New(ish) To Spanking

Party Play

2012-01-29T15:24:00.003Z

Yes, I know it's been a while, life rather got in the way. When life gets busy, both the inclination and the time to blog rather go out the window.

I've eventually got round to putting pen to paper because I've been wondering about how, and why my style of play has changed. When I first started this journey, getting on for four years ago, my play for the first year or so was only ever in private. I didn't really know enough people in the wider scene to attend parties. That changed at the beginning of 2009 and I started attending, and playing at many parties. I was often the one who would end up being that little bit too cheeky, and be dragged upstairs by all and sundry to be taught a tongue in cheek lesson.

Over the last 10 months or so that's changed. While I'm still playing privately (though not nearly as often as I'd like, the joy of a job where I'm often not in the country) I'm finding it hard to play at parties. I'd like to say first of all that this isn't anything to do with any of the people I've played with. I'm lucky in that I have fantastic people that I can play with, both in private and at parties. There's been no horrible incident that's put me off playing. I'm just more reluctant to play at parties.

I think a lot of it comes down to stress. For various reasons, mostly work related, I have been quite stressed over the last year or so. I've found stress to be one of the biggest factors in lowering my pain threshold, and I think this is where the problem lies:
Lower pain threshold = spankings hurting more = more likelihood of tears, and tears are not a good thing at parties. Tears are fine when playing in private, as long as your play partner is ok with them. Tears at parties are not so good. Especially the sort of tears I often cry. The nasty horrible, losing control, red eyes, runny nose type.

And I suppose there we have the heart of the matter. I'm scared of losing control in a situation where I then have to go downstairs and face people. I'm scared that what would have one felt like a playful spanking will feel so much harder and so much more difficult to cope with.

What I really ought to do is just try it, and see what happens. If I do break down in tears, maybe I just save the play for private, but the chances are, that me being me, I'm making a mountain out of a mole hill and will actually be fine!

Knicker Survey

2011-09-18T19:01:00.002+01:00

Inspired by a conversation on Twitter today, I'd like to survey the number on knickers people possess, to see whether the general feeling on twitter, that most kinky girls have silly amounts of knickers, is in fact correct. I've included guys, just in case you have a view on this *very* important topic.

Of course, to make this even vaguely scientifically worthy, I'd need to go and survey non kinky people as well, to see whether there is a statistically variation in knicker possession between the two groups. Or something like that. But I'm not about to start asking vanilla friends questions about their knickers, so here we go, my utterly unscientific survey:

The People I Play With

2011-09-13T21:38:00.000+01:00

This past couple of months have seen me playing rather more than the previous couple of months (and possibly some months before that!) Some scenes are very short, lasting minutes at most, some far longer, two or three hours. As I was thinking over some of these scenes it struck me just how varied the styles of the various people I play with are.

There are great role players - imaginative, and able to create and see through believable scenes, sometimes over extended periods of time.

There are the people who are downright mean, and who don't particularly care that they are, in a rather hot way.

There are people who are give the most gentle and caring spankings, that make you feel warm and glowy. Yes, glowy's a word. My blog, my words!

There are those people with whom I can be really submissive, though even then that manifests itself in different ways with different people, depending on their styles.

There are people who can deliver perfect floggings, ones that leave me so spaced out I can barely talk.

There are people with whom there was instant chemistry, which the passing of time doesn't seem to diminish.

There are the ones where spankings are just downright fun, lighthearted things to be played with, inducing smiles and laughter.

There are the ones who let me spank them, and who will probably give far better than they get in return.

There are the ones who are willing to see me cry, to push me to that and let me have that release.

There are the ones who I could talk all night with instead of playing, because we are friends beyond spanking.

A lot of people are combinations of several of these.

How lucky am I that I can have all that variety, and so many different experiences?

Pretty darn lucky, if you ask me.

Raindrops On Roses....

2011-09-11T21:04:00.002+01:00

Etc. etc.
Well, I'm always going on about what I *don't* like, so I thought for once I'd think about some of my favourite things!

So what do I like when it comes to all things spanking?

I like nice, long hand spankings with lots of build up and rubbing of cheeks.
I like straps that thud but don't sting.
I like floggings. Soft ones. Hard ones. Ones that wake me up. Ones that send me into a wonderful stupor. Ones that involve parts of me other than my bottom. In fact I love floggings.
I like being embarrassed with people I trust.
I like being made to cry. Some days I just really, really need that.
I like my head being messed with a little bit in a scene.
I like the relationship that builds up over time when you play with someone, how trust deepens to allow you to play in more intense ways.
I like that there are certain women that I rather enjoy whacking, and who also, and more importantly, let me whack them!

Most of all, I love the fact that I have such a fabulous network of friends who are there with spankings, love, support and friendship.

The Spanking Collection

2011-08-31T06:30:00.000+01:00

Today is an exciting day. No, not the end of August. Believe me, that's depressing, not exciting for summer lovers like me! No, the exciting thing is the release of The Spanking Collection.

This new collection of stories, which have all been written exclusively for this project and contributed for free by their authors, is being sold in aid of Cancer Research UK, to whom all profits go.

I have to confess that I've had an advanced copy of the book for several weeks, having written the introduction for it, but I've not actually read any of the stories yet, as I wanted to wait until I could get an actual, real life copy of the book to read! Happily, that day has now arrived, and I, along with the rest of you, can get both print and electronic copies of The Spanking Collection. If you follow the link here, you will be able to see a full list of the stories and their authors, plus information on where you can get hold of the paperback version and Kindle, Nook and other ebook reader versions.

So go ahead and treat yourself to some original stories from some of the most interesting writers of spanking fiction out there, and do some good at the same time. It's a win/win situation, if you ask me!

A Little Ray Of Hope

2011-08-14T22:20:00.000+01:00

I went to a lovely housewarming party yesterday. Lots of friends, great hospitality, yummy food and fabulous costumes. I was honoured to be there. I was also very happy that I seemed to be more chilled about playing. Though my birthday party a few weeks ago was lovely, I was very stressed about playing and being spanked and ended up worrying myself far more than I needed to about the whole prospect. When I did end up playing it was fine.

This time, I was pleasantly surprised that I wasn't actually worried about the prospect of play. I maybe wasn't at the point of desperately wanting to be spanked, but I also wasn't sitting in the corner with a knot of worry in my stomach, hoping that people would *not* want to play with me. And that in itself, in the context of the last couple of months, is something of a breakthrough. I ended up playing three times in total. All brief scenes, but no less enjoyable for that. And I also had a rather nice dream that night where I had a great idea for a role play. I think my kink is on the way back, so hopefully by the next party, in another month, I'll be on top form and wanting to be beaten by everybody in the room!

Birthday Presents

2011-07-24T21:40:00.000+01:00

My birthday was last week. I decided to have another birthday party, a repeat of last years shenanigans, and lots of very lovely friends came to help me celebrate. And, being the lovely people that they are, they did something that they really didn't need to do, and bring presents. Some of them were very nice (pretty, or yummy, or indulgent!) non kinky presents, and some were rather less suitable for showing to my mother, as you can see below.

First, and these are in no particular order, a beautiful razor strop from Abel and Haron. This is a genuine razor strop, sold as such from a non kinky vendor (well, in theory!), and it's actually really quite lovely. It can be a little vicious, but is mostly really rather nice!

The next present is absolutely amazing. It is a double strap from the wonderful, talented London Tanner. The strap has my initials on one side, and holes on the other. It's also fantastic to use, says me, with an evil grin on my face. I didn't have it used that much on myself as my kink was still a wee bit in hiding, though it did start to come back during the evening. Now it's back a bit more I can't wait to experience it more thoroughly!

This next one is a "present" from the (delightful?) Irelynn Logeen. It's a giant wooden spoon. Next to it, you can see my size 8 flip flop. (that's US size 10, or EU size 42, just so you know!). The spoon bit itself is wider than my shoe. The handle is probably three feet long. I personally think that someone should be punished long and hard for giving anyone a present like that!

Lastly, the (normally nice!) Mr Allen gave me a carpet beater... which stings like a very, very stingy thing. With friends like these and all that :-D

I think the showpiece of the whole day though, was the cake made for me by the wonderful Ella. I can't remember when I last had a birthday cake, so her offer to make me one was special in itself, but I was blown away when I saw the actual cake. A caned bottom, complete with stripes which are darker on the left side than the right side. It was a work of art, and everybody loved it. It seemed a shame to cut it, but we did anyway, and it was as tasty as it was beautiful.

Thank you to everyone, both those who could be there and those who couldn't, for wonderful company, copious amount of alcohol (anyone who tries to bring beer into my house until the last lot has gone will be forced to stand in the porch and drink it all!), and generous and lovely presents which you really didn't need to bring, but which were very much appreciated nevertheless.

Here's to next year!

Being Scared

2011-07-11T20:45:00.000+01:00

I'm scared.

There, I've said it.

I'm scared of playing. Especially scared of playing "properly", with anyone. Of getting into some sort of headspace. Of letting go. Because if I let go of myself that might mean letting go of the balls I'm juggling, and the fears I'm feeling, and the worry I'm worrying. And who knows what will happen if I let go of all those balls? I suspect it won't be very pretty at all.

I'm even scared of playing "for fun". Of just being spanked gently, playfully, because I know that my pain threshold has downgraded itself from "wavering" to "disappeared down a rabbit hole". So even a gentle spanking might hurt a lot. And one of my first reactions to pain is to cry. And if I start crying will I stop? And that's really not a fun, playful spanking anymore, is it?

This wouldn't be a problem if it wasn't for the fact that it's my birthday this weekend. And I'm having a party. For kinky folk. And tradition dictates that when there are a bunch of perverts assembled for a birthday, the birthday girl gets spanked. So you can see my problem really... fun, playful birthday spankings might end in an emotional meltdown. So I'm scared of even going there.

Of course, they might not. But I don't know this, and I'm not sure if I'm willing to risk it. So I'm hoping writing down might make it all go away and sort itself out.
It sometimes does.

Kinky Holidays

2011-06-16T22:17:00.000+01:00

I've never been on a vanilla type holiday with a kinky friend before. I've been on kinky holidays, most notably to Florida Moonshine last year, and on kinky weekends away but not on a "normal" holiday with a fellow kinkster.

This changed last week when I went on a last minute week away to Greece with my lovely friend Sarah. There were indications of the way things were going to pan out right from the start of the week. Soon after take off I started flicking through the in flight magazine. An article called "Six Of The Best", adverts for products called "Bad Gal" and "Hairbrush Hits"... was this a magazine designed specifically to startle kinky girls? Then one of the programmes on the TV service referenced "kinky quiche". What sort of flight were we on? And more to the point, what on earth is kinky quiche?

