s try to concentrate,” she sighed. After a moment’s thought, she stood up and wrote on the whiteboard: Law. Democracy. Justice. “Now who can tell me how those three things interact? Let’s have a discussion.” Tristan put his hand up. “Uh, Professor, I think we’re supposed to be studying justice and its relation to ethics, not to law and democracy.” The girl sitting behind him slapped her desk. “Can’t you see this is way more important?”

Later, at Kalika’s flat, Rudy was smugly showing Kalika a YouTube video of the Axe Bunny. He was tall, well-built, and wearing pink bunny ears. The effect was of a cute, muscular bunny. He was also sitting on a public bemch spanking Rick Santorum over his knee, using the strap part of his gun belt. Santorum was crying very comically, like a big overgrown baby, shrieking every time the belt thwacked his reddening butt. His grey trousers had been pulled down to his knees. “I wish he was spanking Rick Perry,” Kalika murmured. Rudy touched her hand. “He’s originally from the States but he lives here now, he must’ve gone back to get Santorum. I’m sure Perry and Mitt Romney are on his hit list.”

The video had made headline news, and the police were hunting down the bunny. The news coverage had ensured that the video had gotten millions of hits and the bunnyman was now famous. Kalika wondered if Santorum was embarrassed about the fact it was on the news and so everyone knew he had been spanked and would be able to see the video for evermore. Santorum was thrashing around over the bunny’s lap, bawling his eyes out. His black hair was messed up and he looked cute; she very nearly felt like fucking him, but then remembered what he was. Kalika looked at the bunny’s face and decided he was good-looking, though she couldn’t tell much through the gas mask. “Stop it! Please!” Santorum begged, tears streaming from his evil but lovely eyes. His legs, encased in expensive suit legs, kicked frenziedly. Laughter from some unseen onlookers rang out, and a dog barked. Santorum suddenly struggled wildly, kicking and punching – the bunny smashed the strap onto his ass as hard as he could, bringing it up high and cracking it down several times as his captive threw back his head and wailed pitifully. Clapping could be heard and a woman with a small child shuffled into view with a camcorder and a big smile. “This is for trying to ban abortion!” the bunny yelled. Then he swung his arm back and let it fly until it whistled and came to an abrupt halt as Santorum’s butt got in the way. Santorum screamed as the bunny whipped his arm back and let the belt loose once more, again and again as a large crowd gathered and the honking of horns sounded. Children’s voices started calling out the numbers in disjointed voices: “…18…19…20…21..” After 25, the Bunny’s leather-clad arm went behind his back and withdrew a paddle. “This is for trying to ban birth control,” he pronounced. “I’M SORRY!!” Santorum yelled, “Please no more! I’m sorry!” “No you’re not,” snapped the Bunny, “But you will be.” The bunny whacked the paddle down on the loony’s tail and was rewarded with a long howl. The children started counting, a lilting litany while older voices cheered and a gang of girls started chanting “Go! Go! Go!” Santorum’s ass got redder and redder, turning scarlet and deepest red as the Bunny finally put down the paddle and switched him for trying to ban pornography. Then he made Santorum bend over with his palms on the wooden bench and whacked him a few times with the switch, so enthusiastic cheering. The bunny bowed as Santorum pulled his trousers up and ran away, and got an encore.

Kalika burst out laughing and, not knowing quite why, she kissed Rudy on the tip of his nose and then on his soft mouth. He kissed her back, and they peeled off their clothes slowly and with real delight, caressing each other. Kalika rubbed Rudy’s sore, firm rear. It was still a raw, angry red from the previous day. Rudy sighed with pleasure as she rubbed gently. Then they cuddled, holding each other, fearful of the police brutality they had seen and wondering what worse was to come.

That night the secret police broke into Kalika’s flat. When they busted the lock on her bedroom door they found her standing there in a red basque and black velour jogging bottoms, with a sharp knife in each hand. “I sleep with these under my pillow now,” she purred. “I knew you’d come for me.” The police drew their guns and tasers. Kalika glared at them. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to meet us outside,” they told her, “Then you’ll be taken to Paradise.” They turned and walked out of the flat.

