January 7 2004

I'm back! Happy New Year! Miss me?

I've made some renovations. The Poems page is now the Stories page, which will be the index page for whatever stories and poems I might write (I changed it from "Poems" to "Stories" because I'll probably end up posting more stories than poems). Last month's epic bondage memoir is now archived in the Stories section as "My First Time Tied Up," with all the recaps, "Tune in Next Times," and non-story bloggy bits edited out to make it one smooth narrative. Of course, if you like it broken up into chapters with cliffhanger endings, it's also archived in its original form in the December 2003 page of the Blog Archive.

I don't know yet whether I'll do future stories in serial form as blog entries the way I did this one, or if I'll just write them as whole stories and stick them straight into the Stories section. Once I'd posted the first installment, I felt like I shouldn't interrupt myself with any other long anecdotes, which meant that I didn't end up writing up any dreams last month, or talking about the responses to my November personals ad. Plus, I felt this terrible pressure to do the whole story in one month, because I had this whole neurotic control freak thing come up where I didn't want anyone coming in in the middle by mistake. On the other hand, everyone who wrote in with feedback said that they were really enjoying the cliffhangers.

But I'll definitely be writing more stories eventually. If I stick with this blogging business long enough, you'll get all the highlights of my sexual history, in chronological order. Strangely, I'm not really inspired to write out my current sexual adventures as really detailed stories. It seems like the further in the past an experience happened, the more I enjoy reliving the details.

I spent Christmas with the family, in dear old suburban Pennsylvania, which I loathe. I mean I loathe suburban Pennsylvania, not my family. The only fun things about growing up in my hometown were the SEPTA train into Philadelphia (the Septic Train, we used to call it), and having friends who tied me up (which wasn't part of most people's experience of growing up in my hometown).

I didn't make it into the city at all, this time (I had an email exchange with Yoko where I noted how weird it was to suddenly have "the city" go back to meaning Philly, like it did when I was a teenager, now that I'm so accustomed to "the city" meaning San Francisco). I did get to chaperone a rowdy gang of young relatives going to see Return of the King. And I heard that my old friend Michelle, the one in the story, is living in New York and has two kids.

Hearing my mom talk about Michelle, when I'd just spent a month writing about her, reminded me of an aspect of my friendship with her that I hadn't thought about in years, which isn't really relevant to any of my tales of teen bondage, but which might be interesting to those of you who didn't grow up in Catholic neighborhoods (or which might be familiar, to those of you who did).

I went to Catholic schools through my freshman year of high school, and then, at my insistence, to my local public high school. The same was true of Mary. Mary and I had known each other in our Catholic school, but we didn’t become friends until high school, where we sought each other out because we’d both come from the same place and were both suffering from the same culture shock (you girls remember what a big deal it was in high school to wear the right clothes? imagine dealing with that, sophomore year of high school, after ten years of going to schools where everyone wore identical uniforms every day). Lisa was also a Catholic school veteran, but had made the switch freshman year.

The upshot of all this is that Michelle was my first-ever Protestant friend. Back in Catholic school, I’d learned that Protestants believed in salvation through doing good works, instead of salvation through Grace. This made the Protestants very hard workers, which had made many of them rich, and given them a lot of political power. Of course, it was okay that the Protestants were often richer than us, and that there had only ever been one Catholic President, because there was also a downside to the Protestant Work Ethic, which is that it was wrong, which meant that all the Protestants were going to Hell. Also, Protestants were terribly unhappy people, despite all their wealth, because the Protestants didn’t understand the sanctity of the family, so they were always getting divorced. It was a terrible tragedy, all those poor little Protestant children growing up in broken homes.

By the time I was in high school, of course, I’d become pretty skeptical about Catholicism. So it actually really shook me up when I made my first Protestant friend, and it turned out that her parents were, in fact, wealthy and divorced. I had a couple of days there of seriously worrying that maybe the nuns had been right about all the other stuff, too.

