A Fantasy

Athletic

It was the third time she’d driven past the house, trying desperately to overcome her nerves, to calm the knot in her stomach and the tightness in her chest. This time she stopped, drawing into the kerb and parking opposite the small detached house, set well back from the road.

Her thighs trembling, her palms wet on the steering wheel, she rested her head on the wheel’s rim trying to calm her breathing, contemplating what it was she was intending to do.

She’d had these desires, these fantasies, since she was a child and had always thought she was the only person in the world to think, to want, as she did. Fantasies she had never been able to share, desires she could confide in no-one, for surely no-one could possibly understand what it was she felt, what it was she needed so badly, what it was that had finally brought her to this quiet, tree-lined street and this small detached house.

She was thirty six years old and had married young. It had not been a happy marriage for she’d come to realise that the man she’d married was a selfish, self-opinionated, intolerant bigot, someone who thought beylikdüzü escort himself right about everything and certainly not someone in whom she could confide her innermost, secret fantasies, not one who would understand this need buried deep within her.

After fourteen years of marriage she’d finally divorced him eighteen months ago and her first act of freedom had been to buy a computer, something he’d always derided as a toy, a plaything for those unable to think for themselves. By virtue of this small machine she’d discovered a whole new world, a world of social networks; of chat rooms, forums and blogs and, by accident, one such blog devoted to the self-same need which she had imagined was hers and hers alone.

To be spanked!

Or more specifically, to be caned on her bare bottom, a fantasy that had played itself out inside her head in oh so many ways, and now, if she were to take that final step, up to the door of the small detached house, that fantasy, or a version of it, would at last become a reality. A painful reality which would leave bright red bolu escort stripes across her otherwise pristine bottom.

The blog which opened the door of reality onto her fantasy was that of a woman devoted, or so she said, to being spanked and through that blog a whole host of other web sites dealing with what seemed to be another world, a parallel universe almost, of corporal punishment in all its forms. It was a small step from there to the contact ads within such sites, ads by people who, like her, were seeking punishment, and of those prepared to administer it.

She’d been careful, spending many months studying the adverts, analysing them and making a short list of likely candidates.

Emails had followed; most, those clearly seeking sex, play-acting or domination, were quickly discarded. What she sought was a simple caning. No pretence, no chains or shackles, just a ‘bend over and touch your toes’ caning from someone who knew what they were doing. It had proved a harder task than she’d thought.

The occupant of the small detached house was her final choice. After an exchange bursa escort of emails they’d spoken twice on the phone when he’d told her he was retired, single, a life-long administer of corporal punishment who welcomed beginners and who would, he assured her, respect all individual limits.

The arrangement they’d come to was that she was to present herself at 4.30pm, and it was nearly that now. She would be required to remove her panties and bend over, her skirt would be raised and he would then administer 12 strokes of the cane to her bare bottom. Subject to her agreement, he would then cane her a further 12 times, making a total of two dozen strokes, after which she would dress and leave. No sex, no tying up, no contact at all other than the cane across her bottom.

Could she go through with it? Could she allow a complete stranger to see her semi-naked, to strike her bare bottom with a ratten cane? To cause her, as she was sure it would, pain and discomfort. Would the reality, the pain of being caned, destroy the fantasy she’d so carefully constructed over so many years? Should she just start the car and drive home, her fantasy to remain just that, but intact and safe within her?

She took a deep breath, contemplating the years of longing. Calmer now the decision was made, she opened the car door and crossed the road to the small detached house.