The mystery of the kinky quiche was never fully solved, and we landed, picked up an extremely decrepit hire car and headed to our apartment complex. On the way, Sarah got very overexcited as we passed a large shop called My Uniform, complete with a window display of all sorts of uniforms. I was driving so couldn't look that closely, but she reliably informed me that there was nothing that looked like school uniform, but that there was a very nice maid's outfit that was sparking her interest. After we had checked in, we heading off to the supermarket for the important things we would need to sustain us throughout our holiday (the main three being tonic to go with the duty free gin, tzatziki and Toblerone). There, as we were browsing, the most wonderful sign greeted us:

I'm not sure what an "Underware Shock" is. Is it realising you have the wrong knickers on? Or none at all? Is it the pain you feel every time fresh cane stripes rubbing against your clothes? Of course, there is an argument that is is merely a poor translation and should actually read "Underwear, Socks" but I prefer my theories.

Now neither Sarah or I would claim to be particularly switchy, but something about being in each other's company with available implements to hand seemed to "turn" us, and there were several wallopings given and received during the course of the week. She, it turns out, is really rather good at hand spanking. I, being absolutely useless in this particular field stuck to using her hairbrush. And don't worry, it's a plastic one, so is not as ouchy as many fellow members of its species.

One thing that Greece is well known for is its crafts, both woodwork and leatherwork. A browse of the local town one day led us to find the most beautiful wooden paddles (sorry, cheeseboards). We couldn't help but purchase one each. A second trip to the supermarket (we'd run out of gin. Oh, and Toblerone...) turned up a whole host of fly swats in pretty colours. And a final shopping trip for gifts saw me impulsively purchase a beautiful large olive wood spoon. Unfortunately a little too impulsively, as the spoon has a flaw in the ladle part. Some research that evening, though, led us to find that the handle is long enough and sturdy enough to be used as quite an effective spanking implement in its own right.

Thank you to Sarah for her wonderful company on holiday, and providing me such an appealing target for my spanking practice!

In Praise Of Tops

2011-06-06T20:14:00.000+01:00

It's a hard life being a top. And I don't mean that sarcastically fo once. From the other end of the stick, so to speak, it really does seem to me like it's a hard job to be a top. You need to balance a scene perfectly. There is a fine line between pushing someone's limits and pushing them beyond their limits, between a scene being at the pinnacle of where it can be and going a little too far. Reading mood is critical, understanding circumstances, judging tolerance, especially when the person you could beat extremely hard three weeks ago is now crying at a hand spanking. Remembering limits that may seem bizarre and strange, but also, if broken, have the potential to turn a scene or even a friendship, sour very quickly.

How much more difficult, is it then, being a top in a group scene where the varying limits of the people involved are enough to make your head spin. How do you deal with all of those limits while still keeping coherency in a scene but making it a good experience for everyone? It's very hard.

I felt particular for Abel and HH at the Yorkshire school over Easter weekend. Apart from the usual "some knickers up/some knickers down", "can't be hit in X place/likes being hit in X place" sort of differences, the setting of the scene bought its own specific limits for me. One is around showering. While I would like to try the whole cold shower thing, never having done it, it's a very, very brave person indeed that messes with my OCD morning shower routine. Basically if I can't shower, properly, in the order I need to, in the morning, before I get dressed, I'm liable to have a bit of a meltdown, and certainly will need to wash every stitch of clothing I'm wearing at the earliest possible point. (Yes, I'm aware I need help!) I totally forgot to mention this until the day before when we were discussing the scene. Doubtless this threw their planning out, but they still managed to conduct the "morning showers" in such a way that 21st century Eliane avoided mental health breakdown and 19th century Louisa was still very much in evidence.

Another difficulty came around the actual activities we had to fulfil. 1824 schools were boring. Lots of reading, writing and rote learning. As a dyslexic (albeit a mild one), some of these tasks can pose small issues that would not cause me problems in daily life, but might well cause me to be punished in 1824, with the potential of reviving too many bad memories of school days pre-diagnosis when I was told off frequently for my "carelessness" when copying from the board, or my "lack of concentration" when forgetting something I'd just been told.

Knowing the approximate format of what we'd be doing, I warned the guys in advance that while I was more than happy to take part in these activities, undue criticism for things I genuinely couldn't help may well result in Eliane being distressed rather than Louisa. Once more, I was impressed at how well they worked these foibles into the scene. I was not punished unduly harshly for my total inability to recall anything about what I had just read out loud, and the trips between masters were organised in such a way that while I still had to do the copying out task, it was not actually going to be reviewed by anyone, therefore removing the need for anyone to beat Louisa for accidentally writing "anal" instead of "and" when doing this task (write anal and and in cursive script and see how easy it is to get the two mixed up).

The amount of care and forethought that HH and Abel had obviously put into the planning to make sure that we all had an experience we could enjoy while still taking into account our "eccentricities" (I speak only of myself!) brought home to me once more how lucky I am to play with people (and not just the two already mentioned) who put such thought, effort and planning into scenes, to make sure that they are the best possible. So (just this once!) let's give those mean, horrid tops a few minutes of praise. Only a few mind you, we wouldn't want them to be getting ideas!

Goodbye To The Old Me

2011-05-31T07:08:00.001+01:00

I want my old kink back... Back when it was all new and exciting, and I couldn't get enough, and I couldn't be spanked enough, and it's what I spent half my time thinking about. It was all fun and fresh. I was making new discoveries about myself and my likes and dislikes practically every day. I want to go back to when I had some level of tolerance. When I could cope with more than a handspanking and a bit of strapping without bursting into tears.

Don't get me wrong, It's not like I've lost my kink. I still enjoy playing, being spanked, though it takes much less to get through to me nowadays than it used to. I still read blogs, though again not as often I used to, I even still blog, once in a while, as you can see! But it's not like it used to be. Some of the, well, joy, I suppose seems to have gone out of kink life. This isn't about the quality of my play, one on one or group, which is as good as ever, it's more about me having lost some of my enthusiasm, and I don't really know why.

Is it just something that happens over time? Is about “growing up”? Maybe that first flush of excitement is over and I'm more mature about my kink now. Is it because it's over three years since I came out, and maybe it's just not possible to sustain that level of interest and enthusiasm and still have time to do all the other stuff that I want or have to do?
Whatever the reason, it makes me sad that the new and green me is gone, maybe for ever. I wish I could find some way to bottle that old feeling so I can access it when I want it. I want to crave being beaten like I used to, frustrating though those feelings are when it's weeks until they are fulfilled.

But I suppose I must accept that those times are probably over. I have grown up, in my kink at least, I'm older, wiser, more jaded than three years ago, and I was probably never going to be able to sustain that level of interest with everything else that goes on in my life. I need to learn that my kink is now a different animal to what it was. To recognise that even though I won't spend days, or weeks even, obsessing about an upcoming spanking like I used to, it doesn't mean I will enjoy it any less when it actually happens. And while rationally I know that this is a natural development, I still mourn a little for the passing of my old, permanently kink obsessed self.

No Clothes

2011-05-30T20:26:00.000+01:00

A couple of weeks ago Abel wrote a post about nudity, and it's place in scenes. It's something I've been pondering on and off ever since. For me, nudity is all about context. For instance, as my school girl character, Jemima, nudity would be utterly inappropriate, and (overdramatic though this sounds) feel like the scene was starting to border on abuse of power, if nothing else. And while I'm sure that would be fine for lots of people, in my “school girl” mindset, it would be very wrong.

When I'm playing as me though, it's a different story. Being made to strip can have different effects on me depending on the tone of the scene and who I'm playing with. It has taken me by surprise when the order was unexpected, wrongfooting me mentally, making me submit far faster than I would otherwise have done. It can be humiliating, objectifying, making me embarrassed and scrutinised. It can be intimate in the right context as well, even more so if you are undressed rather than undressing yourself.

There is of course always an element of embarrassment for me. I'm naturally pretty shy so the mere act of taking my clothes off (or having them taken off) can leave me cringing inside. And therein lies the power, I suppose. There is a vulnerability in being totally exposed in front of someone else, especially if they are fully clothed. And letting myself give in to that vulnerability can be quite exciting.

The Continuing Adventures of Alice

2011-04-27T06:19:00.001+01:00

As I stood waiting to open the door, I was getting more and more nervous. I knew this was deliberate on his part. I had texted him nearly twenty minutes previously to say that I was ready. I knew he was a mere couple of minutes away. I knew he was waiting for my text. And yet still he would make me wait, make Alice wait, knowing that the anticipation would build.

The scenario was that this was Alice's first day in Mr Thomas's household, after her previous successful interview. She had already been given a whole list of rules, including not being allowed to look at Mr Thomas directly, and having to call him "Master". I had been trying to recall these rules over the past 20 minutes, not wanting Alice to be punished before the evening had even started.

It was not to be though. Not long after Mr Thomas had arrived, I was sitting opposite him at the table, edging deeper and deeper into Alice's head. He dictated all the rules again. Even as he dictated, I earned punishment for looking directly at him, and then for calling him Sir instead of Master. One rule that he dictated was that I must ask for punishment every time I knew that I had done something to deserve it.

It was to prove a hard couple of hours for Alice, and for me. Within the first 10 minutes I had been beaten at least three times, including with a wooden spoon. Most of these beatings were for accidentally saying Sir instead of Master, and it was relentless. Every time I made a slip, I was bent over again, beaten again. At one point I made the same mistake for the fourth or fifth time and the conversation just stopped. Mr Thomas just looked at me, and looked at me, and I knew what I had to do, but I (or rather Alice, important distinction) was already so upset by this point that it was a huge struggle. I picked up the wooden spoon, stood before him, tears streaming down my face, and asked him to punish me for calling him Sir by accident. Probably one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. He made me go and fetch him the cane instead of the spoon. I was utterly broken by that. The five strokes of the cane that followed felt like brands of fire. When receiving 20 strokes of the belt, I moved on stroke 19 and had to suffer all twenty again.

The thing that really stands out for me looking back is that no one has ever been that unrelenting with me. There seemed to be no mercy, no rest, every tiny thing that Alice did wrong met with the most severe punishment. Every stroke burnt like a brand, and was excruciatingly painful. And yet I know looking back that that wasn't the case. There were things now that I know "Mr Thomas" let slide. And the fact that there was barely a mark on me 10 minutes or so after we came out of role is testament to the fact that these beatings that felt like fire were in fact probably some of the lightest I've taken in a scene. All of which goes to show just where headspace can take you! You can go to places and play with characters where people barely need to touch you to achieve their aim, so much in your head, or that of your character's, are they. And while I know that's not for everyone, it works for me!

Beat Me Now

2011-04-26T10:45:00.003+01:00

I need a beating. Not a hard one, or a nasty one. Or one with implements even. I don't need to feel that much pain, or be unable to sit afterwards.
I just need to be spanked, by hand, long and hard. To spank me out of a my grump and back into a good mood. Remind me that other people are in charge once in a while and not just me. Take the control away for a few minutes.
That is all.
If the Gods of spanking could oblige asap, I'd be obliged.

