Mija’s Room

Tag: knickers

Red Darn – A Saint Clare Story (2010)

Posted on By Mija

Copyright 2010. 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.

This is a very short short story. Until very recently, I’d forgotten about it. I wrote this for the 2010 soc.sexuality.spanking short story contest (and it won)!

The category was “A Picture is Worth 500 Words,” the prompt to write a story based on an image of a WW2 ration book. The image below is not the one used for the contest. Though I can’t remember it, I’m sure this wasn’t it for reasons that become clear at the story’s end.

For more St. Clare Stories, see the stories’ page.

Red Darn – A Saint Clare Story 
by Mija
F/f

A shout startled the daydreaming girl, yanking her from her afternoon novel-reading.

“Fairfield, what are you about?”

Fiona (aka Fairfield) looked up, annoyed. A pair of navy wool knickers were being shaken in her face.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Miss,” said the girl resentfully.

“These knickers, *your* knickers, are shredded. Clearly you took a shortcut on your run.”

“Only once. I–I got lost. I’ll write to my mother — she’ll send me a new pair by return post.”

The matron drew herself up as her annoyance visibly increased.

“No you won’t. Bad enough cheating, but as our headmistress made it quite clear at the start of the term, we are *all* were expected to conserve and ration as part of the war effort.”

“But I can’t do gym without knickers,” replied Fiona, sounding hopeful. Perhaps she would be excused gym.

“Right. And so,” said the older woman, thrusting a school sewing basket into Fiona’s unwilling arms “you will give up your free time until each of the tears is properly darned. You better work quickly, young lady. Remember you have gym class Monday morning.”

As the older woman sailed from the room, the sixteen-year-old curled her lip and eyed the wretched basket with disdain. Fiona hated sewing and darning. Further, it was Friday evening and she’d looked forward all week to finishing her book. With a sigh she examined the long tears in her tattered knickers before finally opening the basket.

Inside were slim darning needles threaded with several rows of wool stitching, someone else’s example of a perfect darn. Perfect, that is, save the color.

“Miss Fairfield! What on earth are you wearing?”

(more…)

About Uniforms Part 1: Introduction – Where Did That #dailyuniform come from?

Posted on By Mija

Happy February!1This started out as “Happy New Year.” I’ve been working on this damn post since November 2024. Here’s to hoping 2025 is better than we’re expecting.

Think of this as an introduction to a series of posts. The first, hopefully, of many, though frankly, I’ve never been one to finish multi-part stories. But, you know, it could happen so let’s be optimistic

This, much as is the case with spanking, may be a topic I can write about forever.

If you follow me on Twitter or Bluesky, you may have noticed that for several months, I’ve been posting (terrible) selfies wearing school uniforms, sometimes remembering to tag them with what I thought was my own made-up hashtag, #dailyuniform.2But of course, others use it for other stuff, too. Why? Well, frankly, I’ve been in the spanking scene since 1997. Even allowing for ones I’ve given away as my size changed, I’ve got A LOT of uniforms. Why not enjoy them?3Like spanking, uniform kink is a habit for me. The more I do it, the more I think about it, the more I want to indulge. And on and on.

The way I think about uniforms and what they mean to me has several facets. So, let’s get started with my uniform biography.

A bit of the inventory – December 2023 – apologies for the terrible lighting.

(more…)

  • 1
    This started out as “Happy New Year.” I’ve been working on this damn post since November 2024.
  • 2
    But of course, others use it for other stuff, too.
  • 3
    Like spanking, uniform kink is a habit for me. The more I do it, the more I think about it, the more I want to indulge. And on and on.

Stories Added, January 2025

Posted on By Mija

A quick post – I’m back from our roadtrip, having been spanked for the first time in the states of Louisiana, Texas, and New Mexico.1We also went through Arizona, but had already played there. I wore uniforms for our road trip from New Orleans to Los Angeles, pretty much the whole way across the country. This was my excuse for shamefully overpacking.

Patio area with blue pots and adobe buildings.
Photo of our Santa Fe hotel by early morning light. It’s really impossible to take a bad picture in New Mexico.

I’ve added a few stories to the site’s Stories page. The one I’m fondest of, despite its flaws, is “Tessa’s Summer Uniform,” the first of the St. Clare stories. I wrote it in 1999, the first of two summers I stayed with Paul in Edinburgh. It’s got a lot of flaws, but is set at the wonderful department store, Aiken and Niven, when it was still on George Street. It was also the summer I started reading Harry Potter — which had way too much influence on my school fantasy life.

Let me know what you think…

  • 1
    We also went through Arizona, but had already played there.

At Willow Street Station – A Real Life Story in Two Parts

Posted on By Mija

[I started this post on October 10, 2024]

Last night I posted the following on Twitter:


Background and Details:
On Tuesday, before I picked Paul up at the Willow Street Station, I changed out of the long pink skirt I’d worn when I’d dropped him off into a new1New to me — it was an eBay find. brown corduroy skirt, a tan turtleneck, white knee socks, and tennis shoes. I left on my thick, white knickers. My logic was, arguably, that it was past 7PM and now chilly as a marine layer rolled over Long Beach. The skirt’s corduroy was certainly heavier and warmer than the pink skirt’s light cotton.

