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Dionysian Dreams Come
True...
"What is
great in man is that he is a bridge and
not an end: what can be loved in man is
that he is an overture and a going under.
I love those who do not know how to live,
except by going under, for they are those
who cross over."
It's a
quote from Nietzsche's popular book, Thus
Spoke Zarathustra, and is quite oddly
applicable to me following the events of
yesterday. Monday, the twenty seventh day
of May, will surely be a red letter day
for me. It marks a radical departure from
all I have known; from all I have ever
imagined; and from anything else there
might be which falls outside of either of
those two realms.
SOMEBODY
SPANK ME! I'm DROWNING is a sea of
philosophical pondering and navel
gazing!
Actually, I am able to have
a bit of a laugh right now. Thinking back
to yesterday and how it all began. An
unremarkable start - the usual bounce out
of bed just before dawn, savoring those
early morning peaceful moments in which I
can be alone with my thoughts and the
latest in news or instructions from Mr C.
He's a wicked man and quite truly one of
those people, as my father was fond of
saying. What exactly one of those people
was, he never said, except he was adamant
nice girls don't go near them. But I'm
rambling again.
I guess
I had been told so often I was a nice girl
that it never occurred to me packing my
handbag with an assortment of dildos,
vibrators, bondage paraphernalia and one
or two pornographic magazines for good
measure could be anything but the normal,
everyday actions of a nice girl.
Interestingly enough, perhaps I spend too
much time with my head in books, but nice
girl was once a euphemism for prostitute.
Honestly. Look it up if you don't believe
me. And for anybody who thinks I'm being
silly about this, thank you, because
that's another word which has over the
years metamorphosed to mean the opposite
from what it once originally meant - it's
original meaning being blessed or applied
to a girl who was so above impurity she
lead a charmed life. So, that must be me.
Silly girl with a handbag full of bizarre
toys setting off to the office to begin a
day which had existed in her fantasies for
years.
The list
of Humiliating Tasks set for me by Mr C
had grown over the first weeks of our
online relationship to the point where I
was beginning to feel struck with a
paralysis of choice. I had things such as
anal beads, butt plugs and nipple clamps
to wear; dildos to impale myself on whilst
practicing the finer points of sucking
cock; continuations of kinky encounters
with Steve, the handyman from my place of
work who had discovered certain
embarrassing information about me; oh, and
if that wasn't enough, I had to sneak away
from work at lunchtime to pose nude for a
class of art students which included a
particularly peculiar old German (might
even be Dutch) man named Karl who, based
on my limited experiences so far in posing
in front of him, considers himself to be
some kind of nueve post-modernist George
Grosz (Karl Gross, anybody?) who only
seems interested in drawing the most
intimate minutiae of my anatomy.
I
arrived at work with just enough time to
spend a moment or two in the ladies
bathroom in the library, lubricating a
small latex buttplug; its red jelly
appearance not unlike a freakish candy
which, instead of being eaten was to be
inserted in my bottom. Its function, and
the reason Mr C had instructed me to wear
it - to bring on and enhance the pleasure
I feel in being humiliated. The sheer
perversity of the thought of walking from
the bathroom with this small, bizarre
invader inside me; to casually walk a
circuit from the bathroom, back out
through the public part of the library,
past the front information desk and then
back to the bathroom sent my head spinning
deliriously.
It
should have been a relatively simply task;
public enough to give me a thrill but
private enough to ensure the line between
fantasy and reality wasn't overstepped.
But as happenstance would have it, that
short brisk walk became a long, arduous
journey into places I hadn't prepared
myself in advance to venture into. The
detour came in the form of my boss Jeff
who, on seeing me exiting the bathroom,
called for me to follow him to his office.
My assistant David was with him as was
Monica, the library's database manager
from the main administration office
upstairs. I might have quickly excused
myself and rushed back to the bathroom to
remove the little buttplug except for one
thing: whatever the impromptu meeting was
about had something to do with the laptop
computer being carried by David. My
laptop!