Kalika quickly dressed and gathered her things in her bag; she wore a blue and gold dress over black jeggings and boots, and a gold-coloured choker. An Ankh ring glittered on one hand. Taking one last look behind her at the flat, and wondering when she would see it again, Kalika locked the door behind her. The police searched her and confiscated the two phones, three recording devices and four knives they found in her bag, purse and boots. Then they stuffed her into the van and drove her all night to London.

Kalika was sound asleep when they arrived; she awoke being carried through the drizzly London streets. Kalika lay still, then sprang out of the policeman’s arms – but she remained stuck to him. The policeman grinned, then let his arms drop, but she still remained held – by black material. She was in a harness. “Remember me, Kalika?” he asked conversationally, and yes – the dripping black hair, the broad shoulders – “You held me at the demo!” she gasped. “Yep. Shouldn’t have gone shooting your mouth off to a secret policeman; we’ve been looking for whoever put up those YouTube vids.” “Tristan?” said Kalika in a low, dangerous voice, her eyes narrowing as she pictured getting her revenge on him. “Yep. And no, you ain’t never gonna see him again, so don’t even think of gettin’ payback.” A hood was pulled over Kalika’s face, leaving her in blackness.

Kalika heard snaps and felt herself being released from the harness and gently deposited on the ground. She stood up swiftly. The hood was removed. David Cameron was in front of her talking to a cute naked boy in his late teens with spiky brown hair. He looked the same as he did on the telly. The second thing she noticed was Paradise, because the boy Cameron was talking to was held lovingly in two of its golden arms, dangling horizontally. Another arm descended from beneath the huge yellow smiley face, and the smile widened happily. The arm had a little studded iron extension on it; it began to glow a little red, then it cooled and started whirring round. The arm thrust the extension into the boy’s little pucker and he screamed, thrashing his legs wildly as the studded arm pushed into his poophole. The two other arms let go and the poor guy rotated round and round as the arm whirred. Another arm, this one with a hand-like protrusion, caught him so he was once more dangling. He screamed again as his turd portal was scraped raw by the turning studded arm. Paradise’s round yellow face took on a look of concentration as it changed the extensions on its two free arms.

Cameron turned to an aide with waist-length red hair who was taking notes. “I think we’re just about done,” he muttered. He gave Kalika a nod, then pulled his Blackberry from his shirt pocket, checking his texts. He grinned as he read Hey, congrats on getting the new law pushed thru! Saw the human rights guys get pwned in that debate with you the other night, lmao!! Need any tips on torture, just pm me on Facebook or whatever. Ayatollah xx. Cameron stowed the phone back in his pocket; he’d reply after work.

The boy shrieked as a wooden paddle thwacked into his plump naked rear, swung back and then pounded the helpless ass over and over, turning it pink to dark pink to red as the boy hollered and squirmed, weeping and then crying. He looked like a little boy with a bright red behind. The hot studded dildo extension rammed back into his poo-gate and he yelped – it withdrew and shot back in – the paddle slammed into the boy’s soft mounds as the dildo jerked in and out of his butt, turning over and over and now glowing red-hot. “Owwweeee! My bummy!” the boy wailed, as Paradise smashed a cane onto his strawberry-red bottom. Paradise flicked the cane at his sit spot, producing a lone howl, then swished it again to land on exactly the same spot. The boy pissed. A stream of pee splashed out of his hot, stiff cock onto the carpet, making a small yellow puddle. Paradise switched the boy’s sitting area again – and again – and again. “Mummy!” he howled, kicking furiously, his exposed boyish charms fully visible to Kalika, who pulled down her leggings and started wanking. David Cameron looked over at her with a puzzled expression, and firmly turned his back to her. To distract himself from her soft moans, he pulled out his Blackberry and started scrolling through his messages. Well done, David. I always said bring back the birch but people wouldn’t listen. It’s good to see you taking matters into your own hands in true Tory fashion. Ann Widdecombe. Hi, Mr Cameron. I just want to apologise for what I said to you at the last UN summit – you’re clearly not soft and I totally misjudged you. Btw, get you ass out the ICC, dem is gonna fuck you up bad muthafucka. – Mugabe.

