The "Look"

My "Boss" from the last roleplay scene I did, involving a consistently tardy employee and a traditionally-minded supervisor, featured ever so briefly in one of my dreams last night...

It was just a look. THE look.

Accompanied by the dreaded command, "Come here."

That's all it was!

The dream literally consisted of three seconds of material -- and yet was oh so potent.

What is it about that "look" that is so compelling? -- That instant when you know, deep down to your core: you're in trouble.

You've done it now.

There's no turning back. :D

You are suddenly small, vulnerable, caught, and held deliciously responsible.

It's something in their eyes. But it's more than that -- it's the whole expression, the way it's delivered, the sheer piercing direction, focus, and attention. The purpose behind it.

Your projected, imminent future that is now sealed -- tying the both of you up in an inevitable dance...

On FetLife, there is an "interest" called: "the look that tells you in no uncertain terms that you have crossed the line and earned a spanking."

I think that sums it up rather nicely... :D

Of course, hopefully it's not really a real line -- it's a playful line that still exists within the realm of good-natured fun, or it's an imaginary line facilitated by a role-play situation.

But in either case, it is a line that, once crossed, requires addressing. And that is where "the look" comes in...

Often, the "look" can be accompanied by other telling bodily clues, such as crossed arms, hands on hips, head tilted slightly to the side, a beckoning finger...

Heck, they may even be leaning on the straight-backed wooden chair which is shortly about to be put to use for your benefit! :D:D

As a bottom, what is it about "the Look" that gets you? Do you even enjoy it? -- Perhaps it is not your thing! What feelings does it awaken in you?

As a top, what kind of Look works best for you? What are you trying to convey in such a look? And if you reply, "You already know the answer to that question..." you may be right, but I still want to hear you say it! :D

Be Careful What You Order...

I love having kinky dreams.

If it were up to me, I would dream kinkily every night! Unfortunately, however, my subconscious usually feels otherwise...

Except a few nights ago, when something in my subconscious was telling me that I, desperately, needed a spanking.

I don't brat, dear readers. :) Those of you who know me, either through reading here, or in person, can attest, I am sure, to my purely angelic nature :D But somehow, something let loose inside me that night when my guard was least vigilant, and I got what I'd been hoping for: a kinky dream. Only, perhaps not quite what I originally had in mind...!

Sometime after our botched dream-land hiking trip (as described in this post about the first half of this dream), my bratty friends and I went out to dinner together -- a much more familiar experience for all three of us and our multimillion-dollar ($dream$) backgrounds.

Dream-me knew there would be trouble as soon as we arrived at the over-packed restaurant.

'Ugh, all these people,' I thought to myself in the dream. 'Can't we go somewhere more private...?'

But, grudgingly, I communicated none of this to my friends. Instead, I let the sneer on my face do all the talking about how dissatisfied I was with the lack of exclusivity in our restaurant choice.

When we entered, the host --
an obsequious gentleman, dressed to the nines -- spotted us through the crowd, and immediately disengaged from whichever customer he was dealing with at that moment, in order to approach us: a trio of frequenters he knew, and dreaded, quite well.

"Young Lady, wipe that sour look off your face this instant." --unfortunately, was not what the poor man decided to say.

Instead, he greeted us heartily and we were promptly shown past the long line of all the other waiting guests and straight into the restaurant. My friends and I didn't have to wait, apparently -- and dream-me felt slightly more satisfied that at least this hadn't changed about one of our favorite dining establishments...

As we were led through the restaurant, I kept my hawk-eyes peeled for the perfect place to sit, peering around as if I owned the place. Almost instantly my eyes fell upon a lovely little table, tucked away in a corner near a window. Of course, it was occupied -- but that didn't matter to me: I pointed out the table to our host and fully expected his cooperation in seating us there.

He looked uncomfortable for a moment, and just barely managed to keep the "here-we-go-again" look from showing on his face.


To my disdain, and my friends' shock, he apologized profusely about not being able to move those people in order to seat us at that particular table, and tried to distract our attention by spouting on and on about what a beautiful table he already had waiting for us and how much he knew we would love it...

"Excah-use, me?" I thought, as we reluctantly set off again after our host, "Do you realize, waiter, that I could buy this restaurant and have you fired tomorrow?"



