The dream scene

Another spanking dream last night, triggered by an exchange of emails. Most of my online friends tend to prefer the (thought or reality) of being on the receiving end of a spanking; I’ve been chatting recently to a domme who commented here recently.

It’s interesting to share experiences with another implement-wielder, and that’s what triggered the dream: I’d arranged with a domme that we’d play a scene, with Haron as our (willing) victim.

Cut to a study: Haron in school uniform. As her uncle and guardian, I sat in an armchair; she stood, in full school uniform, before the desk as the Headmistress quizzed, lectured, before turning to me. “In the circumstances, I shall be suspending her for one week. And I also believe it would be appropriate to precede her suspension with a caning.”

The regulations insisted that she sought my permission to use corporal punishment on my ward: it was granted without hesitation. My girl was made to fetch the cane from its hook in the corner of the room, to hand it to the Headmistress. To bare herself, removing her skirt and knickers. To bend over the desk. “Eight hard strokes” were announced, and proceeded to stripe their way impeccably across her naked buttocks. Eight strokes, as I watched, plus extra for the ones that made her leap up from the position she’d been instructed to hold.

Punished, tearful, she was sent to stand in the corner, hands on head, weals on display. The Headmistress recorded the details in the Punishment Book, which I counter-signed. She asked me to make sure that the week’s suspension was no vacation: that I used the time to help Haron to understand the dire consequences of further misbehaviour.

And then Haron was told to dress, and made to accompany me to the car. We drove (her still in uniform, us both still in character), until we reached home*. She was sent straight to her bedroom, to change into pyjamas and wait for me. I left her for a little while: to contemplate, before I arrived at her door. There was no need for delay: I unbuckled my belt straight away as I explained my disappointment at the way in which she had let me, and herself, down.

The belt was folded double; she bent over the end of the bed; I steered down her pyjama bottoms. And thrashed her: severely, yet lovingly. I sat on the bed next to her as she curled up under the duvet afterwards: ran my hands through her hair, re-assured, accepted her promises that she would learn from the experience. Then I walked to the door, flicked off the light, and left her alone in the room to cry.

* Amusingly, both the ‘study’ and ‘home’ in the dream were rooms in the hotel I stayed in last week. The ‘drive home’ became a short trip around the block: out of the hotel car park, a mile along the road, around the roundabout and back!