Role Play: A Means To An End

2011-03-30T22:42:00.004+01:00

I can probably count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times I have actually submitted, by which I mean accepted a “punishment” (real or roleplay) in my head as well as in my body. I will pretty much always submit physically, but in my mind is a different matter. I mentally fight what's happening to me, fight the power that someone has over me, swear to myself that I will not let them break me, and sometimes even have to end scenes if I can feel that I'm reaching that breaking point. I will often exhibit signs of this fight as well, as anyone who has played with me would recognise. I roll my eyes, sigh, talk back, am stroppy in tone and body language. All ways of me making my mark on the situation and proving that you may have my body but you don't have my mind. (Anyone reading this who has played with me and seen me doing that, it's nothing personal, I promise!)

The trouble is that this can actually be awfully tiring, for me as well as for whoever I'm playing with. Sometimes I actually do just want to submit, mentally. To know what it feels like. To experience what I've always thought must be a certain kind of peace. Just to accept something and go with it rather than fighting it every step of the way must be actually quite nice. The problem of course being that as myself, I would find that very hard to do. Especially at the moment. I'm in such a place with work and various other things that it feels as though letting “Eliane” break, submit, would be an exceptionally bad idea. So I had to come up with some other way. And that way was to create a character who could, and would submit.

Thus Alice was born. As alluded to in my previous post, Alice is an 18 year old orphan who has lived in an orphanage since the age of 1, and who is a shy and obedient girl. The worst she's ever beaten for is reading when she should be working, and she's an innocent and something of a loner. She's never had a boyfriend as the boys at school would never have deigned to go near an orphanage girl, and all in all she's something of a throw back to a former era, even though she is based in today's world. Again, as described in the previous post, Alice is being taken on by a Mr Thomas, strict but fair gentleman, to work as part of his staff, starting on the bottom rung and working her way up. In the role play Alice is meeting Mr Thomas for the first time, to be interviewed. She has been told that he is strict but fair, that this is a wonderful opportunity for her, and that she must show him what a good and obedient girl she is.

I was always pretty sure, as I was creating Alice in my head, that very little of Eliane would be left in there. I deliberately created a shy, easily intimidated girl who wouldn't say boo to a goose. But I wasn't sure. Would “I” creep back in to Alice? Would there be flashes of my obstinacy, my fight, or would I actually manage to submit to someone else's will as Alice? I think the answer surprised me a little and surprised “Mr Thomas” more than a little. From the moment I opened the door as Alice, there wasn't a trace of Eliane. Alice was the most perfectly behaved (and to be frank, pathetic) creature you've ever seen. She was petrified of this gentleman. Even though he was perfectly polite at the start, explaining what the job and interview would entail, and asking her questions about herself, she could barely speak above a whisper to answer him. When he started talking about the discipline regime in his household the fear became even worse.

The poor girl's ordeal had barely started, though. She was forced to take a series of tests on arithmetic, general knowledge, history and geography (proving conclusively to Eliane that I forgot how to do long division a long time ago!). Then she was forced to read out the letter she had written to Mt Thomas on his instruction. She had already been warned several time above speaking clearly and loudly, but eventually Mr Thomas lost patience and ordered her over the back of the chair to belt her. That was not the worst though. Punishment at the orphanage had always taken place with the girl leaving her knickers up and legs together. Alice had never been in a state of even semi-undress in front of a man until Mr Thomas forced her to lower her knickers and then spread her legs. She was mortified. But she did it anyway, and accepted the beating without question or rebellion.

Worse punishments than a belting were to come during the course of the interview, but Alice was utterly submissive. She did not question, she did not hesitate. She just obeyed. There was no talking back, no eye rolling, no sulking, no attitude, in fact no sign that Alice and Eliane were in fact one and the same person. By the end of the role play, Alice was so totally under the thumb of Mr Thomas that she probably would have gone and run around the garden naked if he had told her to. Questioning that instruction would not have been within her capabilities. Not because she is a stupid character (only a little pathetic!) but rather because she (and via “her”, me) had submitted to such a degree that it would not even have occurred to her that there was something to be questioned.

And do you know what? It was liberating. And I would do it again in a heart beat. Because of, and in spite of, the intensity. When we had finished I was shaking and crying. Not because I was upset or hurt, or anything, just the shear amount of adrenaline and excitement that was running through me at what I'd done and what I'd achieved. It took a good 20 minutes of talking for me to start approaching normality again. Even given that, using that role to allow me to experience “real” submission was a fabulous idea. Letting go to that degree as myself is still something that I don't think I would be able to do, certainly in the foreseeable future, but having a character, a headspace, to do that through was exactly the right way to do it for me. So long live Alice, pathetic little wretch that she is, and long live role play as a way of accessing emotions and experiences that you can't always access yourself.

Eliza - An Unintended Consequence

2011-03-28T22:14:00.001+01:00

Role play can be a funny old thing. I've talked before about how much I enjoy it. The element of being someone different, even if those differences are only heightened aspects of your own character, can be really exciting. In fact sometimes the role play itself and the thrill of being in character ends up being more enjoyable than the CP element of the play. Lowewood is a perfect example of this. Nowadays, I'm not even that worried about getting whacked during the course of the school day. That's not what I go for, I go for the fun of being Jemima, of being a school girl, of being with my friends. What I really love about role play though is the way that characters that you create take on a life of their own without you even intending it. A recent example of this really took me by surprise as it wasn't even the character that I was creating for the role play that became so real. The scenario I was planning with a friend concerned a girl in an orphanage. This was a very particular orphanage in its ways – when girls reached 18, they were taken on by suitable households, who would pay the orphanage back for the cost keep of the girl during her years there, and then the girl would have to pay back those costs through working for their new “Master” or “Mistress”. In order to set the scene for the roleplay, in which Alice would meet her new master for the first time, my friend and I exchanged a couple of notes in character, him as the gentleman, a Mr Ernest Thomas, and me as the director of the orphanage, Eliza Smith. Eliza was never intended to be anything more than the name at the bottom of a note, a spokesperson for the orphanage, not a fully formed character. In fact to start with she was merely Miss Smith, no first name at all. But as the days went by, and as notes were exchanged, the character came to life more and more. She developed a style of writing, likes and dislikes, opinions, none of which I'd planned for. Just by putting pen to paper, or in this case finger to keyboard, this third character, who was never intended to make an appearance in “real life” in a role play, has emerged, and is in some ways more of a person in my head than the poor wretched orphan who is going to be beaten. For now Eliza will stay as she is, a creation of pen and paper, not to inhabit a real life situation (well, you know what I mean by real life!) But who knows? She has become so three dimensional for me, that it seems a shame to keep her locked away in 2-D forever. Maybe Eliza will have her day. Until then, she remains an unintended consequence of my role play.

Free Speech, Oppressed

2011-03-20T10:52:00.002Z

Dear friends, I want to bring to your attention an injustice that has been committed. A grave injustice. Against the tenet of the right to free speech. For those of us lucky enough to live in democracies this is a right we take for granted, but apparently in our little kinky corner of the world, this is not the case.

Why you may ask? What has caused such a travesty to occur? Well, my friends, I will tell you.
I have several times on Twitter voiced my opinion of the drivers of certain brands of cars. BMWs and Audis, to be precise. Those of you who live in the UK might know what I'm talking about:

They are the ones who drive six inches from your bumper flashing you to move over when you're already doing 80 in the overtaking lane, can't pull back in because of traffic and can't go faster because of traffic. (Um, and the law, obviously).

They are the ones who claim that indicators are "optional extras" on their cars and therefore never use them.

They are the ones who refuse to pull over or let you out at a junction, etc. etc.

All fair comments, I'm sure you will agree. And, even if they weren't fair comments, it is still my right to express my opinion!

But apparently there are certain tops who disagree. Stand up and be counted as guilty, Mr Allen! At the very enjoyable party for the Fifth Birthday of The Spanking Writers yesterday he saw fit to drag me upstairs, and then proceeded to spank me while questioning me on the uses of indicators, belt me on behalf of all BMW drivers, strap me on behalf of all Audi drivers and then give me twelve strokes of the cane to... Well, to be honest, I can't even remember what the twelve strokes were for. To remind me he is the evil oppressor of free speech, perhaps?

All in all, I was thoroughly and unjustly abused. And I think my right minded friends in the blogoshpere should leap to my defence, and join me in declaring that not only are BMW and Audi drivers rude road hoggers, but they are intrinsically evil.

Not Craving

2011-03-06T21:42:00.000Z

I've not blogged for a while. This is somewhat due to time, but more due to inclination.
My kink is a fragile thing nowadays, easily quashed by the vagaries of real life. New job, illness, stress, all have contributed towards my lack of, for want of a better word, form.
Don't get me wrong, I have been playing over the past couple of months, and I enjoy it when I play, but I'm well aware that my pain tolerance is markedly down on what it used to be, and more frustratingly, I don't seem to crave spankings like I used to. I still have my moments, but those overwhelming longings, taking over my concious to the exclusion of most other things, most definitely seem to be a thing of the past.
Craving a spanking is a funny thing. It's an exciting, butterfly-in-the-stomach inducing feeling. It takes over your thoughts, leaves you distracted and unable to concentrate. Things that really shouldn't inspire rude thoughts in you send you off into reveries for minutes at a time. If I'm being honest, it's an awkward, inconvenient feeling. So why do I miss it?
I know I still need a spanking from time to time. Much as I hate to admit it, it grounds me, centres me, makes me feel like I've got more control on the other stuff that's going on in the world. But I know that on an intellectual level more than on an emotional or visceral one.
It doesn't worry me that I don't really have the same level of cravings any more. After all, I'm still kinky, and I still enjoy playing. It's just that maybe it doesn't obsess my thoughts to the same level that it used to. Which I suppose is only normal.

Dear Diary

2011-01-16T11:57:00.000Z

Dear Diary.

It's not bloody fair. Stupid school. I'm so misunderstood. You're the only one who gets me. Even Caoilfhionn isn't on my side any more. It's NOT FAIR!!! You'd think, maybe, that people would have pleased with me, right?! I was in sick bay in the morning, so I missed all of morning school, and all the various pranks they played, so I looked like a mini angel in comparison to the rest of them. I behaved all through the classes. I really tried in Art, even though I'm crap. I listened in history to the new teacher, Major Payne, even though his map of the world was a bit freaky and mixed up... Someone said it was what the world used to look like, but it just looked like everything was sideways to me.

I was really enthusiastic in Religious Education, which was all about the dangers of Satanism. I even acted out a piece on the Milgram experiment. (Or it might have been Mildew. Mr S seemed a bit confused.) in English. Or was it Psychology? I wasn't quite sure. But anyway, I really paid attention and everything, and at the end of the day got not just PLUS housepoints, but PLUS THIRTY! And it still wasn't bloody enough.