”I’m finished, Davey-boy,” droned a jerky, robotic voice, and Paradise placed the boy on a soft pad attached to its front. The boy curled up on his side, quivering and bawling, rubbing his butt. Kalika changed the rhythm of her strokes. The aide ripped a sheet off her pad and started a new one. “Kalika Rose?” she asked, looking at Kalika, who just continued wanking. “Well, we ID’d you electronically and that’s who you are. You’re the first person to be put in Paradise for putting up YouTube videos and also for badmouthing Cameron on Facebook and during a seminar; yes, I know everyone’s been badmouthing Cameron, but you’re going to be the first to set an example.”

“Really?” said Kalika happily, “I’m the first? That’s kinda cool. I’m sort of proud of that.” “Aren’t you going to deny the charges or plead for mercy?” asked the aide, confused. Her nametag said Katharinne. “Nope.” The policeman who had carried Kalika went over and helped the boy up and out of Paradise. “Have a nice day,” said Paradise, his face smiling. “I’m going to take notes about you and if you wish to see a copy of these notes, you can write to our department and ask to see them under the Freedom of Information Act 1995 and the Data Protection Act 1998,” said Katharinne. Kalika nodded, uttering a low moan. Katharinne dragged a chintz armchair from over by the window to near where Kalika was standing.

The secret policeman plonked himself down, grinning smugly as he gripped Kalika’s wrists and threw her down hard over his lap. “I’m Roland,” he smirked, “and I will be punishing you today.” He slapped Kalika’s bottom hard, pushed up her dress and rolled her leggings down to above her knees. Kalika wriggled violently and Cameron pushed a button on his desk; a group of guards bustled through the door and pointed tasers at her. Roland smacked her bare bottom, and the sensation was not altogether unpleasant. Kalika felt herself blush as Roland smacked again and again, covering her entire butt with stinging heat – it was embarrassing and she guessed she must look very babyish to Katharinne, the guards and Cameron, being spanked like this over someone’s knee. But it also felt kind of nice as well.

Roland spanked her expertly, using his spanking training skills. Kalika’s helplessly bared bum felt hotter and hotter as swats landed all over her cheeks, hard and fast, so she couldn’t predict where the next one was going to fall. Her ass was a prickling fire and she bit her lip to stop herself yelping. But her feet jerked and kicked and as Roland thrashed her mercilessly she began to squirm around on his lap. Kalika felt her eyes well up with tears as the tingling pain in her behind intensified into a burning.  Then the pressure on her lower back lifted and Roland helped her up. One of the guards stepped forward, taking Kalika’s sweaty palm, and he and Roland walked her over to Paradise. Her head was held high, clitoris jutting proudly out.

However Cameron was not moved by this unusual show of defiance; they all succumbed in the end, in Paradise’s arms. Not that she was the first; far from it; he’d had people scream and swear at him as they were tasered limp or manhandled kicking and punching into Paradise; the people of Britain had not yet learned to fear their government – they didn’t know how to. But they soon would. Paradise turned his big yellow face and looked down at her.

Kalika felt a thrill of fear; how would it feel? How much would it hurt? There weren’t any books about this; no courses, no self-help books, no way to prepare your mind and body by yoga or meditation. There was just you and Paradise. You go in with your thoughts, she’d heard. And you come out with ideas. And when you come out, they’re yours, Kalika, Paradise said. Not anyone’s. Not society’s. They’ll be yours. “You can talk in my head!” she gasped. “Paradise talks to everyone,” Katharinne said softly, smiling. “Except to me. He only talks out loud to me,” said Cameron, fiddling with his Blackberry again. “She,” corrected Katharinne, “Paradise is female.” Cameron shrugged. Roland and the guard lifted Kalika up onto the velvety pad under the machine’s chin, and the face inclined downwards, frowning slightly. Then it smiled. I am neither male nor female nor neuter. I am Paradise, the ultimate reality. I am the machine built for no other purpose than to deliver people into the ultimate reality of pain.

