Enemies of old, part II: Crossing the border (M/F story)

Miranda was once again approaching the border to the land of the barbarians. It was the first time in days she could sit comfortably on her horse, and to her own great astonishment, she was hoping to change that. She had thought much in the last few days about the tall, muscular barbarian that had spanked her the last time she'd wandered over the border, and how it felt to be across his strong thighs and feel his firm hand land on her bottom. And now, she wanted to meet him again. With all the dangers that entailed.

She wasn't travelling alone, of course. She'd asked two of the guards, both friends of her, to accompany her to the border; due to bandits, that road could be dangerous for a lone woman. But while they would accompany her to the border, she was crossing the border alone. There were some things she couldn't ask of her friends. Of course, if everything went as she hoped – and feared – it would, she wouldn't want them there anyway.

Enemies of old, part I: A hunting incident (M/F story)

As she looked at the wastes around her, trying to find some familiar feature to navigate by, Miranda finally admitted what she had feared to be true; she was definitely lost. She wanted to call out, hoping that her companions would hear her and come to her aid, but she didn't want to take that chance. She knew they were close to the border, and she wanted to avoid drawing the attention of the savages to the east. She'd heard all the stories, and was quite certain she didn't want to star in one.

Some of her father's soldiers had decided to go for a small hunting trip, spending a few days in the wild. She'd convinced them to let her come along – after all, she was a grown woman, capable of taking care of herself, and thought it would be nice to get away from the city for a day or two. And it had been quite nice, until she'd decided to go for a walk, and had wandered further away from the camp than she'd expected.

She sat down on the ground, burying her face in her hands. She was beginning to feel quite scared. Even more so when she heard someone breathing, and she realized that she was being watched.

She whipped her head around. A few metres away, a young man was sitting on a rock, leaning on a spear. He was wearing a tunic that showed signs of being worn, but was quite clean, and seemed to be expensive – or at least high-quality. This was one of the barbarians of the east, and seemingly a high-ranking one. He was looking at her with curiosity, and while he didn't seem aggressive, his eyes weren't friendly either. When she looked at him, he nodded in a neutral greeting, but his eyes were still studying her.

One story per week (website update)

So far, the content of this blog has been old stories I've written over the years (most of which have never been uploaded anywhere else). After a year of doing this, I'm running out of stories.

 

I've tried to upload three stories per week, but the few remaining stories will take more editing to be ready. After that, I'll upload new stories as they're being written, but I doubt I'll be able to write three stories every week. Therefore, the scheduele of this blog will be one story per week from now on.

Dreams of the past (M/F story)

Nate thumbed through the book again, looking for a particular picture.

'Found it'. He smiled to himself. The picture was of an old-fashioned gentleman, late nineteenth century or early twentieth – Nate was by no means an expert. This man, who looked like he was in his mid-thirties, had a young woman over his lap, and was giving her a hard spanking. The girl was kicking her legs, crying her eyes out. Who was she? A daughter, a wife, a girlfriend, a servant, a younger sister left in his care – Nate wasn't sure. Could be any of them, could be none. In those days, a spanko like himself would have plenty of opportunities if he wanted to put a girl over his knee.

Nate sighed, leaning back in his chair. Why did he have to live in THIS century?

The security guard (M/F story)

Mary trembled a little as she entered what the employees at the shop referred to as the "Torture Chamber." It was large, sparsely decorated, and supposedly completely soundproof. This was the domain of Neill, the large, strict-looking security guard. Whenever they got a shoplifter, Neill would take them into the Torture Chamber and glare at them. Eventually, he would tell them that, since it was their first offence, he had decided to let them go. The unspoken threat had ensured that they had very few re-offenders. Last week, a seventeen-year-old girl had wet herself in fear when he glared at her.

Of course, any re-offenders were just handed over to the police. Neill didn't even have the right to directly threaten anyone, much less harm them, but the shoplifters didn't know that.

Mary wasn't a shoplifter, though. Mary was a shop assistant, Neill's lover, and partaker of more than a few strange games with him. She looked around the Torture Chamber. Neill had added a new piece of furniture to his collection; a desk with manacles attached to the sides, with a riding crop leaning against it. Most of the employees thought he just added things like this to scare the kids. Mary knew that he really did it for her.

New kid in class (F/f story)

Rose had known that they would be getting a new boy in class today. The teacher had told them that his name was Richard. Her father had told her that his parents were nice, and that he seemed like a bright chap.