I got pink slipped and had to go and see Reverend Jenkins. Some idiot had put pictures of the New Years Eve party I had on Facebook, so I got beaten for allowing minors to drink hard liquor. Like it's my fault if people go and raid the drinks cabinet.

You would have thought that I'd have some support in Caoilfhionn, but no, she was too busy being head bloody girl. And talk about a power trip. All that stuff everyone says about power corrupting, well, they are TOTALLY right. It was like she was possessed or something. Bossing everyone about. She spent all afternoon trying to get me to tuck my shirt in and straighten my tie. She was driving me up the wall. One tiny little bit of power, and it goes straight to her head. I want my friend back.

But worst of all was the end of the day. Everyone else ended up in detention because of the balloon stunt, and serves them right. (Of course I would have ended up in detention for that as well if I hadn't been in the san, but that's not the point.) I thought I'd be safe, not having been in class and all that. But ohhh nooo. Apparently, my uniform was a "disgrace" so that was what I was being put in detention for... I wouldn't mind, but the only thing wrong was my skirt!! I even had black knickers on probably for the first time in my life. And I was only wearing the wrong skirt because I couldn't find my uniform one because Grandmother and the servants had been sick with flu, so I'd had to do my packing myself. And the thing was, it was black, and pleated (though the pleats were in the wrong direction...!)

So anyway, I end up in detention with Mr Brown and Major Payne, and they say we're all getting twelve from each of them. Well, I was seriously pissed off about that, and I didn't bother to try and hide it, so then I got a lecture on attitude. Yawn. I got six from Mr Brown with the cane, and then six from the Major with some strap. I was still seriously pissed off, and was talking back to them, so they said if I didn't show a change in attitude after the next 12, then I'd have to have even more. Well its not me who needs to change my attitude, it's them! They were totally picking on me. All I'd done is wear the wrong skirt, which was NOT MY FAULT ANYWAY, like I tried to explain to them. But they wouldn't listen, and they said I was raising my voice to them and I wasn't and it wasn't fair. And then Major Payne got even more evil. He dragged me up to the front BY MY EAR and then they gave me six more each, and he used the most evil wooden paddle I've ever felt. In the end I said I was sorry, because I wanted them to stop beating me, but I had my fingers crossed so it totally doesn't count.

And do you know what, if Caoilfhionn had been there, I bet she would have said I even deserved it!
Diary, it's not fair, I'm so misunderstood. I try to be good but they all hate me. You're the only one that understands me.

I'm going to go and cry now.

Jems.

(Editor's Comment: Eliane would like to point out that she had a wonderful time at Lowewood, even if Jemima did feel a little persecuted!)

Spanked Out Of A Strop?

2011-01-15T23:18:00.001Z

I'm not all that good at being tired. Or ill. I'm one of these people who very quickly starts being affected by either. I have friends with young children who have got so used to disturbed nights and constant colds that they can go for days being really quite personable on a few hours sleep a night. I, on the other hand, need my eight hours. Well, seven at a push. And if I don't get them, I become moody, and stroppy, and not a nice person, very quickly indeed. It's the same with being ill. It doesn't take much to turn me into a bit of a grumpy cow.

I sometimes wonder how a top would handle this, if there was one around when I was in the middle of having a grump. Would it be best just to ignore me and let me get on with it? Possibly, but I also have a fantasy of having the grump spanked out of me. Of someone reaching tolerance point with me, dragging me over their lap and spanking hard, spanking me to tears so that all the grump and strop and mood was spanked right away. Thrashing it out of me. Teaching me that it's not OK to take it out on other people when I feel under the weather, that a few hours lost sleep or having a stuffed up nose does not give me an excuse to be rude and snappy.

In reality, I'm not so sure whether that would work. Fantasies are all well and good, but whether that sort of scene would work for me in real life, or whether my natural tendency towards insubordination and stubbornness would just make me too indignant with such treatment and actually make me worse, I don't know. But, as usual, I'd love to hear from others. When you're in that sort of frame of mind, would spanking help, or would it just make things worse?

Topliness

2011-01-12T21:36:00.002Z

There has been much debate recently on twitter, and on blogs about body shape and size of spankees. This debate has stemmed from two main sources. One is the comments that some people think it is acceptable to make about a spankees size/weight/appearance, especially about professional spankees and models, as discussed by Leia-Ann here. Commenting on people's appearance in a negative way is not cool guys, OK? Though I'm sure you know that. Also there is this perspective from a taller lady in response to a blogpost where someone implied that tall bottoms should only be spanked by taller tops!

It's an interesting point. Is there some sort of rule that says that a top should be physically bigger or stronger than the people they are spanking? Is it in some way aesthetically unpleasant if this doesn't happen? Does it mean that the top will be less effective or that the bottom will somehow have a poorer experience?

Well, as far as I'm concerned, any suggestion along those lines is utter rubbish. I'm, as I've said before, not small, and probably larger than at least half of the people who've topped me over the past couple of years. So has that made a difference? Of course not. I've played with people who are six foot plus, I've played with at least two people who are barely five feet tall – Adele Haze and Amy Hunter. And at both ends of the spectrum they've been able to top me just fine. In fact, I'd go as far to say that Amy, in her guise as Miss Hammond-Grant (or HamandEggs, take your pick!) at Finishing School, is quite possibly one of scariest tops I've ever met!

For me, the ability to top me, or even dom me, bears no relation to size. It is all about mindset. It is all about putting me in that place where I am willing to bend over and take what's coming. It's about demeanour, tone of voice, what you actually say. The truly successful people are those who know just the right buttons to press to get the reactions they want from you. They don't need to be physically superior. They don't need to be intellectually superior, though many are. They just need to have that ability to say the right thing at the right time!

Bravery

2011-01-04T06:54:00.000Z

What constitutes bravery in our world? I suppose many people who look at us from the outside might consider that there is an element of bravery in what we do. That, or stupidity! But what do you consider to be brave?
Is taking your first ever spanking brave? Undoubtedly. Bending over to experience something that you've thought about, dreamed about, fantasised about for possibly many, many years is brave. What if it doesn't live up to all those wonderings? Can you trust the person you're playing with? It's a brave thing to do.
Giving your first spanking is similarly brave, not only are there the years worth of fantasies that you might be about to ruin, but you also have the responsibility for someone else's well-being in your hands.
Is letting someone strap you down to a whipping bench for a judicial punishment that will be the hardest thing you've ever experienced, brave? Having read accounts from Emma Jane of her judicial birchings and canings, can there be any doubt that it is?
Taking a spanking or caning without flinching or making a fuss is brave as well, I doubt I'll find any argument there.
But how about this scenario? A caning. Standing up after every other stroke. Clutching your bottom, eventually crying. Doesn't really sound that brave... But how about if I position it a little differently? Standing up, and clutching yes, maybe even begging for it to stop. But it is probably the hardest caning that you've ever had. One that will leave some serious bruising. One that is a punishment, but a punishment that you requested for having done something that you don't want to do again. I think (and to be fair, I'm pretty biased!) that even though the caning isn't taken in a “perfect” manner, it's still a pretty damn brave thing to do.

2010 - The Year That Was

2011-01-02T23:12:00.000Z

2010 was a fantastic year for me. In my personal life I moved house, found a new job, and took part in something that I really wanted to take part in. In my kink life I did a whole host of wonderful things.

I had a wonderful relaxing weekend away with friends in January, where I had a seriously hot beating, which was totally unplanned.
I spent February in the throes of moving, punctuated only briefly with an embarrassing trip to Coco de Mer.
March was really a kink free zone, but in April things got back on track, with my first proper spanking in the house, my first birching, a kinky girls trip to Wales and the culmination, my house warming party.
May had Lowewood, where Jemima failed miserably to behave.
In June I decided that the time had come to expand my spanko horizons beyond Europe, and I headed off to the Florida Moonshine Party to taste my first ever big American spanking party. Jemima also got into trouble AGAIN at Lowewood for wearing inappropriate knickers. Poor girl.
July saw me having in mini nervous breakdown trying to learn to cane, as well as celebrating my birthday, and going to some very fun parties.
August was the month my birthday party actually took place, shared with the wonderful Indy. In fact there was quite a lot of spanking happened in August.
Stubbornness was the word of the month in September, which saw me being caned to tears over a marshmallow, and beaten as a reformatory girl who was going to need a hell of a lot more reforming.
October disappeared in a haze of rehearsals, with the shining point of a holiday in there. Most of November was also eaten by show as well, but there was a kinky light in the darkness, which was Jemima being shipped off for a weekend at finishing school.
And so we reach the end of the year. December was filled with parties, spankings, more spankings, more parties, snow cancelling kinky trips, balls, and Christmas. It culminated, as is the way in December, with New Years Eve, which contained both one of the hardest canings I've ever had, and me packing my house with kinksters for a New Years Eve party. After all, if you haven't stripped down to your underwear and started dancing round the room by 12:15, it's not really New Year's Eve, is it? Or something...

Briefly skimming back through this post to write this has reminded me of all the amazing times I've had this year. All the "old" friends I've got to know better, all the new friends I've made, these are the people who make this life for me. At the end of the day, a kinky life is not actually about the physical kink, not deep down. That can only happen and be really successful if you have the people to share it with, to do the beatings, or watch the beatings, or share in the beatings, or the fun, or the weekends away. So to every single person who has shared in my kinky life this year, thank you. Here's to many more adventures together in 2011.

Happy New Year, everyone.

All I Want For Christmas...

2010-12-24T09:05:00.000Z

I know some of you may not believe me, but underneath all my cheekiness, I'm really a good girl. Deep down. Of course, I do stupid things occasionally, I think horrible thoughts about people, rage when the car in front of me is doing 30mph in a 60mph zone, skive when I should be working. So no, I'm not perfect, but I am generally a good girl.

So what I want for Christmas right now, more than anything else at this precise second, to be honest, is a lovely, long good girl spanking. You know the sort... starting off resting comfortably on a bed or sofa, over someones lap. A nice, slow, long warm up, starting off gently, gradually building up. With a hand only, obviously. Just to make it clear, wooden things should never, ever be involved in warm ups. Especially not good girl ones.

Then maybe moving to the arm of the sofa or the end of the bed. Somewhere where I'm comfortable. And toys can come out now, but only the ones I like. My doubled over strap. My thuddy flogger. Maybe when I'm really warmed up and relaxing into the pain, a slightly stingy belt. Or maybe that flogger could move onto my back, as I float off into a dreamy haze.

Of course, this is a good girl spanking, so there won't be any toys that I don't like. No wooden things. No tawses. Certainly no canes. Just deliciously yummy good girl spanking goodness.
Mmm... ah well, it's nice to dream :-)

So, before I drift off into a reverie of having the perfect spanking, I will take this opportunity to wish you all a very happy Christmas, and I hope you all get everything you deserve. After all, if we all get what we deserve, I'll certainly get that lovely spanking!