 

January 10 2004

The more I mention having been a Catholic schoolgirl, the more my referrer logs fill up with search terms like “catholic high school girls tied up and spanked,” and “true bondage experiences catholic school girls.” Apparently, there are a whole lot of people out there (guys? girls? probably both...) with Catholic schoolgirl fetishes. I tried running some of those search terms through Google myself, and, my God, there are thousands of sites about Catholic schoolgirls in bondage. Jeepers.

By mentioning this, I’m becoming a victim of what Nickykaa calls “Pederast Clown Syndrome” (a name I’d love to see catch on). See this hilarious journal entry of his for the origin of the term. Pederast Clown Syndrome works something like this:

That’s what’s going to happen to me, if I keep using the phrase “Catholic schoolgirls in bondage” while writing this entry about all the people who are coming to my site trying to find pictures of Catholic schoolgirls in bondage (and now, to make matters worse, my explanation of Pederast Clown Syndrome is going to start attracting all those pederast clowns who’ve been plaguing Nickykaa).

Okay, all you Catholic schoolgirl fetishists... since I've got your attention, I have three things to say to you:

1.) Yes, Catholic schoolgirls are very cute in their little uniforms, and if you dream of tying their hands with their cute little knee-socks, putting them over your knee, and lifting their cute little plaid skirts, believe me, I’m right there with ya... as long as they’re just dreams. Being a Catholic schoolgirl sucks enough already, the last thing they need is to be molested by some big old pervert. Leave them alone! Just dream about them and play with yourself. That’s what all those websites are for.

2.) If you came here looking for Catholic schoolgirls in bondage, I’m sorry, but there aren’t any here, and there won’t be. I was a Catholic schoolgirl once, and this site has plenty of stories about my bondage experiences, but since the earliest of those experiences happened after I transfered to a public high school, I never, not once, got tied up while wearing one of those cute little uniforms. Sorry to disappoint you.

3.) Those fucking plaid skirts itch like hell.

 

January 13 2004

You know how I said that it would probably be a while before I got around to writing out more of my early bondage experiences?

Well, that was before I knew that I was going to get really sick. Knocked flat on my back by this damn bug that’s going around. Probably the same thing that Nickykaa and Geminica both have (or had... I sure hope they’re both better by now). Can you catch viruses from people by reading their blogs?

Anyway, here I am holed up at home, coughing my lungs out, drinking wine because that’s what makes me feel better when I’m sick. Chicken soup for some people, wine for me. Being sick makes me horny, God knows why, and so does wine. Since I’m stuck here all alone, there’s not much outlet for my horniness except to sit here and write the first installment of my latest memoir of teenage bondage, creatively titled “My Second Time Tied Up.” I think this one will turn out shorter, so, if I stay sick, you’ll probably have the whole thing in the next few days.

For those who came in late, this story is the sequel to last month’s memoir, titled, unsurprisingly, “My First Time Tied Up.” The first story introduces the characters and setting for this series of memoirs, so if you haven’t read it yet, I recommend you go read it right now, before you start on this one.

Okay, here goes...

Two weeks after the fateful sleepover where Mary, Lisa, and Michelle tied me up for the first time, Michelle’s mother went out of town again, and we had another Friday night sleepover. Whenever no one was around but the four of us, the three of them had, of course, taken every opportunity to continue to tease me about my humiliation at their hands. But none of them mentioned it while we were planning the upcoming sleepover, which was a relief to me (though it probably should have made me suspicious).

We had a fun evening at Michelle’s house, doing the same things we almost always did on those sleepovers: helping each other with homework, goofing around, ordering pizza, watching a movie. I was relieved that things were back to normal, and that no one was making any mention at all of what had happened last time.

Finally, we picked up our bags and went upstairs to Michelle’s bedroom. Actually seeing the bed again, with the vertical brass bars of its frame, sent a sudden wave of trepidation and arousal through me that made me gulp.

We began changing into our pajamas. I don’t know how other girls did it at their teenage slumber parties, but for us, changing into pajamas was an exact science. Like most girls our age (I don’t know what it was like for you boys), we were kind of shy about our bodies. A majority of the girls at our school, especially those who were into athletics, managed to get over it enough to get used to showering naked in the locker room after gym class. I never did, personally. I was one of the shyer ones. Fortunately, I was also lazy, and never really worked up a sweat in gym class anyway. I remember that Lisa and Michelle never seemed to have a problem with locker room nudity, though. Of course, there’s courage in numbers. Something about the intimate setting of a slumber party, when it was just the four of us, brought out everyone’s modesty (though, as I’d discovered last time, their own modesty somehow didn’t inspire them to be respectful of my modesty).

