An interesting fantasy I sometimes enjoy is that of visiting a disciplinarian. The feel of having an appointment with a man, knowing you will be punished for the naughty things you’ve done is very exiting. Your relationship with this disciplinarian is truly that of a sub to a dom. You only visit him for one reason, because you know you deserve to and need to be punished now and again.
I like the idea of a set appointment, say once a week. That day of the week will creep closer and closer, and suddenly it’s there. You put on something decent, of maybe the dresscode he prescribed, and you’re on your way. You know not going is not an option, that would make it so much worse the next time. So you go willingly to your own punishment.
Everyone you meet on the way there seems to know where you’re going. At least you think they do. They see a bad girl, on her way to get her punishment.
There is the long talk with him, talking about every naughty thing you’ve done the past week. His lecturing and scolding will remember you of how naughty you’ve been and make you feel like a little girl.
Some disciplinarians would ask you about the things you’ve done. Not a very good idea in my opinion. It’s like going to church when you were a child and had to confess, only you never quite remembered the things you did wrong. So other disciplinarians want you to keep a journal and write down what you did wrong. Better, but not perfect. You will write down the things you know are naughty, but not those you don’t realize, or you might leave some out…
No in my fantasy my disciplinarian wants me to keep a real diary. One in which I write down everything I did that day. That way he can not only find the bad things I’ve done, he can also – knowing me so well – deduct the ones I might want to leave out or those I didn’t realize were that bad. But also he can read about my private thoughts and actions. My life and dreams would be seen by him and judged.
He would tell me to stand in the corner and wait while he read it. I’d stand there, wondering, which page is he at, has he read that yet. He’d use a marker to mark things he’d want to discuss and every time I’d hear that scraping sound I’d wince. Until he finally call me before him, standing there like a naughty little girl looking at my feet, while he lectured me on the things he found out, before giving me the spanking I deserve.