Dec 27, 2006

Dear Diary,

Mummy has been as good as her word! She enrolled me today in a ballet school, my Christmas present from her: six months of weekly dance lessons to see if I have what it takes for that kind of life. Do I have the discipline required.

The instructor is a rather handsome man in his mid-thirties or early-forties, I'd guess ... but with an athletic build and cute bum ... a dancer in his youth most likely. Not sure if he's gay. Most male dancers are, you know.

He was talking with Mummy while I sat on the dance floor getting my ballet shoes on. I noticed her look turn smug smile in my direction ( wonder what that's all about ); the instructor, James something-or-other ( we are to call him 'Sir' ), shot a glance at me too ... a strange look, like a challenge.

Jan 17, 2007

Dear Diary,

Now I know what Mummy meant when she told me I'd better mind my dance teacher. It's been four Saturday sessions so far and Sir has been downright mean to me ... always pushing me to try harder and stretch until it hurts.

Last week I even 'sassed him back' as he put it; I said to him ' What do you expect from me, miracles? I'm only a young girl, you know! ' And he shot back that I was old enough to know how to respect my elders and not too old for a good old fashioned spanking. And then he winked!

But today he did something I didn't even know was allowed ( but later the girls told me about the agreement our parents all had to sign, so I guess it's okay ) Marina, one of the older girls, was having a rough day and couldn't concentrate. She kept getting her timing off. Sir got all cold and told us to line up by the barre. Then he had Marina stand before him while he 'corrected her' and suddenly Sir sat on his chair and pulled Marina down onto his lap. He told her to learn balance and poise and keep time too while he taught her about discipline.

We started to giggle at first; Marina looked like she was going to get a spanking, being over his knee and all. But Sir was not joking. He had Marina thrust her bum up, her feet stretched on tip-toe, while she balanced in front with one hand braced to the floor. Her other hand, Sir held tight behind her back with his left hand. He said she must hold the position steady and keep count while he administered her discipline.

And then he proceeded to spank her right across her bum ... and Marina was made to count out 'the beat'... 1,2,3 ... pause 4,5,6 ... pause 7,8,9 pause... 10,11,12 an so on until he'd given her 24 spanks. 'One for every hour in the day', he said and added ' Next time it will be 52, one for each week in the year! But there won't be a next time will there, Marina?'

' No sir, ' she replied hardly holding back her tears. The rest of the girls had been just as shocked as I and they turned their heads away while this was all going on ... But I couldn't take my eyes off Marina and Sir ... His look of stern control, her pitiful tears and quivering lips as she counted out her spanks ... and most of all ... my eyes were staring at her buttocks and his spanking hand ... as they met ... the sound sent a thrill down my spine ... the look of her squirming and rubbing herself into his lap with each blow ... I was staring and feeling all funny, kind of like when I touch myself down there lightly in the night.

I was, in fact, wet in my panty crotch by the time Marina's spanking ended. I rushed to her side and hugged her and let her cry on my shoulder ... all the while I was staring at Sir. I looked at him looking coldly and yet ... something in his look ... I don't know, but I suddenly realized that as I'd been hushing Marina and staring in a trance at Sir ... for two or three minutes maybe ... I had been gently rubbing Marina's bum ... caressing, more like, and I was getting a very strange sensation.

Feb 14, 2007

Dear Diary,

I am standing up as I write this. It's Valentine Day and I think Cupid has struck. It was my eighth ballet lesson today and the last few have been disastrous. I had not been able to properly concentrate. All I could think of was Sir's stares and hash voice. I felt totally naked in the glare of his critical eye ... and that turned me on so ... But I couldn't concentrate and he's been frustrated and ... not angry, exactly ... but looking like he was running out of patience.

Well, today he'd had it with me and I don't blame him. I was expecting the embarrassment of a public spanking but instead he took me into his private office and, while the other girls practiced their pliés in the hall, I stretched across Sir's oak desk and stood on tip toe. My leotards pulled tight along my buttocks and Sir must have had a good view of more flesh than fabric. His strokes certainly hit bare skin more than covered bum.

Like Marina, I was made to keep balance and count out ... but unlike Marina, I got no simple hand spanking; no, my buttocks felt the sting of Sir's switch, a metre long birch switch that left a dozen stripes to show my mother 'how I needed more discipline'; those were Sir's words exactly.

And so tonight I will be sleeping on my belly but I know my fingers will find their way between my legs. I can only think of Sir and his strokes. I am so wet. I cannot wait until next Saturday.

