The Power of Imagination.
A story of fantasy, spanking and swimming.
My favourite school sport as a youth was undeniably swimming. I was fairly competent at this activity and growing up in humid Kwa Zulu Natal, spending hours swimming up and down in the cool water was a great place to be, to beat the heat.
If I tell you that in High School I represented my province, you may think I have undersold my talent at this sport. I haven’t, there was another driving force that allowed me to break records and excel as I did.
I never spent any time masturbating when I was in High School, I simply didn’t have any idea what that was, and it certainly wasn’t discussed with my peers or any adults.
What I did spend a lot of time doing was to lie hidden under my sheets at night, playing out scenarios in my head. These fantasies resulted in me getting very wet and a delicious throbbing feeling filled my vulva, which intensified rhythmically and peaked in quite the most overwhelming sensation. I only realised I was so wet because once my heart had stopped beating so fast, I touched myself and was always astounded by the slightly sticky substance I felt. Touching myself during a fantasy scenario was a definite no no, as it disturbed the process, and it would all come to a crashing halt.
I lived for these under the sheets make-believe moments. They were mostly about being spanked by one of the male teachers, and I visualised the scene in its entirety and in great detail. These were fantasies may I reiterate; this never happened in real life, just in my imagination.
Walking into his office, looking into his fiery, angry eyes defiantly.
Bending over a chair, slowly lifting my dress and pulling down my underwear, revealing a naked quivering bottom. The feeling of the cane coming down hard on my flesh; if I talked back, I would receive more strikes. The scenarios changed depending on my mood, but, as I said, it almost always involved being spanked.
It never occurred to me that I was experiencing an orgasm; I just knew how much I loved that feeling.
And so, it was one training session while swimming breastroke that I felt a very similar feeling. As I used my legs in the customary breastroke style, and pulled them together fast, the speed of the water rushing between my thighs caused this delightful sensation. I realised if I kept going and picked up my leg speed, the sensation got better and better. In my mind I was back under my sheets…
my clitoris felt like it was exploding with a fast pulse that took my breath away.
Faster and faster I pulled desperate for that end climax. The need to feel that very sensation that I craved at night resulted in a record-breaking time in the water. Thus my swimming career was born. I was happy, the coaches were happy, and the Natal Schools Swimming team was happy. I’m going with the cliché… it was a win-win all round.
There was the odd occasion when I reached my endpoint, before I reached the finish line at the end of the pool. This was disastrous, because I can assure you, as the glorious sensation overcame me, I simply couldn’t keep up my leg speed. I felt like Samson when his hair was cut off, weak and powerless to keep going. The other swimmers would glide past me, and I was rendered quite helpless to do anything about it. Luckily, this only happened occasionally. The more common ending was me not reaching an ending, by the time I reached the end of the pool. I would jump out as the whistle blew, the winner; red-faced, frustrated and very uncomfortable. It was only later I learned to get into the smaller warm-up pool and stand by the outlet jet to achieve the ending that had eluded me.
Once sexually active, I stopped using my imagination. With the real stimulus, and the many toys I have, I foolishly felt there was no need.
But there is always a need, fantasies take you places you may never visit in real life.
‘The world is a canvas for your imagination. You are the painter. There are NO RULES. Get to work’ – Fearless Soul