Happy Christmas!

Spankable

2010-12-18T17:52:00.001Z

I have been told on more than one occasion that I am very spankable. It's a compliment that I'm proud of. Though the fact that the sentiment of “I find that I am very much wanting to hit your behind with things that will hurt” is considered a compliment in our neck of the woods probably says something. I'm not quite sure what, though!

Anyway, wandering back towards the point, the fact is that “spankable” is a compliment, and it's one that I'm happy to receive, but it does lead me to ponder the question, what is “spankable”?
Why is someone considered “spankable”... is it beauty? Attractiveness? Is it because of their bottom? Their wit? Because they enjoy it?

I certainly don't think it's just about body type – after all there are some people who seem to find both myself and Emma Jane spankable, and you can't get more different than us, physically. But if not body type, then what? Maybe with me it's just that I'm so darn cheeky? But then there's other people I know who are considered just as spankable, but are not in the slightest bit cheeky.

Maybe it's as simple an answer is that it varies for everyone, and there's no “right” answer? What do you think – what, to you, makes someone spankable?

My Mouth

2010-12-12T22:25:00.002Z

My mouth gets me into trouble. A lot. I think a lot of people who meet me at parties probably think I'm that horrible thing, a brat, constantly teasing and annoying people to get attention, to get a spanking. In general, nothing could be further from the truth.

Last night I was at a party, where I had a lovely time, but I wasn't particularly in the mood for play, and would have been perfectly content if I hadn't been spanked all night. I knew that for various reasons it was likely that my pain tolerance would be pretty low, yet another reason why sitting in a corner chatting would have been fine.

I have a problem though, in that I genuinely can't stop being cheeky. There are certain people who, for want of a better word, provoke me, and in conversations with them, I just can't resist the opportunity to deliver a snappy comeback of some sort. Sometimes even as the words are coming out of my mouth I know it's going to land me in trouble, quite often trouble I don't even really want.
The worst thing is that, not only do I seem to have a problem keeping my mouth shut in the first place, I also seem to have major issues with the concept of learning from my mistakes.

As a perfect example, someone took it into their head to beat me and a lovely friend for talking with our mouths full. After he'd finished, I was asked if I had anything to say. Being quite ready to have the spanking over and done with, an appropriate response was forming in my head, but before it had chance to make it to my vocal chords, something else had taken over and said “Yeah. Can I have my bread back now?!” Even as the words were coming out of my mouth I was trying to bite them back. I'm sure you can all guess what happened next. And that was about the third time something similar had happened in one evening. At one point I was seriously considering just not talking for the rest of the night, which seemed to be the only way to keep myself out of trouble.

So next time you see a girl at a party constantly opening her mouth, saying cheeky things and getting into trouble, spare her a thought. It may well be that she really isn't doing it to brat her way into a spanking. It may well be that she just can't help it.

Watching

2010-12-03T06:11:00.000Z

I'm not a huge voyeur. Well, that's not entirely true. I can watch spankings that are fairly tame. I can even watch most implements being used, again especially if it's not too hard, and enjoy it, albeit in a somewhat clinical way. I can't watch canings, or other severe punishments, and it's even worse when it's my friends being punished. As several who have seen me watch other people being caned can attest, I'm generally looking for a pillow to bury my face in. In the absence of a pillow, any handy shoulder will do.

Watching isn't quite such an issue when I'm being whacked, but I will generally make sure that if I can see any shadows of arms falling, I close my eyes. It would, however, be disingenuous of me to say that there are never occasions when I don't have the "opportunity" to watch what is going on. Bottoms are not the only places that can be spanked. There's hands, and um, other places.

I think I've only been whacked on my hands once, maybe twice. It hurts. A lot. I tried very hard not to watch. I've also been spanked in other places a few times. I also try very hard not to watch. Looking directly into the eyes of someone who is setting out to cause you pain in your most vulnerable places is a very hard thing to do. Eye contact like that is embarrassing. It's intense. Given any sort of choice, I will hide my hide my head in pillows, cushions, my hands, whatever is around.

But being forced to watch, to keep your hands by your sides, to maintain eye contact as the stroke falls, and you cry out in pain. That's excruciating. And embarrassing. And incredibly hot.

The Doorbell

2010-12-01T21:07:00.000Z

Half my implements are under one sofa.
Half are under the other.
My knickers are under the second sofa.
My heart is still racing.
Oh, and I can't sit down.

The last bit probably would have happened anyway, but the other four wouldn't have done.

There are few things more likely to induce panic than the doorbell ringing when you are standing in the middle of the living room with your dress round your middle, no knickers, a set of extremely painful cane stripes on your bottom, with your implements and underwear spread across the room.

"Is it my mother? Is it a friend? Will they go away if I just ignore them? Will they think I'm not in? Will the car in the drive and the lights on give it away? Oh sh*t, oh sh*t, oh sh*t, there's really incriminating stuff all over the floor.., Help!"

90 seconds later, everything, including my knickers, and been kicked under the sofas, and I ventured towards the door, head full of reasons to explain away the strange man sitting on my sofa.

Turns out it was someone coming to read my meters. Panicking unnecessary. Luckily, they won't want to read the meters again for a while, as I have no desire to have a repeat of that feeling any time soon!

It Gets Into Your Head

2010-12-01T09:00:00.000Z

I promise Jemima will get to have her say soon, but I just wanted to interrupt for a minute to recount something which I think shows just how much extended role play can get into your head.

On the last day of Finishing School, we were in the middle of the afternoon, taking afternoon tea in the music room, when the three of us who were supposed to be flying home that night got called out, and told that due to the snowy conditions, and known road closures, we would be leaving in 30 minutes, rather than the 2h30 minutes that had originally been the plan. This meant that we had to drop out of role immediately to go and pack.

Thus it was Eliane and not Jemima who rushed back into the music room to pick something up. In my head I had pretty much straight away dropped out of character to enable myself to deal with the practicalities of quick packing, and the worry of the drive to the airport (though in the capable hands of Zille's heroic husband, I didn't need to worry at all).

So it was practical, sensible me going into that room, in a rush, not dizzy, silly Jemima. But as I ran through the room over to a table to pick something up, it felt so terribly, terribly wrong. Running through rooms in Mrs Darling's Academy? In front of the guests? I know it sounds silly, but it really did feel as though I was committing some major and severe offence. It really is amazing how in the course of less than 48 hours, I had started inhabiting my role and the situation so fully that something that wouldn't make me even pause for a second normally felt so alien and naughty.

Of course, this didn't stop me coming back downstairs, out of my uniform, ready to head off, in a Little Miss Bad Tshirt, and Little Miss Bossy knickers, which I proceeded to show to everyone! What can I say? Jemima made me do it.

Eliane At Finishing School

2010-11-29T23:10:00.004Z

Sometimes I wonder how I manage to lead such a wonderfully charmed life. I have already had several mind blowing play experiences: Lowewood days that I have giggled my way through like a giddy school girl; the dramatic, but beautifully elegant contrast that was the Regency House Party; delightful weekends away and parties with friends; trips abroad to meet like minded people. All of this in the space of just under three years since I first came out, and in reality more like 18 months.

And now I have yet another amazing experience to mull over. A weekend finishing school, led by the esteemed Miss Darling and the wonderfully formidable Miss Hammond-Grant. I think I've probably developed a wee crush on these two lovely ladies, who alternated between scaring poor Jemima silly(ish) and taking every situation in their stride with a twinkle in their eyes.

Jemima will of course be having her say about Finishing School, but in the meantime, Eliane would like to say a thank you from the heart to Lucy and Amy for the most wonderful education a lady could have! I had a fantastic time, got the opportunity to meet several people that I've wanted to renew my acquaintance with, several that I've seen far too little of lately, and several that I was privileged to meet for the very first time.

Jemima may have been the one who was being finished (off?) but I took away some very useful lessons:

To always count the steps before going down them (courtesy of a little incident in the kitchen on the first night)
That I am, in fact, also allergic to raspberries as well as strawberries.
That Mac make up is a wonderful thing.
That mojitos are also wonderful. Especially now I know how to make them.
That there are, surprisingly, people out there who are even more adept at keeping on digging
when they find themselves in a hole than me. Which is impressive.

So, to the Tutors, the bachelors, and my fellow young ladies, you were all wonderful.

Thank you.

Jemima Writes To A Friend

2010-11-22T22:16:00.000Z

Dear Emily,
You won't bloody well believe what my grandmother's gone and done now. You know I said I was going to visit you next during next weekend's exeat? Well that's all out the window now. She's sending me off to some finishing school. She says that “while Miss Marwood and Miss Cavendish, my etiquette teachers at Lowewood have done a wonderful job with raw material, she thinks I need to spend a period of time purely focussed on the business of being a young lady without any academic hindrances.” I mean seriously, what planet it she from??
So yeah, instead of getting to spend the weekend with you having fun, I'm being shipped off to the middle of nowhere to be “finished off”. Too bloody right it'll finish me off. Not only is it a finishing school, but it's one that uses “traditional discipline”, yes, just like Lowewood. You don't do what they want, they whack you... lovely, eh? And you can guarantee I'll get my share of whackings, just like Lowewood. It's not like I try to misbehave even, it just happens!
And do you know what the worst thing is? I have to pretend to be thrilled by this “wonderful opportunity.” This place, can't even remember it's name, is apparently THE finishing school, and I'm very lucky to have been accepted, as everyone wants to go there. So I have to pretend to be all happy and write polite notes saying how wonderful it is that I'm going. Ugh.
I suppose it could be worse. My friend Caoilfhionn is going as well. I've told you about her, right? She's great fun, even she can be a bit good at times. Anyway, at least I'll know someone, and hopefully we can have some fun among all the “ladylike” stuff.
I hope you have a bloody great weekend, and if I survive, I'll write to you and tell you all about it!
Luv ya loads,
Jem
xx

The Show That Ate My Life

2010-11-07T10:20:00.000Z

Kink has been a little absent from my life over the last month. This is because I'm in what I now know as The Show That Ate My Life. We were rehearsing three nights a week before I went on holiday, since I came back we've been rehearsing four or five nights a week. That, plus working pretty much equals no life. No life equals no kink. The show is also the reason why Lady Francesca did not visit Fawcett Hall this year, and why Eliane will not be going to the Shamrock Spanking Society party in Ireland. So yeah, this show has eaten my life, both vanilla and kinky.