March 7, 2007

Dear Diary,

I have put off writing for three weeks while I step back from this brink of lust and wonderment called 'Sir'. Is he teasing me or am I the one? Each week Sir has found fault with my dance and taken me to task. At first he did so privately in his office and my punishment changed, each time growing more surreal than the last ... almost, no kidding, I felt as if I were in a trance and the real room was but an open air stage where I carried out some role I had learned deep within my soul.

Two Saturdays ago, I walked, head bowed, into his arms and gently collapsed onto his lap where I felt so at home. His hand lay across my tights and he stroked me from bare armpits to inner thigh until I was relaxed and tense at the same time ... this is more than I have pleasured in the dark of my bedroom, this is more than the thrills I have shared with boys who cop a feel and stick their fingers in me to make their eyes widen and their cocks grow. Sir's cock grew beneath me but his hands did not betray his lust, only his love ... strange! ( Why did I write that? I am being such a romantic ... Am I not old enough to know better or is it my youth that allows me to dream for the best? )

Last Saturday Sir was waiting at his desk as usual as I entered his office for discipline ( I had fallen three times ). He said not a word but smiled slowly as I made my way to him, head bowed as always, then lifted my head to face his hot body and cold eyes. Silently and deliberately I loosed my shoes, and released my hair from its bun; I grabbed the shoulder straps of my leotards and pulled downward to expose my un-ballerina breasts with nipples now hard and aching ... down more I pulled the tights until they uncovered my clean shaven and now swollen and moist pussy mound ... teasing, I let my hands hold the dropped garment there and tilted my head to Sir as if asking permission or inviting his lust; he smiled on one side of his mouth and gave the merest of nods, so I let the black garment drop to my feet ... and I stepped out naked and ready.

What happened next is hard to put into words. As a virgin, I cannot truly say I know anything of sex ( save in my mouth where I have loved more than once ), but what thoughts and feelings fill me ... how they bring forth a beast from me and my body-ruled mind wanders in a dream of ecstasy. Sir took me naked OTK and I made love to his seated lap, to his striking hand, to his spanking stings, to his holding me tight in a grip of command. I was bound to him and I knew he had no doubt about me. I was his to have: naked, willing and free.

But today Sir took me out of line, still clothed in tights, and made me bend before the rest of the girls while he chastised me cruelly then whipped my buttocks sore. This, as is usually the case, came at the end of the lesson; Sir would not so punish us so harshly and thus make it impossible to dance for him.

But the strength of his strokes ( this time with his wooden rule ) put me in mind of that stiff rod on which I lay the week before. I confess, today I came under his harsh and public strokes. Just as well my dark tights hid the evidence of my passion.

I long to feel him again.

March 21, 2007

Dear Diary,

The first day of spring and I feel like some Greek nymph from a mythic forest dancing naked and free. This morning Sir took me back into his office to discipline me at the end of our dance class. All the other girls were hiding their faces fearful for my fate. They crept away quietly down the hall stairs and so did not see the smile grow on my face.

I was in leotards and slippers and could feel my moistness growing as Sir tapped out time with a rod in his hand. It was a length of thin doweling, perhaps 1/8 inch diameter, and when he let it swing through the air at his side, it made a whistling sound a sort of whupping noise.

He said I had performed so badly today that I must feel as much humiliation as pain. I wondered why, if shaming me was his goal, I was to be punished in private; why not do it in front of the class?

I started to peel off my tights but he stopped me saying he would leave the room while I prepared and that, when I had removed all my clothes, I should put them in the bottom left drawer of his desk. Then I was to get 'into position' lying over his desk and holding on to the far edges of the desk, left and right of me so my arms, like my legs, were stretched out straining. Then I was to call out ' ready, Sir ' and he would complete my lesson in discipline, as he always called these after-class punishments.

He left and I stripped and held my few garments in my hand. The lower drawers were large and this one accommodated my tights, leggings and slippers, rings and hair elastic; he wanted me totally nude this time. I closed the drawer and took my place with feet together but on tip-toe, hands grabbing the farther edges. My thighs pressed the near edge of the desk marking my flesh just below my pussy. My feet firmly planted on the desk legs as brace to better receive his blows yet remain set. My bare buttocks raised to a convenient height for his rod, either one.

'Ready, Sir' I cried but it came out a hoarse whisper and I had to repeat it louder. Sir was there; I could not hear the door open behind me but I could smell him, his sweat, his heat. Although I was bent over and dared not look his way, somehow I could tell he was very near me ... and he was naked ... I don't know how I knew, his scent perhaps; but it turned out to be true for in a few moments he walked behind his desk and I could see a part of his body. He was naked and his cock was hanging long and getting stiffer all the while.