Copyright 1999 to <mijita@thetreehouse.net>. Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

[horizontal rule]

[Image of Little Miss Naughty] Commuter
by Mija

"It hurts when I sit today. . . ."

That was all I heard before the voice trailed away, lost amid the jumbled and confused bustle of evening commuters.

Looking around didn't help. I couldn't figure out who'd said it and there was no one in sight doing any telltale rubbing. My own bottom tingled at the words, experiencing residual memories. How long had it been since I'd sat gingerly, my sweet-spot just above my thighs so sore it was a burning aching band? How long since sitting had really hurt and flexing the muscles to stand up again hurt even more?

I brushed dampness from my brow with the back of my hand. Was this a fellow perv, brave enough to speak the words in public? Or someone with lower back pain or, worse still, some poor soul with haemorrhoids?

I knew which I wanted it to be.

My breath came in just slightly ragged gasps as thoughts came unbidden.

Someone who'd been bound, I thought. Tied so they could move the tiniest bit, could feel their clothes covering the wrong parts, leaving bare their waist, hips and thighs. Tied so they could squirm just a little. But tied so they couldn't wipe away the beads of liquid sweat and desire that trickled down the backs of their legs. Down the inside too as the need to move became unbearable. I wanted them to have been tied until they itched.

And tied so they could be punished.

My mind raced as I walked as if on autopilot toward my train and found a seat.

Someone punished with something small and innocent looking. The switch, thin as a blade of grass, a supple one that stung like bees. The switch giving birth to sounds of pleading: stop, start, anything but this. Taking my someone beyond words. Harder and harder now, the switch criss-crossing, cutting fine welts into someone's skin, forcing out whimpers, cries, screams.

Leaving welts, red and raw, across the back of the thighs and bottom. Hurting as the skin stretched. Hurting almost too much to sit on, the sting a constant reminder of the night before.

This was my wish for my anonymous friend as it is my prayer for myself.

My tissue caught a tear as the familiar landscape rolled by my unseeing eyes.

[horizontal rule]

Back to Mija's stories

Back to the treehouse