Tag Archives: fetish

The Chase

So, we’re in the kitchen. It’s cosy and warm even though I’m either nude or near-nude. The kitchen, like the livingroom, has ethnic touches to it, a style which is similar to my own. Though mine is less subtle and more opulent. Roland was all “finish your coffee and then we can go back in the living room,” and I realised I had to stall him further; this was becoming interesting! Like a real cat and mouse game. I started pretending I’d been abducted by him and was now in the abducter’s house. (I just started giggling while typing and kind of lost my train of thought.)
I said, “What if I didn’t want to?”
“Well, then I’m not sure it would be a good idea to continue with this,” he said.

I was quite horrified by the thought of losing the remaining £6,000 and asked “So you wouldn’t pay me the rest?”

“Well I’d pay you for tonight, but I wouldn’t want to continue – I’m not sure,” he said.
I hadn’t realised he would discard me so easily if I disappointed him. However, all my efforts to find out if he would 100% certainly call it off failed – he refused to answer, saying that oif he answered, it would be coercion and he couldn’t do real coercion. But I had to know, so I could make a calculated decision! But he would only give me that response. Then I realised that he wouldn’t be dropping me as a defective hooker, but instead stopping it because of concern that my heart wasn’t really in it. Roland told me not to force myself to do it, and if I couldn’t then it was okay and we could discuss whether it should continue later. His insinuation that I wasn’t capable of it irritated me slightly and so I decided to prove him wrong.

“I’ll do it,” I said.
“Are you sure? You’re not just doing it to please me? Or to prove to me you can do it?”
“No, I want to.”
“Are you sure you really want to?” he said, with irritating perceptiveness.
I assured him that I did, and I did feel sure; I had made up my mind now.I asked Roland for some drink so it’d be easier and he got me whiskey but it tasted horrible even though it was expensive so I gave him the rest of the glass.

I was taking stuff out of my bag and showing Roland the goodies – the strawberry and cream sauce I’d brought in case of this eventuality, and this really cool anal bead vibrator. He liked them. Then I took out the firelighter (for heating up stuff like frying pans etc) and the needles. (I’d got the needles so he could prick my bum or I could stab them into his thick, fleshy cock or drop them down the hole at the tip and see what happens.) I saved the best for last.

It was a cheap knife from the local supermarket, decorated with sequins.




Roland was surprised by it, I could tell. This delighted me, as I have sadistic thoughts towards him. I had been very much looking forward to him being surprised. It’s one of my favourite benefits if not being a ‘real’ prossie – you can mentally torture them a little bit without worrying that you won’t get business again. More generally, there’s room for your own kinks. Roland asked me what the knife was for. I don’t really know what I answered. “As much as I can legally get away with” wasn’t a good answer if I wanted the rest of the money. I felt so powerful wielding the blade, even though it was much too cheap and of a general/utility design to cause more than a scratch. There was little real balance to it.

Slowly, I reached out and put the blade to his neck. It felt as good as I’d always dreamed, even though he did not fear it. I was almost panting with lust as I held it to the other side of his throat, then dragged the knife down his body, slowly, holding his gaze the whole time. He was looking at me with an interested expression, and his lack of fear was annoying, but also – for practical purposes – liberating, as I didn’t have to worry about stopping what I was doing to keep him around for the 6k. I dragged the flat edge down to his crotch and held it there, then withdrew the knife.

Roland asked for it and examined it, then he pointed it at me and I went back behind the door and closed it. He came in and I took off through another door and fell down a couple of steps into the garage, cutting my foot a little. (I’ve no idea why I did that). “Come here,” he said. My foot really hurt a lot.

He took the needles, sauce, cream and stuff into the front room, setting them on a tray on a coffee table. The fire was blazing brightly, the flames dancing as if wildly excited. I tried to make a run for it but Roland caught me easily before I’d gone two steps, wrapping his arms around me.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, laughing. Roland made me bend over a footstool to spank me.
“But you can’t spank me now, I’m full of coffee!” I whined.
Roland laughed, “That is a pathetic excuse!” He gave me a few hard whacks; it stung quite a bit.
Roland sat on the sofa and pulled me over his lap, spanking quite hard now. My face was in a cushion with a nice exotic design. The spanking was very pleasurable and relaxing. Suddenly a tray fell onto the floor and Roland went to clear it up.

From my perch on the sofa, I said, “Maybe it’s a sign we shouldn’t do this.” “Maybe it’s a sign that I shouldn’t put this too close to the edge,” he said. I saw my chance for escape, and I casually climbed off the sofa and walked near him to the door, helping him tidy up. Then I made a break for it, bolting upstairs. I tried to find somewhere to hide, but after going back and forth, concluded that one end was a dead-end. I suppose subconciously I wasn’t intending to hide from him, which is why I never tried any of the doors except maybe one. Roland came running upstairs and I was cornered.