The upshot of all this is that, without any of us ever speaking a word about it aloud, the four of us had, through some sort of intuitive telepathic agreement or something, developed a highly efficient and modest system of changing, which all of us followed to a T (the first couple of times, I remember, we were sort of awkward about it, watching each other surreptitiously for cues, but after that we had it down).

The routine went like this: sit on edge of bed, pull shirt of over head, put on pajama top and button it, remove jeans (but not panties), quickly pull on pajama pants, lean forward and slide off bed into crouched-forward standing position to pull pajama pants all the way up, sit back down on bed, remove bra under pajama top and slide it out of sleeve.

I’d finished putting my pajama top on and had just slid my jeans down to my knees when suddenly Lisa yelled, “Now!” and jumped on me, followed almost instantly by Mary and Michelle. They’d been planning it all along! They must have worked it all out in detail before the sleepover, and they had the timing figured out perfectly. Our rapid changing routine was the one time, in the bedroom, that they could count on me being off-guard and not likely to be looking at any of them. They’d changed their tops along with me, and then they’d just slowed down so that I had my jeans unzipped and down to my knees before they’d started on theirs.

I screamed and cursed and thrashed and bit, but I didn’t stand a chance. Not only was I once again outnumbered three to one, and not only were they all bigger and stronger than me, this time I was taken completely by surprise, with my legs entangled by my jeans. Literally caught with my pants down!

This time, they tied me face up. They were much more quick and efficient about it this time around. They used long socks again, but this time they had them waiting, hidden under a corner of the bed. Mary and Michelle held my arms, while once again Lisa expertly tied my wrists to the outermost bars of the headboard. Then, while Mary and Michelle held my legs, Lisa simply pulled my jeans the rest of the way off, and tied my ankles to the corner posts at the foot of the bed, stretching me out very tightly in the classic spreadeagled position.

What cruel fate is in store for our heroine? Find out next time!

 

January 14 2004

I’m still sick. Spent the day watching videos while bombed on wine and cough syrup, which was actually pretty fun. I’m taking this opportunity to try to watch all 26 episodes of Cowboy Bebop, a Japanese animated science fiction show that Nickykaa recommended in his journal a few months ago. It could just be the wine and cough syrup, but I’m really into it so far. It’s got really good characters, a dreamlike feel, and even the occasional bit of bondage.

Speaking of which, I wasn’t too bombed to do a little writing. So here it is, the second installment of this month’s exciting bondage memoir...

My captors stood around the foot of the bed, smiling down at me with evil satisfaction, as I tugged furiously against my bonds. I looked at my bound wrists, first one and then the other, as I tried futilely to work myself free. I knew it was hopeless. Even if I somehow managed to get one limb free, They’d just pin it down and retie it even tighter. Mostly, I was trying to keep focusing on my wrists, and on my angry struggles, to keep from having to look up at Mary, Lisa, and Michelle. At last, though, I gave up and just glowered at them. I was trying to focus on my anger, to look as angry as I could, in order to cover up how scared, embarrassed, and vulnerable I felt. I didn’t do a very good job of it, though.

I had felt thoroughly exposed, embarrassed, and vulnerable last time, when I’d been tied face-down and they’d pulled my pajama pants down to uncover my bottom. But my current predicament was far worse. My jeans were gone, and, in my struggle to keep from being tied, my pajama top had ridden up to my lower ribs. Aside from my panties, mercifully still covering my most private bits, I was completely naked below my chest. My panties weren’t especially skimpy or sheer, thank God, but still, with my legs stretched so wide apart, I knew they must be getting quite a view, seeing “everything but,” as it were, and probably even a little bit of pubic hair.