Despite being trapped in my kink free desert, there is one little fantasy that keeps rearing its head. I would LOVE to go on stage with a fresh set of cane stripes. The idea of going to the theatre having just been caned, welts throbbing on my bottom, is very hot. We share communal dressing rooms, and there will be 10 or so ladies in there. It's rather exciting to think that I could be there with my several costume changes, having to hide the stripes from people. Of course, I don't actually have the time to get the nice fresh stripes, but it doesn't stop it being a nice thought to keep myself going over the next couple of weeks.

Drop

2010-10-27T18:28:00.001+01:00

A conversation the other day led me to ponder the nature of "drop". It's sort of an accepted part of what we do, but it's not often something we talk about, or at least that I remember having many conversations about.
As I've talked about before, I always used to think that I couldn't "get" drop, as I didn't seem to get those endorphin highs that some people have, and drop was all about the come down from the endorphin high.

Over time I've realised that whether or not I experience an endorphin high (and that question is still open to debate) I most certainly do experience drop after playing. For me it's very much an emotional reaction, and can vary from feeling a bit down the day after I've played, to full blown emotional meltdown, tears, depression, the works. It's generally linked to the intensity of a scene - the more intense something is, the worse the drop, and things like weekend role plays or weekends away with friends have the biggest effect. I become very emotionally vulnerable when it's over, and I'm "coming down" from all my fun. And I may well stay like that for a good couple of days. Being able to distract myself with other things will sometimes help, though not always. In a Harry Potter dementor sort of a way chocolate helps. Talking through experiences with friends who shared them also helps, but isn't always possible. Sometimes I just need to go with it and wallow.

For me, nasty though it is, drop is the price I pay for the fun I have, and it's a price that I'm willing to pay. At least for now. Who knows, I may decide in the future that I can't cope with the aftermath anymore.

I'm interested to hear what other people think about drop, (and I fully acknowledge that it's not just a phenomenon that affects bottoms, tops get drop too). Do you suffer from drop? Is it an acceptable price to pay? How much is too much? Does experiencing drop afterwards take away from the enjoyment of playing in the first place? What do you do to combat the drop? Feel free to share your thoughts.

What I Did On My Holidays

2010-10-24T11:11:00.004+01:00

Well, to be honest, I didn't do much at all. I read lots and swam lots, and slept lots. And that's about it. One day I did do something, which was to go to La Granja, a country estate in the hills, which still has the large Hacienda style house open to the public, and dressed in a turn of the century (as in 19th/20th!) style.

It's nice to know that even abroad, there were proper measures in places for keeping the young ladies of the house is order:

The carpet beaters hanging ready for the maids who have done the ironing wrong.

The wooden spoons displayed on the wall to remind the kitchen girls to keep their minds on the job.

And any suggestions as to what this is on the bed, would be welcome!

Loving The Lurkers

2010-10-21T23:00:00.002+01:00

As it's Love Our Lurkers Day V, the tradition started by Bonnie where we invite people who may lurk in the background to come out of the blog closet and say hi.

Given that my poor blog is sorely neglected at the moment, I probably haven't got any lurkers, or indeed readers left, but if you are out there, and fancy saying hi (and you can say just that if you want!) I'd love to hear from you.

You never know what you can start from saying hi. I have my wonderful group of friends today because I said hi on a blog.

So if you do happen to have dropped by, give me a wave. You never know, it might even give me the kick up the pants I need to write another post!

Eliane

Sunshine

2010-10-01T19:50:00.003+01:00

It's not like I'm updating enough at the moment for my absence to make the slightest difference to anything, but I thought that I'd take a few minutes to gloat about the fact that I will not be posting for the next week as I'll be of doing precisely nothing in the sun for a week.
Well, that's not entirely true. I'm taking a pile of books and plan to swim lots and read lots, but apart from that I won't be doing much. No phone, no internet access, no twitter, no facebook, certainly no work. Bliss.

I also realised today that I haven't had a full week off in a year - even Florida was only six days, and one of those was spent travelling. (And wonderful though Florida and FMS were, they couldn't be described as relaxing.)

So hopefully I'll be back in a week's time, relaxed, no longer full of cold and crap, ready to face my incredibly busy last part of the year, and with a notebook full of kinky stories to write up. That's the plan at any rate.

Stubborn To The Point Of Stupid

2010-09-28T06:56:00.000+01:00

As you may have noticed from some of my recent posts, I've been in a bit of a strange mood when playing recently. Even my biggest fans will concede that I have something of a stubborn streak. In my defence there are very many situation where I'm not in the slightest bit stubborn, and will happily concede to other people in the interests of peace and harmony all round. That's something I learnt growing up with a younger sibling.

To be honest, I don't think I've historically been particularly stubborn when being spanked - I can't cope well enough with the pain to be stubborn – I have to give in once it reaches a certain level.
That seems to have changed recently though, and I have been finding myself in a worryingly stubborn state of mind while playing. On the one hand it is exhilarating to be in a place where I'm just mentally going “f*** you, there's no way I'm giving in to you.” but on the other hand, my judgement as to what I can (and should) take seems to be somewhat impaired.

The last couple of times I've played, first when I was beaten to tears over a marshmallow , and then when I played a scene where I was a reformatory girl with an attitude problem , I have some doubts that I would have safeworded. Well, I'm sure I would have eventually, but probably well past the point of safety, and of what I actually wanted to take. In short, I was being stubborn to the point of being stupid. I was very fortunate enough that I was playing with two sensible and sane tops who were responsible enough to stop the scene at the point where it should have stopped, rather than waiting for me to do so at some unspecified point in the future when I have beaten well past my normal tolerance level.

I'm grateful to both of them for that, especially as in one case the person in question then had to endure my extended gloat about having “won”. The thing is, though, that I shouldn't have to rely on other people to be my safety net. Responsible play is the not just up to the top to ensure. It's up to both parties. I was lucky that they can judge me well enough to call time. If I play with people who are not able to judge me well enough and I still persist in this ridiculous stubbornness, I may well end up with more than I bargained for.

The only problem is that I don't know how to get out of this stubborn mind set... maybe the fact that I'm unlikely to be playing much (if at all) over the next couple of months due to various vanilla things happening, might just snap me out of it. Let's hope so for my bum's sake!

To P-Star and Pickle

2010-09-26T16:27:00.001+01:00

I probably wibble on far too much about how lucky I am, but I'm about to again, so feel free to skip on to another post.

I had some friends to stay last night. They are dear and close friends, and the occasion was a celebration of us having known each other for ten years. It was even sweeter as the opportunities to get together like that nowadays are fewer than they were.

We had a great evening reminiscing, trying to list out all the trips that we've been on together over the years (which took a while, there's been a few!), looked through old photographs, decided that we all looked a lot younger ten years ago, and generally had a really nice time.

What made it really wonderful though is that the evening progressed, the talk became more frank, and we started talking about what was going on in certain specific aspects of our lives. Now both these friends know about my kink. One of them was the first person I came out to, and asked advice from, as she's kinky herself, the other I told about six months later, when I was really starting to meet people and actually play. They have both been endlessly supportive, and more than that, interested in the new interests in my life. I think we pushed it to a new level last night though – I ended up both showing them various photos of my marked bottom, and then showing them spanking porn on my PC!

Many of you would probably think that should friends photos of your cane marks is stepping over the line rather, and of course it would have been if forced them to look, but in the end it was pretty much the other way round, they forced me to show them! But even though I'm not going to make a habit of showing those sorts of photos to them, it's great to know that I can, that they aren't offended, or disturbed, and that we can have the conversations about anything, be it a trip to Spain seven years ago, or my play date the week before. For me it means our friendship will only get deeper as the years go on, as there's not need for any of us to keep secrets from each other.

As you can see, I am very lucky to have friends like those, who know both my past and my present. Pickle and Pornstar, you rock :-D

An Unreformed Reformatory Girl

2010-09-19T00:02:00.000+01:00

I got sent to see the governor today. No bloody surprise really. I suppose the only surprise is that it took them that long. They say I'm lippy, and don't show respect, and don't act contritely. Well, what do they expect?! They show no bloody respect to me, so why the hell should I show them any back? As for contrition – well I did what I did because people were bloody stupid. If you're going to leave your car doors unlocked and your windows open, don't expect me not to take the opportunity. And don't expect me to feel sorry about it either. Idiots.

So they finally got fed up today. I suppose they'd done pretty well. I mean, I'd been there for two weeks before they got that mad with me. I was lounging outside his office door when he turned up. I don't think he was that impressed. Started going on about bad attitude and standing up straight, and blah, blah, blah. I switched off halfway through. He was also blathering on about how “in the old days” (I mean, what is he, 80?!) I would have been birched on arrival and that would have made me behave and seriously, shut up already, mate, you're boring me!

I got ordered into his office, and he lectured me some more about how I'm going to leave it more contrite and better behaved, then he made me take off my skirt, bend over and he tied my legs down. He started in on me with a slipper. He was probably lecturing me, but I was filtering it out. Why listen to crap when you don't have to? I mean, yeah, it hurt, and I probably showed it did as well, but just because something hurts, it doesn't mean I'm going to change. He put down the stupid slipper and got out some massive strap that he called the reformatory strap. Then he asked me how many I'd been given last time I'd been thrashed by the guards. Well, if the doddery old fool can't be bothered to look in the record books, I certainly can't be bothered to tell him the right answer. He's one of those sadistic bastards that would go “Well, last time you got X, so I'm going to double it.”

I think I judged it about right. There was no way I was going to tell him the truth, which was 24. I thought about going for 6, but reckoned that would be shooting a bit low and he'd just beat me for lying. So instead I chose 12 and that he seemed to believe it. So he gave me 12 with this massive strap. Actually he gave me more, because I moved. Whatever. Of course I bloody moved. It f****** hurt. Idiot.

Apparently I wasn't showing any contrition so he swapped to some “XH” tawse, whatever that is. Of course I wasn't showing any contrition. Do you really think that thrashing me is going to get me to show any?! I tell you what, 12 with that tawse was bloody horrible as well, but I don't give in that easily. I'm not some mealy mouthed mouse like some of the girls, practically offering to lick the dirt of the guards feet. Sod off.

He reckoned he still wasn't getting through to me, which is fair enough, because he wasn't, so he moved onto the cane. I was jumping up every other stroke this time, he was laying it on thick, but I could still barely bring myself to be civil. I got 18 in total. I can still feel the stripes as I write this now. As I was bent over, he told me that he didn't think I looked so big and clever from where he was standing. That's all he knows. All my mates think I'm really brave for standing up to the bastards in charge, and for not crying when he was beating me. I'm a real heroine to them, and I love it.

He finished off by lecturing me (again!) and telling me that if my attitude and behaviour didn't improve then the next step would be for him to tie me down in front of the whole reformatory, and give me fifty strokes of the birch. Then “all the girls who admire me now would see how feeble I really was when I was crying my way through a punishment.” Yeah. Whatever. He doesn't understand us at all. You'd think after working here for so bloody long he might, but no. If I ended up being birched in front of all the girls, I'd dine out on that for months, no matter how badly I took it. Well, not exactly dine, give how rotten the refectory food is, but you know what I mean. So yeah, bring it on, Mr Governor man. I'm a leader here after two weeks. There's no way you're bringing me down.