I hate you. You were sent to destroy liberty, Kalika thought back. She gathered her mental force and hurled it at the machine, attacking its psyche. Its expression barely faltered. No. I was built to destroy liberty. But the idea of me was sent into the minds of men for a higher purpose. I was sent to bring you liberty. Paradise’s soft arms encircled Kalika, raising her up to its face. The saucy grin widened and another arm appeared, wielding a wooden paddle. It fell onto Kalika’s butt and she yelped. Cameron laughed, not unkindly. Paradise paddled her hard and fast, Kalika trying to keep silent but squealing and wriggling uncontrollably. She felt very embarrassed but resolved not to give Cameron any real satisfaction of seeing her break down. Then the arm retracted, only to shoot out a hot iron paddle that pressed down on her bottom. Kalika squeezed her eyes shut and groaned as the blaze intensified, her helpless cheeks burning. She began to cry, blushing as she realized that the guards, Roland and Cameron were seeing her weakness. It felt like Paradise was holding a fire to her bare ass – but it felt so good! I see your soul and it is mine. Join your mind to mine, even for a second, and you will have my strength; together we will bring liberty, sexual freedom for the children to come. “Not through you,” Kalika said out loud. “Never by you. That would be a mockery.” For that I admire you. It is a shame; you throw away a great destiny.

Cameron eyed her suspiciously as Katharinne scribbled away. He looked over at Roland and said hoarsely, “Use the new function.” Roland turned pale. “But, please – el presidente – you cannot do that. She is young still. Have mercy.” Cameron drew himself up, and his eyes were cold. “Do not presume to tell me how to do my job.” “Please, at least consult your legal team first,” Katharinne pleaded, stepping forward and placing her hand on Cameron’s arm. “It will only take a moment, and as you know they’re on their way now because of the legal problems with the machine’s new function that we talked about.” “I told you I refuse to go over this matter again!” Cameron snapped.

Paradise lifted the hot paddle away and Kalika gasped in a big breath, crying hard now. A tall woman burst through the door, pushing the guards aside and waving a large file. She dumped her briefcase on the floor and hissed at Cameron “You cannot do this!” “And why not?” sighed Cameron. “Because, generalissimo – Prime Minister – it is a copyright infringement! And a breach of intellectual property laws! A torture machine to electrocute people’s genitals already exists, and that government will sue you for breach of international copyright laws – they could take you to an international court.” “Their leader has been ousted for a year,” Cameron snorted. “But his government still remains,” the woman countered, “and as your chief legal advisor-” Two female guards grabbed the lawyer firmly and marched her out of the door. Cameron visibly relaxed. “Proceed,” he nodded.

“You can’t do this to me!!” Kalika screamed, exhilarated, excited and terrified all at the same time. Roland walked over to configure the electrocution system, but Paradise raised a gold arm. “My ability is my own to control.” There was a soft whooshing noise and Paradise’s eyes glowed gold for a second. It sighed, swaying almost as the power coursed through its hot metal body. An arm came up with a small probe on the end. Another arm gently pulled Kalika’s leggings down further and rearranged her dress. Paradise looked deep into Kalika’s eyes. It is an honour, Kalika, it said, in the moment before the probe’s tip touched her inner labia and fire – or power, pure power such as the heroines of ancient ages had wielded – coursed hot through her nerves, her leaping blood and searing thoughts. She was joined with Paradise – not the joining of minds it had suggested, but the pure carnal pleasure of the flesh. She felt sickeningly powerful, capable of anything. Cameron was quailing looking at her and she directed her burning gaze upon him, telling him with her eyes how he was nothing, how she could kill with a mere look, a single flash of fire from her pupils. In that moment everyone in the room perceived her great power, and were afraid. The electricity continued to tickle her and Kalika threw back her head in wild joy, uttering a cry, a howl of delight and rage and dominance, like the hunting-cries that had terrified the pine forests of old. The orgasm flowed from the electric current and was one with it.

“VIDEO THIS!” Kalika screamed, “Why isn’t anyone filming?!” She bucked and writhed as her vagina pulsated and throbbed, expanding and contracting to the beat of the electricity. “I am KALIKA!” Kalika roared as her body contorted, muscles flexing; it was eerily beautiful. “I am Kali, I am strong, I am beautiful! I am woman! I am man! I am –” “Full power! As high as it will go!” yelled Cameron. Roland fiddled with a complex keypad on Paradise’s side. A bolt of lightning shot into her labia. “More!” she screamed. She turned her fierce eyes towards Cameron. “More!”

A guard began stamping his foot on the floor and the rhythm travelled round the room until everyone except Cameron was drumming the ground. Paradise’s electric shocks synchronised with the drumbeat and the hot iron paddle slapped Kalika’s sore ass, again and again in sync with the drumming as she wailed out her pain and delight. The windows blew apart in a glass explosion and a pink bunnyman landed in the room holding a machine gun. A sinister gas mask obscured his face, he was wearing pink bunny ears and a sexy leather costume which instantly moistened all the pussies in the room. A little cotton bunny tail was attached to his large, rounded bunny butt. “Let her go,” he said, pointing his gun at Cameron.