What she HADN'T known, what no one had deemed it necessary to tell her, was that he was drop-dead gorgeous.

Richard was tall, with red hair and a big smile, and a slight accent that just made him seem even more interesting. She knew he didn't live far from her, and she immediately decided that she had to get to know him better. Her father always said that it was important to have a good relationship with your neighbours, and Rose could finally see the wisdom of that position.

They were about halfway through the first lesson of the day, when she noticed a slight problem with her bright, shining future. That problem was commonly referred to as 'Harmony', at least to her face. Harmony was blonde, half a foot taller than Rose, and possessed a smile as friendly as it was brain-dead. And that smile was now beaming towards Richard.

Rose frowned. She had competition. That did not mean she would give up without a fight.

The Mara (M/F story)

"Sorry about that," I said as I stifled another yawn. "Haven't been getting much sleep lately."

My grandmother narrowed her eyes. I could see that she was getting one of her strange ideas.

"Have you been having... bad dreams?"

I had, and I told her so. "Nightmares. Every night this week, actually. I wake up drenched in sweat."

"I had a feeling there was a Mara in town. Just didn't know she was after you."

"Mara?"

"A Scandinavian creature of the Night. A young woman that sits on your chest while you sleep, draining your energy while giving you bad dreams." She filled my teacup again. "It's where the word 'Nightmare' comes from."

I smiled. My grandmother had always been a bit superstitious. But instead of making her nervous, it had made her battle-ready. Eager to study, to protect those that couldn't protect themselves. It was actually fairly sweet in its daftness.

"I can tell you how to make her leave you alone, if you wish."

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself," she said, smiling. She knew what I thought of her whims, and she didn't really care.

Vicky's old babysitter (M/F story)

"Hey, Simon! How it's going? Hey! Simon!"

Simon, who was sitting outside in the garden reading a book, looked up to see who was calling him. A young woman with red hair was leaning against the fence, smiling at him. He scoured his brain, trying to remember who it was, when it suddenly hit him. "Good grief. Victoria Miller! I haven't seen you in ages!" Years ago, when he was a student, he'd been her babysitter. He remembered the bratty young girl in pigtails, and contrasted it to the curvy young woman in the short skirt standing in front of him. She would be nineteen now, he concluded from some light mental arithmetic. She looked older. "You've certainly changed!"

"Not that much," she said, looking displeased. "I still hate being called 'Victoria'."

"Well, Vicky," he said, using her preferred nickname, "Why don't you have a seat?" He nodded towards a nearby chair. "I'll fetch some sodas, and we can talk."

For the next half hour or so, they sat there, discussing old memories. Suddenly, Vicky looked up. "I think it's going to rain. Mind if we go inside?"

At the mansion (F/M)

I once a short story called Lady Emily, about a noblewoman who catches and punishes a trespasser. This was the follow-up. The first story was short, poorly written, and not worth uploading, but I considered this good enough to pass the threshold. This is also my last non-uploaded F/M story - until I run out of old stories to upload, there will only be M/F stories (and one or two F/F stories).

Brian stepped up to the door and rang the bell, more nervous than he ever could remember being. Earlier that week, he had taken a shortcut over the property of Lady Emily, the young, but authoritative owner of the mansion and most of the surrounding area. She had caught him, and decided with to deal with this trespassing young man by baring his bottom and giving him a good whipping with her riding crop. It had been all too clear that she had enjoyed this punishment.

The thing was, so had he. And since this had been obvious, the Lady had invited him over the following Friday for another dose of discipline. Friday, at seven, had arrived, and he was standing outside the mansion wondering how long he would have to wait.

The door opened, and a tall, redheaded maid looked him up and down.

Late home (F/F story)

 Emily looked at her watch again, as if expecting time to have passed backward since the last time she looked at it. To her complete lack of amazement, it hadn't. One thirty. She picked up the brush laying in her lap, patting it against her palm as she looked forward to using it. If her sister was okay, she was going to pay for making her worry like this.

Cheryl was almost ten years younger than her, and had been living with her for some time. When she had moved in, Emily had made the choice to never use the old methods of discipline, as she didn't want to turn into their mother. Unfortunately, Cheryl was harder to control than Emily had anticipated.

The sound of someone approaching the house woke Emily from her half-sleep. Silently, as if trying to avoid waking anyone up, the mystery figure opened the kitchen door, and entered on tiptoes, smiling confidently.