Under The Weather

2010-09-16T20:06:00.003+01:00

I've been feeling distinctly under the weather this past few days, having come down very suddenly with a stinker of a cold during Monday night. I was very sensible on Tuesday and Wednesday and spent both days either sleeping or resting. The trouble was, by today, I was bored of being ill. So I drove into work to get my laptop.
I only managed two hours in the office before I was so shattered I had to come home again, but when I got back I worked all afternoon until about 6pm, and then decided I really should go to rehearsal as I'd missed all this week's. Unfortunately I only got ten minutes down the road (it's a 25 minute journey) before I had to give up and turn back as my eyes were watering so badly with tiredness that I couldn't actually see the road.
This is my trouble - my stubborn mentality will mean that I just push myself to keep going when I really should rest. So what I really needed this week was someone who would make me go upstairs at 8pm, put on my pajamas, follow me up, turn me over their knee, give me a firm spanking* and put me to bed.
Of course it doubtless would fail in real life as I'm a contrary madam and would probably smack whoever tried. It's a nice little dream, though.

* Firm bedtime spankings do NOT include hairbrushes. There's a law somewhere which confirms this.

Eliane vs the Marshmallow

2010-09-09T23:02:00.003+01:00

I'm stubborn, and I'm over competitive in many situations. These are two things I already know about myself, as do most people who've met me. But sometimes my level of stubbornness impresses even me.

The conversation started of something like this.
Him: “Do you want a marshmallow?” (Throwing the bag towards me)
Me: (As the marshmallows fall on the sofa) “No, you've tainted them!”
Him: “I bet I can get you to eat one.”
Me: “Oh, I bet you can't”.

And the minute those words were out of my mouth, I knew that was it. I knew that there was no way on this earth that I would be eating that damn marshmallow. Thus began an almighty battle of wills. He bent me over, put the stupid sweet in front of me, and started spanking me. I genuinely can't remember everything he used. There was the the flogger, the strap, the leather fly swat, two leather paddles, my thin wooden paddle, probably minimum 50 with the wooden spoon. I was unremittingly cheeky, for example when I wouldn't stay in position:

“Put your legs down”.
Thump.
“And now put your top down”.
“I'm not a bloody convertible!"

I paid for that one...

But the longer we went on, the more convinced I became that there was no earthly way I was eating the fluffy white confection by my nose. This was because it was no longer a marshmallow. It was the symbol of all the crap at work, all the stress of rehearsals, all the idiocy over losing a crucial vehicle document. It was all of those, and as I stared it in the face as it sat there in front of me, I knew that there was no way that all that shit was getting the better of me. Eating it would have been the ultimate sign of defeat. I wasn't going to give into him, and I wasn't going to give into the stress.

And I stayed firm. Even when he got the cane out I stayed firm. I'm not sure how many strokes there were in total. It may have been 24. It was certainly 21. It was probably the closest I've ever come to being desperate for more of the cane. I willed each stroke to fall, proof that I was strong. I probably started crying after about six, but despite several opportunities, I still didn't eat the marshmallow. I welcomed the tears, and I welcomed the release of some of the tension I've been carrying around, but most of all I welcomed the fact that I could cry but still be strong, still not give in to him, to the marshmallow, to the idiots at work, to the insane schedule...
And in the end, the inevitable occurred.
He gave in.
I won.

I bet not many people can say they've been caned to tears over a marshmallow...

Reassessing The Situation

2010-08-23T20:57:00.000+01:00

I'm a wimp. This has been my stance, and my view of myself pretty much since my first months of being out. There are several reasons that this view arose. I think it's partly a defence mechanism. If I state upfront that I'm a wimp, people will go easier on me. I think some of it comes from having watched videos in the early days and thinking that the girls on film were taking more, and taking it much better than I could. Some of it comes from me feeling that I wasn't living up to people's expectations of me, whether this was actually the case or not.
Then I started playing more with other people, and even though I swore blind that I didn't "do competitive bottoming" (and I didn't in the sense that I didn't look down on other people for what they could or couldn't take), I certainly did compare myself to others who played harder than me, or who I believed played harder than me, and found myself wanting.

Then came a period of being very ambivalent about wanting to play. When I came back after this, I obviously had a much lower pain tolerance than previously. Repeat the cycle another six months later, and by this point my perception of myself as a wimp was well and truly fixed in my mind as the absolute truth.

Except people have been telling me that I should maybe review that perception. Or rather they've been telling me to get a grip, because I'm really not a wimp. And when I look at the evidence, they may have a point. Saturday night is a case in point. I was playing with some friends, and had watched several people being caned while I alternated between actually looking and hiding behind a pillow. Then apparently it was my turn... After having voiced my dislike of canes, and preference for all things leather, the kind gentleman proceeded to use various paddles and straps. There was one strap in particular that I happily could have kept going all evening with, or at least at the strength it was being used. Unfortunately, I then heard a swish through the air.
"That's not a cane he's got, is it", I asked the others. Gleefully they all replied that it was. I thought about getting up. After all, I'm a wimp, and I really can't cope with canes. I decided to try one stroke though, and see what happened. I could always stand up if it hurt too much.
The stroke fell. It was OK. I decided to stay down. The next one was OK as well. As were the next two. Five and six were pretty ouchy, but just about bearable. I stood up, quite pleased with myself for not having made much of a fuss. (After all, I have been known to actually dance round the room between strokes...)
I was really surprised when Emma Jane, who had been spotting, told me that she had actually told the person delivering the strokes to up the strength each time, because of how I was taking them, and that by the end they certainly weren't particularly light...

So maybe I'm not a wimp. I took six fairly hard cane strokes, in front of other people, making a minimum of fuss. That's not the behaviour of a wimp, is it? It's actually quite hard to get my head round that. It's been so long that I've thought of myself in this way that to change that idea is something that's going to take time. Also, as long as I play with people who can, and like to play so much harder than I can/do, there will always be a lingering feeling of inadequacy. I recognise how stupid this is. People don't view me as inadequate. They (it seems) view me as someone who plays well, within their own comfort zone. Just because my comfort zone differs to other people does not make my play any less valid, and the only person who really ever thinks that it is is me. Even if my own comfort zone differs depending on time of month/emotional state/recent play, it *still* shouldn't matter to me. I shouldn't compete with others, I shouldn't compete with myself.

It's time to reassess the situation, to stop branding myself a wimp at every opportunity, to recognise that I can actually take a half decent whacking, but that even if I couldn't it wouldn't actually matter. So anyone who hears me call myself a wimp, feel free to call me on it!

In Search Of Lost Memory

2010-08-18T21:30:00.000+01:00

People often threaten me. Well, by people, I mean tops. Normal people rarely threaten me, and I'd probably be a bit more concerned. As it is, tops' threats rarely bother me. Because, let's be honest, most of them don't exactly seem to be wonderfully blessed in the memory department. Or at least in the "remembering offences/cheek/random misbehaviour" area. If I had a pound for every time a top had threatened me with some horrible retribution and then forgotten about it five minutes later, I'd be quite a rich woman by now. Of course if I'd had a cane stroke for every time, I'd be quite a sore woman!

As is my way, I was wondering, and I thought I would enquire more generally. Is it just the tops I know who are less than formidable in this area? Or is it tops in general? So feel free to answer the following poll. You can answer it if you are a top as well. As long as you do it honestly, because we'll be watching.

Mean Boys

2010-08-16T22:01:00.000+01:00

My mother always told me about mean boys when I was growing up. You know, the ones that a girl should avoid because they were, well, mean. Of course, I never was one to follow my mother's advice, and over the past couple of years, I've learnt lots more about mean boys, and how they operate.

Mean boys are the ones that come to your house and accuse you of kidnapping their possessions, when in fact they are just forgetful.

Mean boys are the ones that spank you for no reason, and then spank you harder when you're cheeky.

They are the ones who make you stand in the corner with the knickers round your knees and your hands on your head, and then claim that they saw you rubbing your poor, sore bottom when they were out of the room, and spank you some more.

You can recognise mean boys, as they are the ones that “borrow” your implement bag and then use things like wooden spoons and straps on you. (Note to self, burn all wooden spoons.)

A mean boy may well make you wear a pirate hat while spanking you, because they are just that mean.

A mean boy puts ice on your bottom and says they are doing it to make sting better.

Mean boys use nasty wooden hairbrushes. And not on their heads. Nasty wooden hairbrushes that will be dead nasty wooden hairbrushes if I get my way.

Mean boys use phrases like "Because I said so" far too often.

Mean boys cane.

Don't tell anyone, but I quite like mean boys....

Needy

2010-08-13T20:06:00.001+01:00

I need to be dominated. I need to be bent over, to be caned, to be made to stay in position. To take the strokes, slowly but surely. To know that there will be no turning back, no matter how much I whinge and whine, but that it will be done in such a way that I will make it through. I need to release.
I really, really, need to be caned "properly".

That is all.

Oh Not Again!

2010-08-10T07:04:00.000+01:00

Someone please explain to me why I feel the need to buy things like this...

Because I really have no idea!

What Do You Get...

2010-08-08T23:01:00.002+01:00

...when you take 30 kinksters, some alcohol and two birthdays?
Well, you get:

A girl jumping out of a cake (who thought that a wish expressed on twitter three weeks before would be made true?)
A totally unjustified spanking, to remove me from the room while the “cake” was set up.
A multiple flogging from my darling GNO girls.
The most perverted scene I could ever imagine where at least ten people were all stood in my bedroom taking it in turns to give me a birthday spanking while singing “Happy Birthday” in a dirge like manner. I mean, really, people!
A fabulous barbecue, thanks to all the kind chefs.
The chance to watch a dear friend get her share of birthday spankings. (Well, actually, her comeuppance!)
A caning and a belting.
The chance to meet the London Tanner.
The amusement of watching someone try to put up a tent in the pitch black and yet refuse any offers of a torch.
The indignity of losing at cheesecake Jenga, mostly because the Meanest Man On The Internet cheated!
The chance to flog real life people, and oh my goodness did I enjoy it.
The joy of coming down the next morning to find that the cleaning fairies had started work. They do exist!
Some more lovely spankings the next morning, from those I'd forgotten to collect my birthday spanking from the night before.
At least two threats of retribution to be served up at a later date for cheek. Anyone who knows me will know how unfair and unjust this is!

To be serious for a minute, I want to thank each and every one of my guests for their presence yesterday. You made the party, and I hope you all enjoyed yourselves as much as I did. You all rock!