“The Axe Bunny! He’s real!” gasped Roland. Katharinne strode calmly over to the bunny and placed a delicate hand on his weapon. “Now, I’m sure that if we all calm down we can find a solution,” she smiled. Her other hand went to his crotch and squeezed it. Cameron’s eyes bulged out of his head. “You’re outnumbered,” said one of the guards, raising her taser. The others followed suit. “I have a gun,” the bunnyman pointed out. “I can kill all of you and free everyone in the whole country from your regime.” “Do it!” Kalika yelled.

The bunny fired a rapid round of shots, turning his gun in a semicircle until everyone in the room except Kalika had been shot. Katharinne grinned at him. “Bulletproof vests,” she said.

Kalika and the bunny were tortured all night long, and received ten orgasms each. Anyone listening outside the door would have heard the sound of a very long spanking and the crying of a very sorry and hot-bottomed rabbit boy. Then the sound of drilling might have been heard, along with wild screams as the red-hot paddle was applied most vigorously to a bare bunny bum. Then Kalika’s cries from the electrocution were joined by the bunny’s. Kalika’s favourite part was when Paradise gave her an electric shock on her ass, followed by multiple shocks – perhaps fifty going off at the same time – all over her rear. It burned! It raged in her helpless butt like an inferno, but the agony was pure and the joy she felt was purer still. Paradise lifted her gently, depositing her on the little velvet shelf below his face, then a square light was thrust over her hot behind and an intense light shone down on her cheeks, burning her rump horribly. Beside her, the Bunny, naked except for his rabbit ears, was getting whipped by another arm, his plump butt a dark, rosy pink. The light seemed to get hotter and brighter until Kalika was screaming and flailing around madly; Paradise pulled her into a sitting position and lowered her bum ever so gently onto a hot metal plate. The arm that had been whipping the Bunny went still, developed a knobbled pole, and lay flat to the floor with the pole jutting up like what sociologists call a phallic symbol. The Bunny was left dangling while another arm extended with gold fingers, which groped inexorably toward the Bunny’s nether regions. Kalika didn’t see what happened next – though this looked very promising and she was already dripping from the torture – because Paradise pushed her onto the pole, which forced into her clenching poophole. Kalika yelped, prompting a giggle from Cameron. Kalika slid slowly down the pole, whimpering at the discomfort in her burning turd portal. Paradise lifted her a little way up the pole and let go of her so that she sank further down again. After a while of this (with Cameron filming on his Blackberry) Kalika was pulled into the diaper position and dropped onto Paradise’s little shelf. Enjoying this, my dear one? It said. The arm with fingers on it held her in position while another arm descended with a tiny, flicking strap smaller than a pinky finger. The strap descended towards Kalika’s butt and whipped her asshole over and over. She squeezed her eyes shut and yelped each time it hit her rosebud, the yelps blending into one.

After their adventures, the secret police told them that they would be driven back home or to whatever location they chose; the bunny chose to be dropped off in central London while Kalika was given a long but comfortable ride back to her flat. The car’s interior had been altered to allow people to lie on their tummies, and the police gave her an ice pack for her now raspberry red and purple rear.

When they parked at the flat, one of the policemen picked up Kalika and carried her into the close, up the stairs and to her flat door where he put her down. She was trembling. He cuddled her and then left. Strangely, however, not a single protester tried to sue the government. Indeed, a new fervour could be observed in the demonstrations and more and more people seemed to be protesting. The same protesters were being captured and tortured again and again, and they were certainly more compliant and polite now.

Then David Cameron decided to allow the public to hire Paradise to spice up their sex lives, in order to raise funds for the torture program. People queued up to rent the machine at the reasonable price that was offered; oddly enough, as the press noted, a lot of people who had been forced kicking and screaming into Paradise were now lining up to pay for the experience. The number of protests dropped significantly. The sex industry boomed as replica Paradise machines and all sorts of one-function spin-offs such as spanking machines and fucking machines were mass-produced at larger rates than ever for those who did not live close to David Cameron’s office. Sex toys were in greater demand than ever before. Corporations vied with each other to get the contract to use the Paradise logo or get a product endorsement from Cameron. The economy was slowly boosted and the recession began to reverse.