There was nothing I could do to cover myself as they ran their eyes up and down my helpless little body. I could feel myself blushing bright red, and when they looked back up at my face and I saw the amused triumph in thier eyes, I could feel my angry scowl dissolve into a look of panic, as I realized that I was in very deep trouble.

“So,” Michelle said at last, “what are we going to do to her?”

Apparently, when they’d hatched their plot to tie me up again, they hadn’t discussed the specifics of my fate. Apart from general panic, I hadn’t thought about that, either. I’d been fighting, at first, to avoid another spanking, but they couldn’t very well spank me this time, because I was face up. So what were they going to do? I gulped as they looked me over and thought about it.

“Let’s find out if she’s ticklish!” Mary exclaimed.

I panicked. I was ticklish, horribly ticklish all over. “Nooo!” I screamed, pulling desperately against my bonds. But of course, that was just the reaction my cruel captors were hoping for. They laughed delightedly, and went to work on me.

I don’t even know how long their first fiendish assault lasted. All three tickled me at once, on all of the areas where my skin was exposed: my tummy, my legs, and, of course, my incredibly ticklish feet. It seemed to go on forever. They slowed down off and on, just enough to let me catch a few gasps of air, while they giggled and taunted me with little comments like, “Enjoying yourself, Lila?” and “Don’t wet yourself, now” (it’s a good thing I’d peed shortly before we went up to bed, or I would have wet myself). It was sheer torture, and, tightly stretched out as I was, I was completely powerless to protect myself.

By the time one of them finally suggested taking a break, I had laughed until I cried. I must have been a sight! My face was wet with tears, my nose was running, and my breath came in ragged sobs. The muscles in my legs and tummy were trembling.

Mary, Lisa, and Michelle came and sat on the sides of the bed, giggling at my sorry condition and making more teasing comments and noises of mock sympathy. They held my head in place as they brushed my hair out of my face and cleaned me up a little, wiping away the tears and snot with Kleenex. I was too shaky and too humiliated to say anything.

Finally, Lisa said, “Okay, ready for round two?”

What further torments await our hapless heroine?
Stay tuned for the harrowing conclusion!

 

January 15 2004

Sigh. Still sick. More wine, more cough syrup. Finished watching every episode of Cowboy Bebop. I loved it. Faye Valentine rocks! Sad, though. Very sad. The show, that is. Well, Faye, too. They're both very sad, and beautiful.

So now, having napped on and off all day, I’m up past my bedtime even though I’m planning to drag myself back to work tomorrow. What am I doing up past my bedtime? Writing you a bedtime story, of course! After all, I don’t want to leave you in suspense, with the story at such a cliffhanger! Not like Ace, who announced mid-December that he was going to go court the Faerie Queen, and still hasn’t told us what happened! That dashing old charmer probably ended up becoming the Faerie King, and now he’s forgotten all about us (I was going to say he’d forgotten all about us little people, but then I remembered that the subjects of the Faerie King are the Little People).

Anyway, I’m sure you’re all eager to enjoy my further humiliation and suffering, and who am I to deny you that pleasure? So without further ado, here’s the exciting conclusion of “My Second Time Tied Up,” dedicated to my homegirl Yoko...

“No,” I whimpered, “No more, please, please Lisa, please don’t tickle me anymore...”

Of course, as usual, my pleas for mercy just added to their cruel amusement. Lisa kissed me on the forehead and lightly slapped my cheeks a couple of times, while the other two made more sounds of mock sympathy.

They turned their attention away from my face and back toward my helpless body, and I whimpered and braced for the torture. Surely, my predicament couldn’t get any worse. Except that with Lisa, it always could get worse. Before Mary or Michelle could get started tickling me again, Lisa said, “I think I want to go for the armpits this time.” And as she said it, she began unbuttoning my pajama top!

I begged and pleaded with her to stop , but it did no good. As Mary and Michelle giggled, Lisa slowly, teasingly unbuttoned my top, starting with the bottom button and working her way up. when all the buttons were undone, she spread the top wide open, working the sleeves off of my shoulders and as far up my upper arms as my stretched-out position would allow.