It seems, however, that my dream-self knew how to keep her brattiest thoughts to herself.


Otherwise one of the surrounding customers, a diligently old-fashioned gentleman, perhaps, may have felt compelled to step in and provide all four of us with some much-needed disciplinary instruction...


So disgruntled was I with this series of disappointments, that when we reached the very back of the restaurant, where a specially private little alcove existed just for us (literally, around a corner at the back of this dream-restaurant was a tiny little room all by itself), I was not happy.

It didn't matter that our seats were golden, and upholstered with crimson velvet (and armless). The lush carpeting and ornate oak table, complete with decadent chandelier hanging over us, did nothing to soften my mounting temper.



When a trembling waiter came to take our drink orders, I expressed my dissatisfaction with a stoic silent treatment, expecting my friends to follow suit.


Obviously, a swift, sound spanking would have helped to loosen my tongue -- but alas, this logical procedure was far from our gentle waiter's mind.

Unfortunately for her, one of my girlfriends had been unduly swept-up by the apparent luxury of our special seating arrangements, and as such had failed to notice my mood. She cheerfully ordered an orange juice, and then turned stark-white as the waiter walked away and she glimpsed the enraged look on my face.


And when my friend's drink finally came to our table, she stared uncertainly at it, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, not wishing to incense me any further by making any attempts at consuming the offending order.


The waiter, specially assigned to wait on only our table, could obviously sense the tension rippling through this tiny little space, and stood rather awkwardly nearby, caught between wanting to get away and his duty to take our dinner orders.

And now, dear readers, we reach the height of my dream-land brattishness. I am sure my face while I slept must have reflected the shock with which I witnessed my own audacity during this next scene in my dream...!


In all my silent rage, I reached slowly out across the table, cupped my manicured hand around the glass of orange juice, and, inch by inch, swept it calmly to the side of the table.


I pushed the entire glass right off the edge of the table, dear readers, and sent it crashing to the expensively carpeted floor. The juice spilt everywhere.


Almost as soon as the liquid made contact with the carpet, even my dream-self felt slightly bad about behaving that way. But I covered up my disappointment in myself by projecting it onto the waiter, at whom I simply glared and raised my eyebrows in defiant challenge.

Dear readers, let me show you exactly what should have happened as a result of this outrageous behavior:



Now that, ladies and gentlewaiters, would have been exactly what I'd ordered, both when I decided to push that glass clean off the table, and when I went to sleep that night, wishing for a kinky dream... :D

I Need a Spanking

In my dream last night, I was a class-A, thoroughbred, absolute brat!

Those who know me will be just as shocked as I was, while having the dream, about my dream-time behavior. This is so not like me! I have no idea where this prudish, insolent dream-me came from!

Clearly, I am in desperate need of a spanking,
and my subconscious knows it.

First, I and two of my friends (who were equally rude, though I was clearly the leader of our brat-pack) were on a hiking trip in the mountains somewhere.



Why we were hiking, and not lounging in some grand villa somewhere in the tropics sipping champagne, or off getting our hair and nails done, eludes me...

...In the dream all three of us were rich enough to never work a day in our lives and still live plentifully on millions.

And we knew it.


True to my role as silly spoiled rich girl stuck in the mountains, I was whining and complaining loudly through the entire excursion, with my friends behind me the whole way to support my needs. I demanded frequent stops and breaks even though we were hiking with a group of at least ten others whom we did not know, along with a single (quickly wearing) guide. Consistently, I made perfectly clear to everyone what a miserable time I was having.

Apparently, I needed to be spanked.

Whenever our guide refused to stop the whole group, I got my way by pretending to faint, and threatening to sue him for over-exhaustion, dehydration, negligence to our health and safety, and downright rudeness.

Clearly, my attitude needed adjusting.

You can imagine, dear readers, how relieved our guide must have been when, not half an hour into our hike, I finally demanded to go back. I was done, done, done with all this g**d*** exercise, this ridiculous, horrid-smelling vegetation, these terribly unforgiving rocks, and all this disgusting dirt. (In reality, I love hiking and being outdoors!)

(Above: Model - Autumn Lynn)

Until he realized that he couldn't let me or my friends go anywhere on this mountain, even back down, alone. Images of the lawsuits that would follow must have gone swimming frighteningly through the poor man's brain.