I've
always been very careful about making sure
no tell-tale signs of my secret life
outside the library were ever left on the
laptop when I brought it into work. But
after the weekend just gone, and because
the rush to get to work on time had
prevented me doing a full sweep for files
which hadn't been properly hidden or
erased, I suddenly realized I simply
didn't know what they might find the
minute they turned it on. I knew I had to
be there when it was turned on so there
was no chance of them snooping in my
absence.
It was a
surreal experience trotting nervously
behind Monica, Jeff and David - my eyes
glued on the laptop; my mind racing for
some excuse to ask David to hand back my
computer so I could at least feel the
safety of having it in my own hands. I
might have made a grab for it except the
whole time I was moving my feet I felt the
dreadful uneasiness of the soft latex plug
threatening to spit like a bullet from my
tightly clenched sphincter. It was a
moment when I became acutely aware of the
perils of trying to move about wearing a
buttplug while not having the modesty
safety net of underwear to catch any
humiliating accidents. It was a relief to
finally sit in Jeff's office, although
doing so set off such a wave of little
ripples of lusty excitement in me that my
nipples stiffened and swelled to such a
size they were clearly contoured through
my bra and blouse - a sight which didn't
go unnoticed by either Jeff or David; Jeff
even pausing shortly after beginning his
meeting to ask whether I was feeling okay
and noting I looked a bit flushed. If it
had all been a dream and he'd said that to
me under the same circumstances, I would
have immediately abandoned any pretensions
of modesty I might have had, thrown my
legs back over the arms of the chair and
masturbated furiously until I orgasmed for
all of them to see; squirming and grinding
my impaled bottom in the seat of the chair
to ensure the full effects of the buttplug
exploded through every nerve ending in my
body.
The
meeting dragged on and on. I sat there the
whole time, distracted by both the
buttplug wedged between the cheeks of my
bottom; the constant mental agony of
feeling like my usually tightly sealed
anus might be open and soiling the chair,
and the sight of my laptop sitting
ominously on Jeff's desk. Eventually the
reason for everything became apparent and
again I felt I was being pushed tumbling
down yet another slippery chute, sliding
further and further towards some kind of
fated epic doom.
Monica,
as part of her job as database manager,
had announced the library was to begin
trialing a new type of cataloging system
beginning right after the end of the
current financial year; precisely one
month away. What this meant was she
planned to take my laptop back up to admin
for a couple of days to be set up with the
new system and to have a consolidation of
records made between those kept on my
machine and those held in the main central
database. I felt as if my entire innards
had suddenly collapsed beginning with my
throat caving in and every internal organ
dissolving into a puddle of anxiety which
numbed my legs from the knees down. I felt
desperate to give some reason why my
computer shouldn't be taken right at that
moment but the thoughts in my head were
whirling with such dizzying speed I could
barely balance in my seat, let alone think
of anything rational to say. And so it
was.
The
meeting closed shortly before 10am and
Monica disappeared upstairs taking my
laptop with her. If all of that wasn't
enough to think about, after leaving
Jeff's office, David followed closely
behind like a facially bejeweled shadow
and stopped me right outside my office to
ask me something about Serendipity. It was
a code word I knew Mr C would be using
when he got in touch with anybody I knew
in real life. I nearly choked; the small
cough almost sent the buttplug rocketing
from my anus! Reflexes luckily clamped to
hold it in place but my mental reflexes
weren't nearly so quick and I stuttered
and stammered incoherently for a moment
before dismissing David with a shrug as if
to say I had no idea what he was talking
about. The smile I tried to give him at
that moment to conceal my total terror
must have looked like something from the
Cuthulu books he reads, but he didn't say
anything. He appeared to accept the shrug
at least and with that he disappeared back
towards the binding room to resume his
work. So much for a straightforward,
simple bit of private pleasure before
getting down to work. In less than an hour
I would be over at the college, nervously
anticipating the hour and a half of being
posed in some provocative position for the
silent amusement or arousal of "Kreepy
Karl". In hindsight I probably should have
spent the half hour interlude locked in a
stall in the bathroom finishing off the
orgasm which had plundered my senses all
though the meeting with my
colleagues.
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