Sunday afternoon....

Sunday afternoon, and you’re not due till tonight. So much I should be doing but I can’t get certain thoughts out of my head. I’ll just lie on the couch for few minutes and let them filter trough. Might as well get comfortable. That’s it, slip my things off, maybe just leave on my stockings. You like me in stockings I know and you’d love to see me like this.

I’m not going to masturbate. Honestly I masturbated when I first woke up this morning, thinking that you would be with me tonight and how things always are always is with us. No, but I’ll just trail my fingers there, enjoy the feel of them against my pinkness. I did a lot of this when I was at school, touching myself. I wonder what would have happened if I had been caught, I can imagine it. Called to the headmaster's private room, just wearing the little short vest I had on when I was caught, my head bowed as I confessed. And the punishment. Bent over the desk with nothing on below the waist as he canes my bare bottom. “You’re a wicked naughty girl, Emily. If I ever catch you again……..” Oh God! Why does this get me so excited, the thought of being punished? I’ve got the think of something else.

I know, I’m more grown up now, staying with a wicked uncle who disapproves of the way I dress and behave and of course that I have boyfriends. “Do you let them touch you he demands, and I have to admit that I do. “I love it, Uncle.” I say. “I love it when boys touch my breasts and my naughty bits!” And in a moment I’m over his knee with my knickers down while he spanks and spanks me with a hairbrush and it’s really painful but it only makes me even more determined to do it even more. And then. What then? I know. Time’s moved on and backwards at the same time, there’s a war and it’s, what, say about nineteen sixteen. I’m a spy, a femme fatale. That’s it. I spend my time in slinky underwear beguiling the foreign officers to reveal their secrets. But then one of them suspects me and throws me over is knee. “I’ll spank the truth out of you!” He says, but he’s far too fond of me to really hurt and I don’t say anything. But then his colleague who’s much more savage takes over and in moment I’m stripped to my stockings and I’m really being spanked. His horny hand is raining down on my bare bottom, spanking me harder than I’ve ever been and …… No! No! I mustn’t come! I really mustn’t. I’m not actually masturbating. Just enjoying a few thoughts. That’s all. The femme fatale idea is a nice idea, it was good thinking about that. I know! I’m a young novice in a French brothel, learning how to please men, learning all the little tricks to drive them wild. I’m good at it, but not good enough and often the Madame takes me over her knee to spank the lessons in to me, or takes a cane to my bottom, but as I like it so much when she punishes me, I deliberately get things wrong just so she does. Oh dear! What’s wrong with me? I just love thinking about being spanked. Almost as much as I enjoy actually being spanked. I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to let you catch me. Just like this. I seem to be on the bed now , completely naked, and what’s the point denying it, I am masturbating so you can see for yourself what I get up to when I’m alone. Then you can spank me the way you love to, telling me what a wicked little girl I am, which is the truth, and then I’ll promise to be a good girl again, the way I always do, and then…….Well then we can make up and it will all be wonderful. God is that the time? You’ll be here any moment!