It was a cold day outside. Kalika and Rudy flopped on the cushions in front of the TV, stuffing their faces with chocolate. They were watching a new sitcom about a sex toy company which sent its employees off to different corners of the globe to source good torture devices which would be brought back to the company and developed into prototypes for SM sex toys. The cold, calculating Vivien was giving a presentation on where to source the latest designs for SM toys. As she finished her presentation, she turned off the TV. Another character, Marco, spoke up. “That wasn’t a presentation, that was just a clip from the BBC lunchtime news,” he complained. Vivien turned towards him and eyed him coldly. “So?” she breathed. Marco was visibly squirming in his seat. “So…uh…well, it’s just that…” “Well, the point of that clip was that Syria is the best place to go right now to source designs, but we will be sourcing blueprints, not pre-prototype models. And we must send a team to go there immediately before our rival companies get the information and start selling products derived from the data – everyone in the industry has their eye on Syria right now, it has really become number one in the sensation enhancing field.” “Pre-prototypes?” Marco tremored. Vivien sighed. “Pre-prototypes are actual devices obtained in their local context, which the boys in the lab will use as a reference to come up with a prototype sex toy which is safe, fun and enhances the sex life of the consumer.” Marco looked as though he was about to be sick. “In the local context? So, they’re-They’re actual – things to –” “I prefer to call them sensation-enhancing objects or physical stimulation gadgets,” said Vivien smoothly. “And we will not be obtaining them on this particular assignment because the style of sensation enhancer that has been developed in Syria is too large to be easily transported. What we will be aiming to source are plans, blueprints, any information at all which will help us simulate the Syrian regime’s achievements in a safe, fun way.” She leaned forward, surveying all the impassive faces around the conference table. “For this assignment, I’ll need a team of four motivated, assertive, dynamic individuals who are team players. You will be collaborating with local designers and engineers of the devices, researching how the sensation enhancers function and negotiating deals with the government for this information.” She straightened up. “And of course, with the data and hopefully blueprints that you bring back, we will be able to modify the designs to be more consumer-friendly, affordable, lightweight and above all fun and safe.” The scene cut to the interior of a train, where two company employees were sitting; one of them opened his briefcase, displaying the pre-prototype devices he had managed to buy and joking about always travelling with interesting briefcase contents. “Let’s change the channel,” Rudy groaned, “this is just sick, why on earth did OFCOM let this air? I’ve half a mind to complain.” Kalika changed it to the Channel 4 news. It appeared that bishops and priests, as well as Ann Widdecombe, spoke out against the popularity of sex toys but it was too late; sexual repression was finally coming to an end and society demanded more and more pornography; women were demanding dirty mags full of hot boys getting spanked and raped, and the double standard was shattering. The improvement of the economy meant that everyone had more disposable income and they spent it on the sex industry. More pressure groups had formed, advocating poly marriage. With delight, they learned that Nadine Dorries’ abstinence enforcement Bill didn’t even pass its first reading. As the news ended, Kalika said she wanted to give the sitcom another chance, and they caught it just as another half-hour episode was beginning. This time a team of 20 employees was heading off to Fantasia as this state was now officially the world leader in sensation enhancers. This was welcomed, as Fantasia was a popular tourist destination because of its history. However, this time instead of sourcing gadgets, the team had been contracted to help build a device.

The plot was moving, funny and heartwarming as the excited but sometimes slightly homesick Americans struggled with cultural differences and also bickered among themselves; one nerdy guy burst into tears over the challenging nature of the task which the company had never attempted before. But seeing the sights and going into bars with their new colleagues soon brought both sides into friendships, and there was a lovely celebration as the machine was completed and tested on a mean company employee, who screamed a lot. Then the company people left the government building they had installed the machine in, to a hail of Coke, fruit and liquids being thrown and sprayed at them by the Fantasian citizens, who knew exactly what they’d been up to. The scene slowed down as the company people ran in slow motion through the gently arcing fizzy drink and wafting fruit, their new friends leaning out of the windows and waving, a couple of them tearful. The credits started rolling, and Kalika sensed Rudy’s relief that it was finally over.