But when he gritted his teeth and told me that my friends and I couldn't go back down alone and that he was not about to turn the whole group around just for us, this new bratty dream-me exploded, and, like loyal proximity bombs, my friends quickly followed suit.

It would seem, dear readers, that I, really,
need a spanking.

Ten bewildered hikers stood staring in shock at these three brat-tastic rich girls throwing a fit on the side of a mountain. Even our guide seemed dumb-struck, at a loss for what to do next.



One brave, kind soul -- a more experienced hiker in the group -- volunteered, for the sake of everyone else, to guide us back down.

My dream-self muttered spitefully, "About time!" in thanks, and proceeded to huff off in the wake of this annoyingly patient, amused young hiker, pursued in the same manner by my friends.

Knowing it was so sorely needed, the responsible young man should have stopped and thoroughly spanked all three of us right there on the mountain, the moment we were out of eye-sight, though not ear-shot, of the rest of the group!

But alas, last night's dream seems to have been all about reasons, and no rhyme, dear readers.

And what happened next? The second-half of my dream-land adventure into brat-dom is enough to fill another post on its own! Thus, it shall have to wait until next time... : ) But meanwhile, dear readers, just remember...

There are some who say that dreams are based, at least somewhat, in reality. I know, for dead sure, that I am not this class of brat (at least not yet...).

So, that leaves us with only very few options for the kernels of reality in this dream... one of which being, as I'm sure you'll agree, the cold, hard fact that, regardless of my dream-land or real-life behavior...

I need a spanking.

Doomed by the Bell

My dream last night began with the distinctively crisp, clean, cool smell of early morning, autumn air, and the ominous chiming of a school bell. It might have been the bell in the school's chapel, or the one hanging in the school's clock-tower, but it was, in fact, a real, swinging, reverberating, larger-than-life bell, ringing darkly through the entire historical school.

All of the girls residing in this boarding school, including myself, knew to gather in the open courtyard upon the first bell's chime, and to be waiting in silent, still, geometric rows by the time the second bell sounded three minutes later.

For whatever reason, the visual scheme of this dream carried an oddly darkened hue, and consisted only of neutral colors: each girl wore a black blazer with black shoes, a deeply dark brown skirt and matching tie, with a white shirt and knee-socks. The stone walls and flagged floor of the courtyard were all a glistening gray, still betraying vestiges of morning dew in the dim, yet clear, sunlight.

(Artwork by Otto R. Eggers)

Each foot step upon the stony courtyard floor resounded almost as loudly and ominously as the bell had done, as the school's black-clad Headmaster, Housemasters, and Lesson Masters came striding out into the morning air before the rows of waiting pupils.

I didn't know for sure why all of us were assembled there in the dream, but it felt like a morning ritual of some kind... one having to do with a preliminary inspection before the first meal of the day. I was acutely aware, however, of the fact that I stood in the very first row, and that my unusually late start that morning had left me standing helplessly at the second bell with my tie not fully done-up to its expected standard, and my shoes as yet unbuckled.

Unable to move a muscle amongst the sea of stiffly silent, pale-faced girls, I could only swallow hard and pray that the Headmaster didn't notice either slip in my normally pristine uniform...

Of course, as the sound of his shining black shoes on the old stone floor grew steadily louder, closing in toward me with each approaching step down the first line of girls, my heart began to race, and the dream began to fade...

Spanking Therapy

I had another kinky dream!

In the dream, my mother was seeing a therapist -- this is not entirely unusual: through most of my life she has gone to talk to some shrink or other about once a month, just to take a load off of a stressful overwhelming life. Quite effective, really :D

But this time, said therapist was apparently making use of a new, and unorthodox, stress-relieving technique... :D

My dream-mom was a bit different than my real-life mom, a little more girly and buddy-buddy... almost
like a peer rather than a parent
(perhaps that reflects my changing relationship with her as I transition into adulthood?)... So when we
were discussing the news of our lives over chocolate milk-shakes in the dream, it seemed natural when she enthusiastically recommended to me her new therapist and his intriguing methods.
(Picture courtesy of Vanda)

She wouldn't tell me any details, but she gave me that knowing little meaningful wink and raised her shoulder, letting me know that I "really should try him," that he was "amazing"...