For so far as the skirt covered.

This last bit is, perhaps, important as my new skirt is full, pleated, and so short it barely covers to the middle of my thighs. And that would be the middle of my thighs in the front. It is shorter still from behind. Still, I reasoned, it was quite dark, and the train late enough that the platform would be pretty quiet.

I parked close to the station platform just as the train was arriving and got out with our very adorable dog.2I almost wrote “puppy” but she turned one year old last month. They do grow up fast… She’d come along because she’s both the most spoiled creature in the world, AND convinced I am constantly leaving Paul places. She’s always delighted when she’s able to “find” him and thus force me to bring him home. Standing there, holding the leash as people disembarked and the train continued its journey south, I watched for Paul, watched the dog, and had a bit of creeping awareness that the skirt felt a bit shorter than I remembered. Had it ridden up a bit? I carefully tugged down its, um, rear.

The pup saw Paul and bounded toward him, tugging the lead, and forcing me to follow. She greeted him as though he were returned from a months’ long dangerous adventure while side-eyeing me, clearly saying “See? I found him again.” He greeted her, hugged me, took the dog’s lead, and, I think, commented on my skirt.

I opened the front passenger door and started to get in.

“Get back out, please.”

Paul and doggo still stood on the curb, him urging her to jump into the back. My getting in is sometimes a trigger for her, so I got out and stepped onto the curb. As she finally jumped in, I got back in too.

“I said ‘get out of the car, please.'”

A jolt passed through me as I realized (duh!) this wasn’t about the dog.

(more…)

  • 1
    New to me — it was an eBay find.
  • 2
    I almost wrote “puppy” but she turned one year old last month. They do grow up fast…

Newsguy Repost – Details: Uniforms and Canes (M/F)

Posted on By Mija

[This post was originally written for Newsguy, the now-defunct Usenet host and provider, in July 2000. For a brief couple of months, Newsguy paid me to write the occasional post for their front page. This focuses on the respective specifics of a friend, Paul’s, and my flavors of the kink. ]

“A fetish is nothing if not specific.”

My partner made this wise remark to me at some point when I joked, with some amazement, at the effort and expense he had put into finding just the right gymslip and knickers for me (grey pleated and bottle green, respectively). When one is dealing with something that has the power traditional school uniforms have for my partner, expense, and inconvenience –not to mention my own physical discomfort, British school uniforms being somewhat less than seasonal in my desert clime– seem trivially unimportant.

“A fetish is nothing if not specific.”

My brain echoed the phrase again as we sat the other night admiring a friend’s1You may know him on FetLife as HH (HenryHiggins) canes. He’s got quite a few — all with distinct (and distinctly painful) qualities based on their length and the density of the rattan they’re made from. They are sanded and varnished to precise silky smoothness. All but one has the crook handle of a traditional English cane. Each cane has specific value to our friend for its own sake. As he flexed the canes and swished them through the air, their number (six, I believe) obviously didn’t seem excessive to him. Choosing the right one to impart the right message was an important part of the ritual discipline he’d be administering.

For me, sitting nervously, watching and listening, which cane he would use seemed unimportant. Had he owned but one or two, that would have been enough to make me shift nervously in my chair. The swishing of one would have made me cringe slightly, probably visibly. For me, the detail that was important — specific — was that I was to be caned in the specific and traditional manner of a very strict English school. The caning would be slow and exceptionally painful, yet I would be expected to remain as still and quiet as possible during it. Since, for me, restraints tend to make scenes easier, the authenticity of this caning was what would make it possible for me to restrain myself.

Our friend knew this about me, knew that how and why I was being caned was as important (or more important) than the caning itself. So beforehand, we carefully discussed what I’d done that merited this level of punishment. As we talked, I became a disobedient schoolgirl who deserved the sort of strict, harsh punishment I imagined would be meted out by a traditional (and perhaps sadistic?) headmaster at a strict school sometime in the past. I felt guilty and nervous, my hand finally shaking as it tapped gently on his “office” door.

This is the power of specificity for me. My friend, knowing his role, scolded me and slowly maneuvered me into position. In the past, this part has been extended by conversation, time in the corner, essay, and line writing. By the time I’m bent over, standing on tip-toe, blushing and dying of shame as my knickers are slowly lowered to my knees, I’m generally already in tears. Some might think (and sadly *have* thought) that the caning itself is irrelevant at this point and that the strokes don’t need to be very severe. But for me, this isn’t the case. Our friend didn’t disappoint; each stroke was delivered with full force, in straight lines, with a great deal of time between each. I thanked him for each one and willed myself to stay in position for “twelve of the best” as befits a girl receiving such a traditional punishment.

In the morning I could see where each stroke had left the distinctive double marks or “tram-lines” that are the evidence of a traditional caning. I couldn’t help smiling at the proof of my “punishment” as I admired it in the mirror. It’s all about details, you know.

After all, a fetish is nothing if not specific.

What details of your kink matter most to you? For me, I’m all about ritual.

  • 1
    You may know him on FetLife as HH (HenryHiggins)