Ann Widdecombe (having finally worked out what BDSM was and linked it to the sex industry’s copycat Paradise machines) accused Cameron of fuelling BDSM desires with Paradise. She rallied her fellow freedom-haters but so few were willing to join her cause that she decided she would have to do a very immoral thing: take advantage of people who required to be hospitalised for mental health problems. Because most people who have mental health issues go about their daily lives and careers with no problem, Ann had to look high and low for an actual ‘mental hospital’. She and her mob broke psychiatric patients out of mental hospitals – (a minor glitch occurred when Ann was committed to a mental hospital by staff, for severe cognitive retardation – however, she soon escaped) the released loonies instantly joined the repressed bitch and she led a demonstration through the streets of London. Anne and her mob held up placards saying ‘Veil the mind’ ‘Sex is unnatural’ ‘The psychological burkha beats the physical burkha’ ‘Sexual repression for our children’ and ‘The Sexual Double Standard Rules OK’. David Cameron sighed, shook his head, and dispatched his secret police.

They arrested Anne for protesting and she was brought before him, where she lectured him in a voice like a furious harpy. “You can’t torture me!! I’m Ann Widdecombe, a 65 year old virgin anti-abortion crusader! I’m trying to rid the country of illegitimate children! You think you’re so flipping undemocratic with your so-called torture machine? Well I’ve appeared on and hosted nearly 20 TV programs, most of them when I was in Government! I brainwash the masses through TV! Iran is jealous of my undemocraticness!” Cameron sighed. “I didn’t want to have to do this, fellow Tory.” “I’m the single biggest threat to sexual freedom this side of the Atlantic. You’re playing with fire, little boy. You think you’re so cool but you’re no Al-Assad.”

The police tasered her in the face a few times till she shut up. David Cameron was regarding her solemnly. “You were against the government, and now you must pay the price,” he said gravely. “I’m going to torture you for a week and the BBC will film it live for the enjoyment of the public. Let nobody say I am a despot!” Cameron’s aide flicked aside the veil covering Paradise and the torture machine was revealed in its blazing gold glory. It was so beautiful and utterly perfect that Ann fell to her knees and knelt before it. The police lifted Anne into Paradise.

A week later, David Cameron switched off Paradise and the machine drifted off gratefully into standby mode. Anne was pulled out of the machine. She looked radiant. The hard lines of fury on her face were gone; the years had fallen away from her. She was still hideous and fat, but she was smiling a lovely, nice smile. When she spoke her voice was soft and innocent like a young girl’s. “I…I’m – happy!” she beamed, “I feel whole. I feel more myself; comfortable with my sexuality. I don’t hate and fear sex any more. I don’t hate gays, or people having premarital sex.” She walked unsteadily to the door. “I- I’m FREE!” Ann sobbed, rushing back to kiss Paradise tenderly before throwing one last look of longing over her shoulder and waddling out. “Have a…day,” Paradise said, its mouth a horizontal line.

“I tortured someone for a week!” Cameron boasted during Prime Minister’s Question Time, “Beat that Bahrain and Syria! And the BBC didn’t pay me much for the footage. I’ve actually been filming a lot of the torture in order to make myself more publically accountable. No, I’m not profiting by selling the videos to pornographic websites.”

By now the economy had improved enough for Cameron to increase education and health spending and cut down tuition fees. A few bishops made homophobic rants and were taken by the secret police and put in Paradise, and the torture was filmed by Channel 4 (who bought the BBC out of the rights to the footage). People partied in the street as the bishops were thoroughly fucked by the machine and spanked on their evil butts.

Equal marriage was pushed through. And two weeks after that, the protests had stopped and David Cameron was the most popular prime minister ever. However, though the world news was constantly reporting on Paradise’s debut and career, the dictators that Cameron had hoped to impress only laughed at his sissy, lenient treatment of protesters. They also couldn’t understand why Cameron didn’t install torture machines in every police station so he could capture protesters who were not protesting in London. When Cameron admitted that the Governmental Torture Act only allowed for one machine to be built, the dictators couldn’t stop giggling. Cameron didn’t care, though – the protests had stopped! Instead, people were dancing in the streets and celebrating the new age of sexual freedom. Everyone was in agreement that this was the best government we ever had.

 

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