Fantasy becomes reality

On a visit to Southeast Asia a couple of years ago I confessed my school girl fantasy to a pretty 30 woman who was massaging me one sultry afternoon. One day later (!) I was standing naked in a hotel bedroom while my Mistress laid out a junior high school uniform (age 12-15) of blue A-line skirt, white short sleeve blouse with school badge (reading ORSIS), a blue school tie, white knee socks and white plimsoles, white cotton knickers, a white cotton vest and a plain white bra. She has bought herself a smart dress and heels to look like a teacher.

Dewi's only fault was that she herself is poorly educated, as her parents were unable to educate her past primary school. She told me that she used to look at other girls wearing school uniform and wish it was her. She took great pleasure in powdering me with talc, then dressing me in my underwear and wig (dark auburn, tied behind, with two strands falling forward of my face), then my blouse, shirt and slippers. She made me admire myself in a mirror: I looked cute!

Then Dewi pulled out from her bag a white kerudung or headscarf, as worn by many Muslim schoolgirls. I had not expected this. She tied it tightly around my head so that my vision was restricted and any movement of my head was resisted by the cloth. I am amazed that girls wear these things, as you are aware all the time of the headscarf. But as a good Muslim schoolgirl I had to wear it.

I had purchased a set of schoolbooks, ruler, pens and pencils and a book of first year secondary school tests, which she set me to do. As arranged, Dewi left me for two hours alone in the room while I struggled with the work, which was quite difficult. Sat at the desk in my uniform as the afternoon wore on, knowing full well that I could be sitting in a roof top restaurant enjoying a cold beer, here I was in a restrictive skirt and tight headscarf, concentrating on arithmetic and spelling. My clothes felt awkward and gradually became more uncomfortable over time. You forget how comfortable men's clothes are, compared with girls' clothes, and the skirt was designed (as Dewi told me) to make movement a little more difficult for young teenagers.

Two hours later Dewi returned and examined me on my work. Of the 40 questions I had got 17 wrong. While she was out she had bought a penny cane (you can buy them in hardware or household stores in Southeast Asia; rare is the child who has not felt one of these across its bottom or legs). For each mistake I got one stroke, and she threw in three more for good measure. Believe me, the cane stung like mad and I gasped at every stroke. Dewi loved it - she told me afterwards that she loved caning me. It was the first time she had ever physically punished anyone, and that she really enjoyed it. She made me do more tasks: memorising a simple song and singing it to her; walking across the room like a girl, sitting like a girl, folding my clothes neatly, making the bed, and talking like a girl. In between she caned me on my hands several times, making them sting sharply.

Then she suggested that I play her wayward daughter. I was to pretend I had come home late, and she asked me where I had been (talking to boys) and why I had been out without permission. She held the cane behind her, revealing it when I had confessed to her. She ordered me back over the chair. She told me I was to receive 15 strokes, and was that OK? I told her yes, and that she could add as many as she thought necessary. I was to count the strokes aloud and thank her for each stroke.

Well, Dewi really laid on the cane. I jumped at practically every stroke, and she took her time, occasionally walking around me in her heels, scolding me, before resuming the caning. By the end I was really sore. I undressed and handed back my clothes and wig to Dewi for safekeeping. She made me admire my bottom in the mirror. Then she rubbed a Deep Heat like ointment into my poor bottom and told me to dress. I gave her the money we had agreed - about £12 - and let her leave a few minutes ahead of me.

All this is entirely true. I have since repeated it three times on subsequent visits. Dewi still has my uniform and we have added new games such as kneeling on a wooden chair for half an hour with my hands on my head while Dewi lies on the bed and watches televison; a bar of soap held in my mouth during canings (ugh!) and having to suck Dewi's toes and lick her feet after chastisement. When I visit, I give Dewi £50 or so to buy clothes for herself and some for me - she likes to dress me as a sort of Asian Lolita - and she uses a hairbrush and slipper (I have to remove my plimsole and hand it to her) as well as the cane. On one occasion (we used different short-stay hotels) she invited one of the hotel girls, a pretty teenager, to watch for a small sum of money. She could not believe her eyes; Dewi even got her to give me six of the best across the seat of my skirt. When you have been caned in school uniform and headscarf by a teenager who herself should be in uniform and headscarf, you have truly experienced humiliation!

I have put this in the fantasy section as I am sure many of you will be sceptical. But it is entirely true. If you like to know more you can email me at <oliver1955@operamil.com> and I'll be happy to answer any questions. Or just post your response here and I'll write some more later.

P.S. An image of the uniform I wore can be seen at http://photos.friendster.com/photos/...694918274l.jpg

A picture of the headscarf I wore can be found at
http://photos.friendster.com/photos/...490553285l.jpg

That should of course be <oliver1955@operamail.com>

One thing I learnt (and am learning) from my role play with Dewi is how amazingly controlled, and self controlled, girls are. They have to sit like this, walk like this, speak like this. They can't just sprawl like a man. everything about them is controlled. When they come into a room they have to notice everything carefully, who is in the room, and their relation to those people. Their behaviour is always in response to someone else, and they are not free to do as they please. Someone is always watching and judging them.

This is what I learnt from Dewi, who watches me as a teacher would her pupil or a mother her daughter. Every action I make is judged: if it is not appropriate I am criticised, and even punished. Walking becomes an art not simply a form of locomotion. Sitting down is an art. So is folding and putting away clothes, even simple housework.

What I am planning for my next trip is to get Dewi to teach me to respond appropriately to a man. When she feels I am sufficiently trained, I will ask her to find an older man to meet me and talk to me as a girl. I will be on the spot to behave as a girl and to respond to his speech and action. It will be quite an exercise.