KurvyKate
Magistrate
I’ve offered myself to be stripped of my pride. I’m going to be punished.
Although the following story is fiction, I’ll be judged as a writer in real life. I expect to be torn apart by unreasonable criticism and thrashed without mercy with my own mistakes. I don’t expect to be treated fairly. I know that my playmate in this role play will sting me with derision worse than any fantasy whipping I might try to please him with.
I’ve asked to suffer the humiliation of my flaws exposed and displayed in public. It’s a subs thrill to be put in her place and taught the lessons she deserves to learn, she needs to depend on another for this. I know I’ll feel angry, indignant and defeated because I’ve offered my skill as a writer as the instrument through which my inferiority will be broadcast. It’s a game of course but my playmate has real authority. I know I’ll need to cope with truth.
My fictitious self will suffer distress too, in parallel with my real disgrace. How severely will punishment fall on her? It has to, for my sake. Does this make sense? I hope it will. We’ll both suffer if it doesn’t.
So the story begins…………
Firefly
It’s misty and deathly quiet. The nearest road is a mile away and the air is still, heavy and damp, it smells earthy, organic and wild. I’m scared and listening for every tiny sound, mostly the slap of water drops falling from leaves too heavy with the weight of them. In the distance, bird noises spook me, forcing me to satisfy myself that’s what they are because I’m desperate to determine the level of threat I face. There’s nothing I can do about anything worse than disinterested wildlife but I want at least some warning of impending attack. All can see are the trees and bushes immediately around me and peril could come from anywhere.
I’m handcuffed to one of the trees, it’s sturdy, ancient and immovable. My wrists are cuffed to a chain running behind it so I can feel the bark, cold and rough against my back and my arse. I trapped myself. That’s our game and my tree is his choice.
Most of my clothes are in a pile out of my reach, not that I could dress anyway. I stripped before I identified the tree as instructed. He told me to look for the low branch he’d cut off and the handcuffs hanging on a nail. I knew I would stand against the trunk with the sawn stump between my thighs. It took a while to figure out how to lock myself in position, I panicked when I couldn’t do it. I knew I’d get cold, so it was important not to strip too early. My appointment with fate is only a few minutes away, giving me a small window of opportunity to render myself helpless before he gets here. I must be completely unable to resist by then. Relief isn’t quite the right word to describe the feeling of success when eventually I knocked the last cuff shut, maybe dread would be closer to the truth.
I’ve abandoned my coat, jumper, jeans, boots and socks about ten yards away, leaving me in my underwear. This is his choice too. I’m wearing white side tie knickers and a halter neck bra, also tied with a bow, both can be pulled off me easily while I’m chained.
I pleaded with him to let me keep my knickers. The erotic power in believing I’ll be teased through them is undeniable, even though I know in real life, they’d provide no barrier at all to an assault with intent to grope me. If whoever finds me isn’t him, that’s probably what will happen. Would my helplessness tempt even the most noble of men? The threat of losing them makes me melt.
The ground I'm standing on is muddy and wet, it's littered with dead or dying leaves and fallen twigs, all tangled in brambles and patches of nettles. The mud under it all will soak away my body heat from the soles of my feet first, I can feel it between my toes. I’ll freeze if my ordeal lasts too long. Will it? Not knowing is a beautiful dependence.
In the cold, my nipples are proud and obvious because my shoulders are pulled back by the chain and the shape of the tree. I watch my tits ride my ribs as I breathe. Whatever my fate turns out to be, I know I look like I’m asking for it. I asked him. The crazy thrill in this is I don’t know who he is.
He wanted this place because of the proliferation of birch trees. I realise why that’s significant. We could have agreed to meet over coffee in a cafe, in the security of a public place where I would have decided whether to play with this man or not, a decision based on something solid for my intuition to gets its teeth into. If I’d chosen to play safely, my pulse wouldn’t be racing like it is now, after the reckless stupidity of trusting him anyway.
I know I’m gambling. I’m shaking, not just shivering because I'm chilled, yet, that will come later. I’m trembling in fear, my heart’s hammering in my chest and my breathing’s so loud I need to hold it to listen for danger. I’m terrified, I wanted to be, fuck it’s intense.
I hear the crack of a fallen branch breaking, a careless footstep? Is he here? Oh god! Will he approach me or wait, keeping his distance, watching me from the cover of the undergrowth? Will he make his decision now? He has the key to my handcuffs because I posted it to him, we agreed I would. He knows I’m stuck here if he doesn’t unlock me. We invented that as a mechanism to make sure he doesn’t simply walk away if he doesn’t fancy me. Did he think I wouldn’t do this, did he think I was kidding when I told him I wanted to feel this precarious, this vulnerable and this committed?
If it is him, is this it, months of filthy on line wickedness about to bite me for real. I’m praying whatever happens is bearable if it isn’t!