My interest piqued, I decided it would be worth checking out. I got the feeling in the dream that this was at a later period in my life, when a monthly visit to a therapist might be a good idea just to talk things out and get away from the humdrum of adult life. Little did I realize just how far away from humdrum I would be getting!

When I arrived at the therapist's office, interested in setting up an appointment, I was greeted by a lovely young vibrant girl who seemed delighted to see me. She informed me that since I was a first-timer, I would need to undergo a short interview with her before I would be able to make an appointment.

"Like an application?"

"Yes, quite." And she smiled a wide, genuine, happy smile, beckoning me into a separate room off the main foyer.

We sat together in there for about 15 minutes of dream-time, her in a smart skirt-suit and heels, holding a clipboard and notepad on her lap, me in a dress and still wearing my coat, clutching my purse.

I don't remember any of the questions she asked me, but she had that same knowing little glint in her eye as we talked, and soon she told me that I'd passed with flying colors -- that I'd be allowed to schedule my first appointment today! Apparently, although I don't remember any of the questions striking me as shocking or extraordinary or anything other than innocuous, she had determined that I was a perfect fit for the kind of therapy that this particular clinic offered.

The dream started to drift off there, but I had a kind of 'flash-forward' of the future before the dream completely ended, with me over the therapist's knee, dress flipped up and panties around my knees, gripping his thigh as he talked and spanked my stress away... :D

Now I just have to get over the fact that the recommendation came from the persona that was supposed to be representing my mother...! :D

Midterms and Mishaps

Apologies for the long pause in entries! As a university student, I am prone to fall into bouts of examination, during which the rest of my life routinely goes on hold, until the fever dies and the exams pass (or, rather, I pass the exams! :D)

Meanwhile, along with the stress of studying and sleep-depriving come some very interesting dreams... :D

I have two for you from this time! In hopes of making up for the time lapse...

First, earlier last week, around Tuesday or Wednesday night, I ventured very briefly into the elusive land of kinky dreams, armed with my exam-anxiety... I dreamt that I was taking a test -- one of those mostly multiple choice/some short answer/one or two essays tests... (not that I have those anymore... at this stage I'm either writing extensive papers or giving 30-minute in-class presentations instead...)... For some odd reason, I couldn't concentrate on the test -- perhaps it was because I was so very acutely aware of the consequences of wrong answers...

Every point off, our professor had explained, would be dealt with after-the-fact by means of cane strokes. *blush* You can imagine my distress...

I even knew the counting system: the multiple choice questions, worth less than the short answer and essay, would only merit one stroke per wrong answer. For every point off on the short answer, however, it was another two strokes, and for the essay/s, three. That's three strokes of the cane for every single missing point on the essays!!

Desperately, I sat there staring at the exam paper, stuck somewhere in the middle of the multiple choice questions, already starting to feel the heat build...

Thus ended that lovely dream (I told you it was brief!)... and promptly the next morning off I went to tackle the first of my midterms!

Later (earlier this week), as exams were winding down, I was graced with another intriguing nightly journey, this time to "The Land of Mishaps"...

Terribly odd, I know.

I felt like I was in that book... *thinks very deeply for a moment to fish around for the title* ...the crossroad to..?, the bus stop..., the station of... Ah! The Phantom Tollbooth. A very interesting book -- I'd recommend it -- a quick read, full of lovely metaphors for life lessons and whatnot... Anyway, "The Land of Mishaps" felt very much like the world of The Phantom Tollbooth, with rather bizarre concepts and plays-on-words floating around everywhere, and colored (as is the book) with a kind of British-y tint :D

(I swear, my kink will probably always harbor a connection with British concepts and ideas, I think because my first exposure to kink was through Roald Dahl's children's (and other) books, and my first fantasies thus followed the pattern of old English school children, etc...)

"The Land of Mishaps" was quite full of all these lovely, quirky people, who had come to accept and even to relish the fact that their daily lives were to be ridden with mishaps and mistakes and misunderstandings and misdirections and mis-speaks and mis-thrown objects and misfires and missing items... Things went wrong everywhere all the time and all of Mishaps's inhabitants simply thought of it as everyday life...