Lisa sat back, and the three of them feasted their eyes upon my exposed and helpless body, now naked except for my bra and panties. I closed my eyes, too embarrassed to look back at them. I was trembling in anticipation of the torture I knew was coming... and also, I suddenly realized, from arousal.

“This is going to be so fun,” I heard Michelle giggle. Then I shrieked as Lisa’s fingers danced up both sides of my ribs, and the torture began again.

It went on much longer this time. It seemed like forever. They tickled me all over my nearly nude body, their fingers exploring every inch of exposed skin. They paid special attention to my ribs and armpits this time, and of course once again to my feet. By the time they stopped again, I was drenched with sweat and sobbing my eyes out.

They spend a while cleaning my face up again. I couldn’t stop sobbing and gasping, and my whole body was shaking and trembling uncontrollably. They could plainly see that they’d pushed me to the limit, and their noises of sympathy were genuine this time.

Mary asked me if I was okay, and when I could only make little sobbing and whimpering noises, they decided they’d better untie me. Once they did, I sort of curled up on my side in a whimpering little ball. Mary, Lisa, and Michelle sat around me, laughing gently at me, talking to me like they were comforting a baby.

They stroked my hair, laid comforting hands on my shoulder, and wiped my nose and eyes with Kleenex. It was actually very comforting after my ordeal, and even after what they’d done to me, all I felt was a pitiful sense of gratitude for their gentle solicitude. That, and a desperate horniness. I fell asleep like that, curled up in fetal position in the middle of the bed, with no pants on and my top unbuttoned. They covered me up and let me sleep there, and I slept soundly through the night.

In the morning, the memory of the previous night flooded me with a confusing mixture of emotions. I still felt that odd gratitude, and that maddening and disturbing horniness, and most of all, I felt terribly embarrassed. Somehow, with all those other emotions battling within me, I couldn’t find it in me to be angry or indignant. So I was timid, meek, and quietly agreeable all morning, which was very out of character for me. My friends, in turn, retained some of the tenderness they’d shown me at the end of last night’s ordeal, so much so that they didn’t mention anything about it, and completely refrained from teasing me.

 

January 20 2004

Ace is back! And his new entry is actually a whole month’s worth of entries! I’ve been busy, so I’ve been doing one or two at a time, and it’s like eating a box of assorted chocolates.

Mmm... chocolates...

And guess what, Ace? One of your characters showed up in my dream the other night! Watching all those Cowboy Bebop episodes while I was sick got me on a science fiction kick, and I dreamed that I was in training at an all-girl branch of the Jedi Academy. No after-curfew telekinetic bondage games, alas... my subconscious mind’s not quite as one-track as my conscious mind. Amazing dream, though, much cooler than a lot of the stuff in the movies. The “campus” was on the flat surface of an asteroid that was no more than half a mile in diameter. The artificial atmosphere was kept in by a huge transparent dome. And this Jedi girl that Ace drew was one of my classmates!

Sigh... she’s cute... Now I want to learn how to do lucid dreaming, so I can go back and try to get some of those telekinetic bondage games to happen.

It would probably get me expelled, though. After all, “a Jedi craves not these things.”

Phooey.

 

January 27 2004

For those who haven’t checked recently, there have been some additions to my Links page. All this traffic I’m getting lately, I may as well share the wealth. Yes, this site’s getting a lot of traffic these days. The referrer logs are getting really interesting. They’re a magical window into all the kinky fantasies that are out there, into the exciting, secret world of other people’s fetishes.

Checking my logs is dangerous, because when a search term strikes me as sexy, I have this tendency to go to Google and try it myself, and then I get lost for hours in the infinitely big, fun, and distracting labyrinth of internet erotica.

Of course, with all the sexy phrases that are showing up in my referrer logs, I don’t really need any other porn. I could just masturbate to the logs themselves, they get my imagination so fired up.

Someday I’m going to write an online erotic novel that uses as many of my referrer log’s search terms as possible. I’ll just try to guess, based on each search phrase, what the searcher’s perfect fantasy is, and I’ll work it into the story. Which will attract more searchers with the same fantasy, and then we’ll be back to Pederast Clown Syndrome again...

Here are some of my favorite search terms from this month: