I got spanked at the weekend!

Well, not literally, not in a physical sense. But my girlfriend Bobbi gave me a severe verbal chastisement that left me feeling sore, embarrassed and ashamed. I would have preferred the option of offering my bare buttocks for a hard spanking, delivered with the rigid palm of her hand, or twenty merciless strokes from a bamboo cane. But no - she selected the far more painful punishment of carefully chosen words. She gave me a tongue-lashing, and it hurt like hell.

And what, you might ask, was the reason for this punishment?

Simple. I made the Big Mistake of blogging about a particular aspect of our relationship. I thought Bobbi had already agreed to it, but I was wrong. And so - and not for the first time in my life - I badly misunderstood the situation. I screwed up. I shared intimate details of our relationship with anyone who dropped by. The blogpost in question caused much wailing, and much gnashing of teeth, not only for Bobbi but for two other people as well. Oh dear, oh dear! It all hit the fan at very high speed.

Whatever were you thinking? asked Bobbi.

I really didn't know the answer. It's not like I was massively drunk when I wrote the blogpost. Maybe I was trying to make a point.

Things have settled down a bit since Sunday. Our relationship is back to normal. The 'aspect' I blogged about has gone away, and the controversial post has been removed. I think I've been forgiven, or maybe I'm just out on parole.

Oh well. Life goes on.

Below, as a kind of footnote, is how I imagine the punishment if Bobbi had chosen to wield a thin length of bamboo instead of a torrent of words.

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I approached the table nervously, clutching the hem of my short blue skirt, as if I expected a gust of wind to blow it upward. But there was no breeze in Miss Roberta's office. It was a small, musty-smelling room with only a single tiny window. She and I were alone, just the two of us. I tried to start a dialogue, in the faint hope that she might not carry out the punishment.

'Please, Miss Roberta. Please don't do it. The cane hurts so much.'
Be quiet, Yasmin. You must endure the penalty for writing those foolish messages on your blog.
'Please, Miss. I promise to be....'
Silence! Lift up your skirt. That's it - all the way up to your waist.
'I'm so frightened, Miss.'
Try to be brave, Yasmin. Bend over and touch your toes.
'Don't. I beg you. Please don't.'
Don't what?
'Please don't pull down my panties.'
Stop whining, you silly girl. Bend over and touch your toes. Keep still.
'I can't, Miss. I'm trembling all over. I don't want to be caned.'
Relax your buttocks, or the strokes will be twice as painful. Are you ready?
'Oh God! Please don't hurt me. I promise I will never....'
THWACK!!

The stroke put a line of fire across my naked bottom, leaving a narrow red-pink stripe on the skin. Another stroke followed. THWACK!!  And then another. THWACK!!  My rear cheeks were already stinging terribly, but the cane hadn't finished with me yet.....

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Writing About Panties: Part 1

We call them by different names: knickers, panties, briefs, undies, smalls.  But whatever we call them, these items of clothing are a basic fact of life for women everywhere. I guess the only places where this doesn't apply are those little corners of the planet where people don't wear many clothes at all, except maybe a loincloth dangling from a piece of string. For the rest of the female population, a pair of panties is de rigeur, an essential item  (except, of course, on those occasions when we choose not to wear them). It's probably true to say that most of us regard panties (whether our own or somebody else's) as fairly ordinary things - like socks - and not particularly worthy of special attention.

So why, after saying all this, do I write erotic fiction about panties?

It's an interesting question (for me, at any rate). I've tried to answer it a couple of times, in emails and in face-to-face conversations. The question usually comes from women, not from men. Those who ask it are usually people I know quite well. They know I don't conceal the fact that I write explicit erotic fiction about lesbian sex. Some of them enjoy reading my stories, and these are the people who'll turn to me and say: "Hey, Yasmin, what's the big deal with you and panties?"

My answer is always the same: I write sexy stories about female underwear because I feel the subject is an unexplored kink in lesbian erotica. By 'unexplored' I simply mean that not many authors of lesbian erotica write about it. Plenty of these authors mention panties somewhere in their stories, but the mention is usually brief (please excuse the pun!). The panties tend to get removed soon after they appear in the story. Not many authors use panties as the main theme in a lesbian tale, in situations where underwear becomes the focus of erotic attention for the main characters. It's different, of course, in some parts of the spanking fiction genre, especially in stories where a female character is an adult 'schoolgirl' getting spanked by a dominant 'schoolmistress'. But I think a lot of these panty-spanking stories are written by male authors, or for male readers who get turned on by the idea of adult women wearing traditional school uniforms. I don't see many stories by female authors in which a lesbian spanking scene puts panties at centre stage.

When I first started writing lesbian fiction, I decided to concentrate on three sub-genres, as specialties through which I could build up collections of stories grouped by theme. One sub-genre I chose was bondage, both consensual and non-consensual. Another was the bi-curiosity of heterosexual women, leading inevitably to temptation and seduction. The third was panties.

All three sub-genres were chosen by me after email conversations with my friend Jen Saunders, a fellow-author of lesbian erotica. Jen advised me to focus on specific themes, because this is what she did herself: she reckoned it helped her to write better stories. Bi-curiosity and seduction held an instant appeal for me anyway, because of my own relationship experiences, but bondage wasn't something I would have considered without strong urging from Jen. She said bondage fiction was always in demand and would get me noticed by the online reading community, so I chose it as my second sub-genre - albeit somewhat reluctantly. To my surprise, I began to enjoy writing about bondage. But it has never made the transition from my computer screen to the bedroom I share with my girlfriend.

My choice of panty-related fiction as a sub-genre of lesbian erotica felt a bit weird at first. Also, I figured I couldn't write anything new on the subject because Jen seemed to have it pretty well covered. Stories about lesbian panty fetish were her main output in those days, and she seemed to have the market all to herself. I mean 'market' quite literally, because she was making money from writing custom erotica for private individuals. Her clients were mostly men who paid for kinky tales about lesbians indulging in various kinds of panty play. In some of these stories, Jen and her real-life girlfriend Karen turned up as principal characters, in situations where they seduced the customer's wife while all three of them kept their panties on. Jen often added bondage to the mix, some of it quite heavy and sadistic. Her clients really loved this stuff and couldn't get enough of it. Some of them even wanted to buy Jen's unwashed panties, but she never went down that route.
 
The first piece of erotic fiction I ever wrote was a softcore lesbian story called Train Ride which was essentially about British school uniform panties, or 'school knickers' as we used to call them. Jen Saunders had originally asked my sister Trish to write this story, but Trish passed the assignment to me. I enjoyed writing it, and Jen went totally wild about it, and I got plenty of feedback from readers after it was published online in 2005. What I liked most about the story was the challenge of making panties seem as erotic to female readers as they obviously are to large numbers of men. Judging by the very positive comments I got from women, I succeeded in this objective.

I soon had a little portfolio of lesbian panty fiction and discovered, again to my surprise, that the topic offered enough ideas for new stories to keep both Jen and me happily scribbling away. Jen sent one of her custom erotica clients over, and I was soon giving this guy what he wanted: stories about gay and bisexual women enjoying sex while their underwear stayed on. Like Jen, I agreed to appear as an occasional character in the narrative, in scenarios where I made love to the customer's wife or girlfriend. But I went a bit further than Jen and agreed to write myself into explicit scenes in which the customer himself was part of the action. So in some stories the guy had sex with me, and then with his wife (both she and I would still be wearing panties!). It all got very kinky and a bit messy, but it was strangely amusing and I had no problem with it at all. The guys in question paid a nice amount of money for this stuff. One customer even paid extra after I agreed - after some hesitation - to bring my sister Trish into the storyline (not only as co-writer, but as an additional character in the sex scenes). Trish helped me write some of the scenes involving her and me but we couldn't take the assignment seriously. Although we're not in a real-life incestuous relationship it's a taboo we've discussed without fear or embarrassment in the past, most notably 23 years ago when a particular situation arose, so it's not like we suddenly became shy about writing ourselves into a sibling incest tale. Writing those scenes was just one big laugh for us, because Trish peppered the narrative with lots of in-jokes that only she and I would recognize. I think the customer noticed our little game, because he asked for certain parts of the story to be rewritten. He was, however, extremely happy with the final version and (allegedly) showed it to his wife. Later, he asked for a sequel, but Trish and I had already agreed between ourselves that one story about 'lesbian panty incest' was enough. In any case, Trish had her own erotic fiction project involving elves and orcs and sexy Xena-type characters.