I don't know by what means I'd come to find myself there, or what I was supposed to be doing there, but I do know that in the dream, I wasn't a regular resident of Mishaps. I was still very much of the mind that I should avoid mishaps when possible, and thus stuck out like a purple-polka-dotted hippopotamus trying to fit into a puddle.

People stared at me when I didn't trip and fall on my face when I stepped up or down from a roadside curb, or when the door didn't swing back and hit me on the way out of a building (as if I could control the *door's* decisions!) :P

Ladies in the coffee-shop would mutter behind their hands and point at me when I finished a drink without spilling a single drop on myself... Strapping young lads would turn away as if uninterested when I pronounced a difficult word correctly or could always find my keys in my purse when I got to my unchipped, undented, pristine little car.

The discomfort of such social estrangement got to the point (days in dreamland, probably something like minutes in real-time) where I started seriously considering making mistakes on purpose, just to fit in. Small ones, you know, not like misplacing my car or mistaking someone's intentions, but perhaps I could mearn to lis-speak every thow and nen, or "mis-step" and stumble into some handsome man's arms...

But it wasn't until a few days (minutes) later, while sitting in a coffee shop, presumably reading or writing or studying or somesuch, that I happened to overhear a conversation which convinced me, once and for all, that I had to learn to pretend-mishap.

A young woman, perhaps a few years older than me but not many, was sitting across the way at a table with an older, smart-looking gentleman (in a grey suit-jacket and hat), whom I assumed, from their conversation, to be a romantic partner of hers. Perhaps, as I suspected in the dream, her husband.

The couple were quirky and lovely to begin with, stumbling over each other on their way into the cafe and then misdirecting each other to sit in the seat that each was in fact intending as their own... Once they were finally settled and had already mis-ordered twice before correcting themselves, the gentleman flipped out (on the second try) a tiny little black notebook, fitted an over-large monocle to one eye, and began to address the woman (probably his wife).

"Now, Dear, I believe that's" (and scribbling down in his notebook as he continues) "one stumble on the way in, one attempt at the wrong tide of the sable, and *two* mistakes in ordering! Add that to--" At this point his monocle popped out and it took him two tries to get it back in the right way, meanwhile his wife was turning redder by the second and fidgeting in her seat. "--Add that to shutting your cress in the dar door, excuse me, your *dress* in the *dar* coor, oh, hang-it-all, you know what I mean -- along with mis-matching your shoes, and mistaking the mailman for the milkman, or, that is, the milkman for the mailman..., and we've got..." he moved his pen down his notebook along what seemed to be the meticulous list he'd been referencing, counting under his breath as he went... "Six mishaps you've got to pay for so far!" The astonishment and gleefulness in his voice seemed misplaced next to his wife's wide eyes and wringing hands.

Quietly, letting her eyes roam down his list and then fix back upon his smiling face, she said, "Oh, you've mis-calculated, Dearest, it's seven."

"Seven! You are rite quight! Er, quite, quite right, rather... Now, how should you like to receive your comeuppance? By --" she seemed to become suddenly aware of the publicity of their surroundings, and made a move to try to quiet him, but instead managed only to knock his pen off the table, which could not make enough noise to cover the rest of his question, "-- the tawse, strap, or cane?"

Burying her face in his shoulder, she only groaned softly as he realized his mistake, and chuckled, comforting her. "Oh don't worry my sweet, it's only this young lady nearby who can hear us, and you know how she is -- can't get a mistake out of her! Can we, Mister? Excuse me, I mean, Miss?"

To my amazement, as I was still rather in delightful shock, the grey-hatted gentleman was appealing to me, and I could only stare hungrily with my mouth slightly agape and shake my head weakly...

"See there? She won't tell a soul -- have a heart darling -- come, let's get home and take bare of cusiness. Er..." Patting her shoulder and guiding her up and toward the door, he smiled and winked at me as they passed.

Just before waking up, I remember conceiving of a solid dream-resolution to begin making as many mistakes as I could, and to enter into more relations with that intriguing couple... :P

Great to be back! Hope everyone has had a marvelous two weeks :D

Dreaming Kinkily...