Although the following story is fiction, I’ll be judged as a writer in real life. I expect to be torn apart by unreasonable criticism and thrashed without mercy with my own mistakes. I don’t expect to be treated fairly. I know that my playmate in this role play will sting me with derision worse than any fantasy whipping I might try to please him with.
I’ve asked to suffer the humiliation of my flaws exposed and displayed in public. It’s a subs thrill to be put in her place and taught the lessons she deserves to learn, she needs to depend on another for this. I know I’ll feel angry, indignant and defeated because I’ve offered my skill as a writer as the instrument through which my inferiority will be broadcast. It’s a game of course but my playmate has real authority. I know I’ll need to cope with truth.
My fictitious self will suffer distress too, in parallel with my real disgrace. How severely will punishment fall on her? It has to, for my sake. Does this make sense? I hope it will. We’ll both suffer if it doesn’t.
So the story begins…………
Firefly
It’s misty and deathly quiet. The nearest road is a mile away and the air is still, heavy and damp, it smells earthy, organic and wild. I’m scared and listening for every tiny sound, mostly the slap of water drops falling from leaves too heavy with the weight of them. In the distance, bird noises spook me, forcing me to satisfy myself that’s what they are because I’m desperate to determine the level of threat I face. There’s nothing I can do about anything worse than disinterested wildlife but I want at least some warning of impending attack. All can see are the trees and bushes immediately around me and peril could come from anywhere.
I’m handcuffed to one of the trees, it’s sturdy, ancient and immovable. My wrists are cuffed to a chain running behind it so I can feel the bark, cold and rough against my back and my arse. I trapped myself. That’s our game and my tree is his choice.
Most of my clothes are in a pile out of my reach, not that I could dress anyway. I stripped before I identified the tree as instructed. He told me to look for the low branch he’d cut off and the handcuffs hanging on a nail. I knew I would stand against the trunk with the sawn stump between my thighs. It took a while to figure out how to lock myself in position, I panicked when I couldn’t do it. I knew I’d get cold, so it was important not to strip too early. My appointment with fate is only a few minutes away, giving me a small window of opportunity to render myself helpless before he gets here. I must be completely unable to resist by then. Relief isn’t quite the right word to describe the feeling of success when eventually I knocked the last cuff shut, maybe dread would be closer to the truth.
I’ve abandoned my coat, jumper, jeans, boots and socks about ten yards away, leaving me in my underwear. This is his choice too. I’m wearing white side tie knickers and a halter neck bra, also tied with a bow, both can be pulled off me easily while I’m chained.
I pleaded with him to let me keep my knickers. The erotic power in believing I’ll be teased through them is undeniable, even though I know in real life, they’d provide no barrier at all to an assault with intent to grope me. If whoever finds me isn’t him, that’s probably what will happen. Would my helplessness tempt even the most noble of men? The threat of losing them makes me melt.
The ground I'm standing on is muddy and wet, it's littered with dead or dying leaves and fallen twigs, all tangled in brambles and patches of nettles. The mud under it all will soak away my body heat from the soles of my feet first, I can feel it between my toes. I’ll freeze if my ordeal lasts too long. Will it? Not knowing is a beautiful dependence.
In the cold, my nipples are proud and obvious because my shoulders are pulled back by the chain and the shape of the tree. I watch my tits ride my ribs as I breathe. Whatever my fate turns out to be, I know I look like I’m asking for it. I asked him. The crazy thrill in this is I don’t know who he is.
He wanted this place because of the proliferation of birch trees. I realise why that’s significant. We could have agreed to meet over coffee in a cafe, in the security of a public place where I would have decided whether to play with this man or not, a decision based on something solid for my intuition to gets its teeth into. If I’d chosen to play safely, my pulse wouldn’t be racing like it is now, after the reckless stupidity of trusting him anyway.
I know I’m gambling. I’m shaking, not just shivering because I'm chilled, yet, that will come later. I’m trembling in fear, my heart’s hammering in my chest and my breathing’s so loud I need to hold it to listen for danger. I’m terrified, I wanted to be, fuck it’s intense.
I hear the crack of a fallen branch breaking, a careless footstep? Is he here? Oh god! Will he approach me or wait, keeping his distance, watching me from the cover of the undergrowth? Will he make his decision now? He has the key to my handcuffs because I posted it to him, we agreed I would. He knows I’m stuck here if he doesn’t unlock me. We invented that as a mechanism to make sure he doesn’t simply walk away if he doesn’t fancy me. Did he think I wouldn’t do this, did he think I was kidding when I told him I wanted to feel this precarious, this vulnerable and this committed?
If it is him, is this it, months of filthy on line wickedness about to bite me for real. I’m praying whatever happens is bearable if it isn’t!
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