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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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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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Kinky Feminists

Obviously, I’m not a radical feminist (like Andrea “sex is rape, pornography is the theory and rape is the practice” Dworkin, or Catharine MacKinnon who helped Dworkin with the Minneapolis pornography ordinance). I think ‘liberal feminist’ would be the label most suited to me; or ‘libertarian-feminist’. The F-word, for so long feared and jeered, seems to be coming back into its own as a result of recent (fourth-wave?) feminism exemplified by the 2011 SlutWalks, the feminist politics books and films about abstinence culture, rape, etc, and (American) political controversy over contraception. Cosmopolitan‘s campaign to bring back the F-word is probably influential, as a lot of the ‘feminist class’ (middle class educated women) read it. Naomi Wolf’s book The Beauty Myth describes magazines as simpy advertising in disguise (pics of clothes/accesories/products and features on celebs or products are the result of deals) which is true of Cosmo too. But Cosmo is praised by her as the first magazine to tell you how to get abortions and divorces, as well as the first to acknowledge femalesexuality/desire, and lately it seems to be regaining its role in pushing feminism forward.

I remember once reading an article online about a feminist who liked spanking from age 16 but thought being a feminist meant not being a sub in the bedroom. It took years for her to come to terms with this – she’s about 27 now. Thankfully things have changed. I feel that subbing is an assertion of female sexuality and power – ie “I wanna come. Spank me.” As a switch, I obviously don’t understand the issue as well as a femsub though.

Inspied by Onlinedatingjournal’s list of turn-ons, I’ll submit mine:

What I want to do to guys:

spanking…of course



lead and collar

pants pooping/wetting


babying, with high chairs, playpens etc



electric stuff


Well, you’ll have to wait to see what I like done to me…it’s 5am here and I’m sooooooooooooo sleepy…Nighty-night!


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The flogger

So there I was, tied over the bench. As he listed out my naughty deeds, he smacked me with the flogger-it stung and the sting radiated out all over my bum. After two whacks, he swung harder , pausing after each stroke to take in the effect it had on my bottom. I tried not to make a sound but I squealed almost every time I felt the hot sting, and it felt almost solid not like felt strips cascading onto my skin. Sometimes the bench rocked a little. His eyes were shining with that purest delight, the joy that is only found in the flesh of others. I knew what he felt because I felt it too; I couldn’t stop staring at him (in between each stroke) and I wished he would take his clothes off and be naked so I could see him..I was watching all the time so see if he was getting hard from spanking me, but I couldn’t tell. There should be a law that all men must wear tiny little shorts that are nice and tight. Except the fat or ugly ones. I just remembered that when I was 13 and started a petition not to have to wear school uniform, my friend who was in my class said that I should make the petition say that all boys should wear a thong, except the ugly ones. As it happened, I stuck with the idea of just petitioning against school uniforms. (I gave it to the headteacher, because it was the headteacher who convened and chaired the Pupil Council. Everyone whose name was on it got called to her office the next day and asked why they had signed it and who had asked them to sign – despite the fact I already told her it was my idea and had started with my friends, which was why I was the one who was handing it in to her. Some signatories’ parents were called and told thert kids had signed a petition.That was the last we heard of it. I think the questioning/calling parents of signatories is discouraging free speech.And petitioning the pupil council or school was not against the school rules; it was done in a non-disruptive, nonviolent way at break time and lunchtime and not in class time.)

Anyway, that was one massive digression, but lying over that bench I wanted to see if he was hard or not. It was amusing seeing how a professional businessman could become controlled by physical drives, with only one goal in mind and a lust that must be satisfied. Are we all instinctual, animals, at heart? I know that, when I spank him, it will feel even better than being spanked.

Roland flogged hard, questioning me about lying that I was about to commit suicide. (I did it because the guy I lied to (who lives in America) has a habit of telling me the most ridiculous lies, which he gets me to believe, then mocks me for being gullible. I’ve tried to get him to believe lies back, but  never been able to get him back for it until I told him I was going to kill myself, which he believed and called the Dept. of Health, Scottish Government and finally the Lothian and Borders police, who, with the help of a lecturer I knew who lured me to where they were waiting under the pretext of a conversation, ambushed me in a University building just after my last exam. I told them it was a joke and apologised for wasting police time. Luckily, they believed me.Five minutes later I met Roland at the restaurant.)

Roland, after briefly flogging me for offering pornography for sale, now brought up the subject of my fake suicide.

“You caused him to worry,” he stated, scraping the flogger’s warm tails over my bum. He whacked me and I jumpd slightly, yelping.

“And he worried so much, he called the police,” Roland continued, rubbing the flogger over my skin, then swatting me hard. I burst out laughing at how funny it was that the guy who had laughed time and time again at my gullibility had finally believed my lie. And called the police, creating a huge drama! How funny and interesting my life was! Roland stood there for a while, totally nonplussed and watching me carefully. (He told me later that at first, he didn’t know whether it was laughing or crying. Then he thought ‘I’ve got to stop her laughing’.) And he did. He slapped the flogger into my bottom hard and I squealed in pain as stinging fire raged across my cheeks; then he did it again, and again until I was screaming.

Then the blows fell lighter, and he stopped and said, “Where did you go for lunch today?”

“The Tower,” I murmured.

“And what did you discuss?” he pressed, looking towards the camera.


He bent closer to me. “What kind of stuff?”

“Selling stuff.”

“And what was it you agreed to sell? Was it…yourself?”




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