So, although I write in the genre of lesbian panty fiction, I'm not actually a panty fetishist. For me, panties are functional rather than erotic. I put them on in the morning, and I take them off at night. I like wearing them on cold days because they keep my butt nice and warm. I like buying new ones from my favourite brands, and I like receiving them as presents. Nonetheless, it would be a lie if I said panties don't turn me on occasionally. I have to say I do enjoy looking at attractive women in their underwear, whether in real-life, on TV or on the internet. Hardcore visual pornography doesn't do much for me, but a picture of a cute female ass in tight panties is very sensual and can often push my buttons. And it goes without saying that I adore the sight of my girlfriend Bobbi in her 'smalls', especially when she doesn't realize I'm staring at her. But the crucial aspect for me is that the panties must have a woman inside them. On their own, they're just items of clothing which don't give me any kind of sexual buzz.

Jen Saunders is different. She is a most unusual lady. I am not quite sure what to make of her. She is the only woman I have ever met who has a genuine panty fetish. And I do mean a full-on fetish, not just an occasional kink. I could say more about this. One day, I will say more, but I'll need to get her permission first. The key point is that Jen, unlike me, writes lesbian panty fiction because she finds it massively arousing. It's not just a literary sub-genre - it's a big part of her sexual existence. She boasts that her fetish is the reason why her stories were so much in demand from her customers - those panty-obsessed guys knew she was just like them, but a rare female version. They knew she enjoyed doing weird stuff like sniffing underwear from a laundry basket (something she openly admits to). They knew she enjoyed writing panty fiction as much as they enjoyed reading it, and this gave them an extra thrill. When she sent a client a customized story, she often included a little note describing in graphic detail how she masturbated while writing certain scenes. She once told me in an email that she only added these notes to keep the guy on the hook, to ensure that he came back for more stories. She complained that it was such a big effort for her - a gay female with no heterosexual experience - to share such intimacy with men. But she said it was necessary, a surefire way of holding on to her clients, whose payments funded her excessive drinking and smoking. She often told these men other intimate things, such as what kind of underwear she was wearing while writing their stories, and I think she rather enjoyed doing it. I suggested (half-jokingly) that she was a hypocrite, a closet bisexual who enjoyed teasing men via email. She wasn't amused.

In another blogpost I hope to include a sample of Jen's lesbian panty fiction, and also some samples of my own.

[to be continued....]

My e-book anthology of lesbian panty stories is available for download. Click here.

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Been away, now back

I've been away from this blog a couple of months, or maybe more. Can't even remember the last time I updated it. Been away on an extended overseas trip, i.e. a sort of vacation. Well, not quite a vacation in the best sense (slouching on a beach in the sunshine, sipping something exotic through a pink straw) but rather a strange blend of family catch-ups and emotional patch-ups, with business meetings in between. No need to go into the boring details but basically I spent the first part of 2013 in Spain and Turkey.

In Spain I met my mother, who also happens to be my employer. She now lives in Australia most of the time but has some Spanish property interests that needed urgent attention, so she summoned me over from England to sort out the problem. It was all quite stressful and unsatisfying but it was good to be with Mama for a few weeks. She really is an amazing woman. She celebrates her 70th birthday next year but still looks as glamorous as she did in the 1960s.

After leaving Spain I traveled solo to Turkey to visit relatives and attend a couple of family events. I'm expected to behave myself on such occasions and not draw the wrong kind of attention. My past hangs over me like a dark cloud, threatening to engulf me in a fog of immorality. To some members of my Turkish kin I'm still a pariah, a renegade, an outsider who doesn't really belong. On this occasion I was welcomed into the family homes, but not everyone treated me in a friendly way. The fact that I'm in a homosexual relationship was mostly ignored, although some of the younger folk did ask how things were going, and I furtively showed some photos of Bobbi.