Last night I ventured back to kinky dreamland (which happens oh so rarely for me!), and found myself... in class. :D

It was a very complicated class, though... Located inside one of the classroom buildings of the college in my hometown (to which I never went as a college student, but did dual-enroll as a high school student), and yet taught by the (young and vibrant yet satisfactorily mature :D) band director at another university nearby. I know it was him, because I was in an honor band with some friends at his university during my last year of high school.

As far as I know, he has never been to my hometown, and so would never be teaching a class there. But this is dreamland... :D

I was younger in the dream -- still in high school, and yet taking the college class (hearkening perhaps to my experience with dual-enrollment). There were maybe ten other students in attendance. I was sitting near the front (uppity over-confident high school student that I was...). For some reason, I can't remember whether it had to do with not understanding a homework assignment, or not getting something in class, the professor (or, rather, band director acting as dream-professor), became annoyed with me, and sent me down the hall to go make copies of some paper hand-out.

Slightly bewildered, I did as he asked and ventured out of the classroom, down the hall, and into the copy room.

Something in the back of my mind told me that I wasn't supposed to be there, as a student, but I went in anyway, thinking that since he'd sent me I wouldn't get in any trouble... : )

Once I started working the copy machine, however, I became aware of the fact that the professor who'd just sent me to make the copies had entered the room behind me -- the atmosphere around me in the dream changed, and I had this overwhelming sense of a kind of delicious foreboding... :D He closed the door, smiling, saying something to the effect of, "You know you're not supposed to be in here..."

Rather than think it unfair, I remember my dream-self just kind of going 'okay!' Unfortunately, the dream didn't go into any details, and instead skipped right to however much later, from a view outside the copy room. He opened the door out into the hallway, and held it for me to exit first, red-faced and, from what the dream told me, slightly sore. I knew that some kind of corporal punishment had taken place, I just knew it! But I couldn't know what exactly, since dream-land had decided to leave that part out...

We then proceeded to return to class as if nothing had happened, but I remember having this feeling welling up inside me -- rather hard to describe... kind of like a bizarre mixture of disbelief, slight frustration, release, curiosity, fascination, guilt, happiness...

As you can imagine, I woke up rather confused, but intrigued and, well, smiling at the same time :D

My Sister's Keeper

In my dream last night I was a stellar, older student at a highly accredited institution, rather like a boarding school, although exactly the type of school and its exact location weren't entirely clear. What was perfectly clear, however, was the fact that corporal punishment could be administered to any student, for any reason deemed serious enough by the powers that be.

This year was a special year at school for me. My little sister was beginning as a student at the same school. And I, as an upper-level student -- perhaps in a position of student-authority, like a prefect or a member of the student government, depending on the geographical placement of the school -- I felt specifically responsible for her well-being as a new student, as a promising young lady, and as my precious baby sister.

So, naturally, when she got in trouble for something at school, something serious... I was faced with a dilemma. The responsible, honest, practical side of me knew that the only way she would ever learn would be to accept the consequences for her actions. But the sisterly side of me, the side that had grown up with her, had gone on adventures with her, had made up fantastical stories and stayed up late at night giggling with her... couldn't let her take the fall.

She'd come to me, one evening before lights out, bawling, terrified, repentant, sincerely regretting her actions. I don't even know what she'd done -- the dream did not grant me that information -- I just knew that it was something serious, and involving a group of girls in her year, like graffiti or vandalism of some kind, and that she hadn't been able to fix it afterwards. In the morning, the damage would be noticed, and, she was sure of it, those found to be responsible for it severely punished. She didn't know what to do... I held her, her tears dampening the arms of my school blouse.

I could tell she was sorry. I was fully of the opinion that she did not need corporal punishment to repent her actions, to make her never want to stray again... Not to mention that I myself had been in for similar consequences once or twice during my school career, and I wished none of that harrowing experience on my baby sister.

Despite my long-standing reputation of judicious honesty and integrity, I told her that, when the morning came, I would tell them that I'd done it. I would take the fall. I could handle it, I told her, when she protested, much better than she could. And it would be worth it to me, if she would promise never, ever to get in trouble like that again. She nodded vigorously, tears still pouring, throwing her arms around me, "Oh thank you...!"

Unfortunately, the dream ended there, with the realization bearing down on me that I would be in the principal's/headmaster's office, the next day, receiving a painful punishment that was not my own.

Darn I hate it when lovely dreams are interrupted! :D