The best part of the Turkish trip was meeting up with Trish, my sister (half-sister really), whom I miss terribly since she left the UK. Unlike me, she has now been rehabilitated with The Family and all her mistakes have been forgiven or forgotten. Everyone congratulated her on how much she has changed in recent years. Swapping skin-tight jeans and clingy tops for traditional dress won't turn her into a different person, but it certainly made the trip a whole lot easier for her.

The upshot of all of this is that I'm now back at HQ, back at the computer. I suppose I could have found time to maintain this blog while I was away, but I didn't. I could have gone back on Twitter too, but didn't get around to it. So I've got plenty of catching up to do. I'll start blogging and tweeting again as soon as I get organized.

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Secrets: a tale of lesbian love

An erotic story by my friend Karen...

The two women were no older than twenty-five, or so Berinda guessed, as she watched them from her hiding-place among the trees. The small glade where they met for their weekly tryst lay near the edge of the forest, not far from a half-forgotten trail, and its location had been a secret for many months. A secret known only to these two furtive lovers, until Berinda discovered it.

She knew both women slightly, having briefly worked alongside them at harvest time, but only in recent weeks had she learned of their secret meetings in the woodland glade. There, upon the green grass in the sunshine, they met each week, at the third hour after noon. In a silence broken only by the rustling of leaves and the buzzing of honeybees they made passionate love, breathlessly enjoying each other's gentle caresses until the sun went down on the western plain.

Berinda knew their names: Cathkin of the River Ridge and Lily of the Stoneland. She knew also the names of their husbands. What price, she wondered, would these women pay to ensure the preservation of their secret?

She wondered, too, what their husbands would do if they ever discovered the truth. Berinda knew what her own husband would do if he caught her indulging in such pleasures: nothing at all, for he no longer kept any affection for her and had little interest in her life. After six years of marriage their relationship had crumbled, although Berinda still had to yield her body to his drunken passion every Saturday night. She detested him, and he despised her, calling her a barren witch. He often cursed her childlessness but still leered at her voluptuous form whenever she bathed. Her long black hair, reaching down to her buttocks, still fascinated him, as did her narrow waist and sumptuous breasts. But Berinda no longer found him attractive in any way, nor indeed did she feel attraction to any man. Her preferences were shifting in a different direction, as she neared her thirtieth year, and she now liked to imagine herself sharing her bed with a beautiful woman.

Cathkin and Lily were certainly beautiful. Their lithe, suntanned bodies stirred Berinda's desires. She loved to see their blonde hair catching the sunlight in the glade, or their blue eyes shining as they whispered their secret love. Every week, for the past two months, Berinda had followed them furtively to the forest, creeping behind them as they made their way to their trysting-place, watching as they slowly undressed. Seeing them kiss and caress in a gasping embrace made her so envious that she almost wept with self-pity, wishing desperately that she could share the same delight. For Cathkin and Lily always laughed whenever they kissed. They expressed their affection with boundless joy, like a couple of golden-haired forest sprites, giggling excitedly as they held each other close.

Berinda longed to make her hidden presence known to them, to enter their special glade with an honest heart, to admit that she enjoyed spying on their lovemaking. Perhaps they might invite her to join them? Perhaps they might kiss her breasts and stroke her feminine parts in the way they kissed and stroked one another? Or perhaps they might become angry, running away in shame and fear, tearfully begging the unwelcome intruder to keep their secret safe?

For the moment, however, she remained content to merely observe them. The sight of their slender naked bodies writhing on the grass gave her such a thrill that she always masturbated while watching them. There she would crouch, as silent as a fox among the green leaves, with a hand beneath her skirt, coaxing her moist slit to a quiet orgasm. Then, as her climax subsided, she would crawl swiftly away through the undergrowth until she reached the path.

For how many weeks could she endure such furtive self-pleasure, such exquisite temptation, in secretive silence? How long must she wait before her courage grew strong enough to reveal herself to Cathkin and Lily? To these questions she had no answer, even though the words tormented her each week as she trod the lonely path back to her village. She knew she was not yet brave enough to show herself. One day, perhaps, the courage would suddenly come. Until then, she could only watch and wait, before going home alone and frustrated, with teardrops stinging her eyes as she walked through the bright woodlands.

THE END

Copyright © Karen Sacoma 2005

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