Frisking The Guests

2010-08-05T22:06:00.000+01:00

I'm having a party on Saturday. A kinky party. There are quite a few people coming. Up to 28, to be precise. That's quite a lot of kinky people.
Having a houseful of kinky people would be a lovely event, but for one small problem. This party is a birthday party. Well, it's actually a joint birthday party, but the other person is denying that it's her birthday. We all know what happens at kinky birthday parties, don't we? People get birthday spankings. Fine if it's one or two people delivering them. Fifteen or so? Not so fine.
So, friends, I have a plan to save my butt. This plan has two parts:
Part one: Hide all my toys that I don't like, leaving only those which I do like available for use.
But wait, you say, what about the people coming? Surely they will bring their own implements?
Well, here is where part two comes into play. Part two involves frisking all guests on arrival. Frisking them for implements, you understand. If I discover any implement that I think will be detrimental to my health, I will remove it, and/or make the bearer sign a legal document swearing that they won't use it on me.
Clever, right?
My one problem? What to do about Abel's right hand... Personally I don't think it should be allowed on the premises, but as I'd quite like the rest of him to be in attendance I don't suppose I have a whole amount a choice.
I'll let you know how my plan goes, shall I?

Switches

2010-08-01T19:50:00.001+01:00

If you go down to the woods today....

You're likely to find two pervy girls wandering around debating the merits of switches.
One of us (not me) has a fascination about getting sent out to the woods to find a switch. Well, OK, maybe I find that quite a hot fantasy as well. So when we found ourselves in the woods, we decided that it really would be an opportune time to do some research.

Research into switches seems to involve lots of walking around looking at the floor, trying to spot sticks that might prove "fit for purpose". It's amazing how many aren't, actually. Too thin, too thick. Too long, too short. There were a whole load that never even made it off the ground and into our hands for further research.

The ones that did though, were of a particular type. About two feet long. Thinnish. Picked up, swished up and down through the air. Noises studied, brittleness assessed. Merits debated. Many discarded at this point.

A few make it through to the next cut though. Then we start trying them out, on our hands, once or twice on each others bottoms. Some broke, so they were discarded. One was doing fine until I caught it on an overhanging branch on my back swing, so that one was gone as well.

We ended up with three switches, but the additional research with them still didn't prove very conclusive. Switches always sounds like a very painful implement when you read about them, but as I tried one out on Irelynn, she didn't seem to be particularly impressed. To be fair, my technique isn't great, and when I was repeatedly hitting the same spot, it elicited an ouch, but none of the switches we picked seem to emulate in any way those mythical implements we'd heard of.

So what is it that make a good switch? Does it need to fresher, cut straight from the branch? Thicker? Thinner? I've brought three home with me that I'll maybe soak in the bath and see what that does to them. But what do you know about switches? Any advice you can give us?

The Tyre Tread

2010-07-26T22:34:00.002+01:00

As Sam drove along she lamented the fact that it was starting to get dark again earlier. It was 7pm on a Sunday, and the roads were quiet as she drove through the gathering dusk, heading for the petrol station on the retail park. She turned a corner and drove over a speed bump in the road, and heard the sickening thump of a tyre blowing out. Luckily, she was close to a supermarket car park, and pulled in, under a light. Of course, it was empty as the store was closed, but at least she was off the road. She got out the car and looked at the offending tyre. Definitely flat. And worse than that, as she looked more closely, the tread on the tyre was worn to practically nothing.
She thought about her options. Greg was working tonight, worst luck. Well, there was nothing for it. She would just have to call the RAC and keep her fingers crossed.

Twenty minutes later, the RAC van pulled into the car park and her already sunken heart hit the bottom of her boots. Greg was at the wheel. Just her luck. Of all the patrolmen they had in his segment, it had to be him. He couldn't have been caught on another job? No, of course not. At least if she'd got someone else, they might not have known Greg, and the news might not have got back to him. She unlocked the door and got out with a wan smile. Greg leapt out and gathered her up in his arms.

"Sweetie, are you OK? As soon as I realised it was you, I swapped jobs with that new guy Tom, and headed out here. The report said you had a flat?"

Sam nodded her agreement mutely.

"Right, well let's get your spare on and then you can get on your way. Are you staying at mine tonight?"

"Um, no" said Sam, desperate to avoid the inevitable consequences if she stayed at her boyfriend's flat tonight. "I've got to get up really early for work, and you're on a late, so I'll just go home to mine."

Greg looked a little disappointed as he headed round to the other side of the car to change the wheel. Sam kept out of the way as he started work. As he jacked up the car, his face became grimmer and grimmer. He called her over.

"Sam, what the hell is this? Your tyre tread isn't just worn, it's gone! You've got no grip at all. You're lucky you haven't crashed. I'm always telling you to check them. Do you just ignore me?"

"I keep meaning to check, but I just forget..." was her lame response.

"You can't just forget! This is serious. Ignoring the fact that your forgetfulness left you stranded in a deserted car park at night, if that tyre had gone on the motorway you might have been killed. I'm going to make sure you never forget to check them again."

Sam hung her head. She knew that she was in the wrong. She watched as Greg opened to back of the van to throw his tools in, waiting to hear him tell her to go to his house, and so was startled when he turned, and grabbed her by the wrist to pull her into the van.

"Greg! Stop it! You're not spanking me here - we're outside."

"We'll be in the van. That's not outside. But if you don't get in I'll bend you over the bonnet of your car and deal with you right there."

Sam knew that he meant what he said, and so followed him into the van. It was big enough to stand up in. He pulled the door closed, and turned to her.

"Get your skirt and knickers off and hold onto that bar"

Barely had Sam done what she was told when Greg's hand landed with a sharp crack. She swallowed a yelp. Greg and never spanked her that hard before. The swats carried on at that level for what felt like hours, but in reality was probably only a couple of minutes. Greg ordered her to stand up and stand facing him with her hands on her head. He then gave her the most serious lecture she'd ever had. It was obvious that he was seriously unhappy with her carelessness in letting her tyre get to such a state of disrepair. He told her about the people he'd seen who'd put themselves in serious danger like that, and as his voice cracked as he told her how he couldn't cope with loosing her, the tears started rolling down her face. He took her chin between his fingers, and looked in her eyes.

"I'm going to make sure you never forget to check those tyres again. Turn back round, and brace yourself. If you stand up, I'll start again."

Sam gulped, but turn round and grabbed onto the rail. She resolved to take whatever was coming as well as she possibly could, because she knew he was right. She'd seen how worn her tyres were, and she'd heard plenty of times before his warnings over accidents that he'd seen.

As expected, she heard the sound of his belt slipping out of its loops. Normally this was the sort of noise that would make her melt, but not this time. She braced herself, fear coursing through her, as the leather whistled down and slammed into her cheeks. It was worse than she could have imagined. How could something that she usually loved so much hurt like this? Again and again the belt hit home, and each time Sam felt a little bit worse about what she'd done, or not done, really. After six strokes, she started crying, after 10 her bottom hurt so much that she gave into wracking sobs that left her shaking. Nevertheless, she held onto the bar, and Greg brought the belt down three more times, still at full strength. Then he paused.

"Two more, Sam, and I want you to take these as well as the rest. Then we'll be done."

Once, twice, that now-hated belt hit home. And then it was over. She collapsed in a heap on the floor, weeping, but he pulled her up into his arms and held her tightly as she sobbed into his shoulder. He rearranged some of the blankets he kept in the van, and pulled her down onto them, cuddling her until the sobs had subsided and she was calmer. He pushed the hair out of her eyes.

"You know I didn't want to do that?" Sam nodded, and mumbled an apology into his chest.
"I'd much rather use that belt on you for more enjoyable purposes. I know how much you usually love it".

Again, she nodded, head still buried in his chest, which meant that the little smile that played on her lips was hidden from him. Even though she never wanted to experience a punishment like that again, there was still one part of her that seemed to have enjoyed it on some level. No need to tell
Greg that though. Doubtless he would find out for himself, eventually.

Control

2010-07-25T23:17:00.001+01:00

“Does it kill
Does it burn
Is it painful to learn
That it's me that has all the control.”

Lyrics from Maroon Five's “Harder To Breathe”.

I used to listen to this song loads when it was first released without really listening to the lyrics much, but it appeared on my ipod the other day, and I had to replay it a couple of times to check I'd heard correctly.

Control. It's a funny thing. Anyone who knows me will know that I can be a bit of a control freak. I like to know what's happening, I like things to go my way, I like to be the one defining the situation, the outcomes, the parameters. In my daily life one of the most upsetting things that can happen to me is to feel like I'm not in control.

The thing is, control is exhausting. I have got better, as I've got older, I've learnt to let go a little, but when you've run your own life, paid your own mortgage, made all your decisions about everything from what can of soup to buy to what house to buy, for eleven years, you are pretty used to being in control, and to having to make every single decision and organising every single thing. Letting go, even though you know how tiring it is not to let go, is tough.

This is one of the reasons spanking and CP appeals to me so much – having someone deliberately take that control away from me, and take over, even if it only control over what is happening to my bottom, is a bit of a revelation. Not having a say in the matter is freeing, while at the same time being utterly scary. “Is it painful to learn that it's me that has all the control?” Oh yes, both mentally and physically.

Of course, at the end of the day, if you are playing as a bottom in a safe, sane, and of course consensual manner, you actually still do have all the control. You can stop the scene. It can all be over in seconds. On the other hand, if you're doing it properly, the illusion that the control has been taken from you will be very real indeed. And very hot indeed.

Birthday Post (Do not read if allergic to schmaltz!)

2010-07-18T00:47:00.001+01:00

It's my birthday! Well, it's 17 minutes into my birthday and I've just got back from a night at the theatre. When I go to bed and wake up again it will be properly my birthday!
This is in effect my third birthday as a kinkster. The first time, I was barely “out”, and certainly wasn't going to be getting any spankings, though co-incidentally (and I had to check to make sure I'd remembered correctly!) it was the day that a small if ultimately very significant event happened in my kinky life: Abel sent me a mail in reply to a comment I'd made on the Spanking Writers blog. While it was lovely to receive at the time, I didn't realise what a huge impact that mail would have on my life.
Indirectly, it was the cause of my first ever birthday spanking, one year later. Or possibly birthday spanking(s), five I believe in total, at a spanking club. Of course, as we were there as Lowewood girls, it was actually Jemima receiving the birthday spankings, not me, so the total number of strokes was considerably lower than it otherwise would have been (thank goodness!)
This year, like the first kinky year, will be lacking in birthday spankings. Not that I'm complaining, I have plenty of other fun things to keep me occupied over the next couple of weeks, but they are all of the very vanilla variety. In a way though, that makes me feel even more blessed. Yes, I might not be getting a birthday spanking tomorrow, but I get to spend time with family, and then next weekend time with many friends, some of whom know my secret, none of whom have rejected me for it. Since I came out more into this strange and wonderful world of ours, I haven't always been the best friend in the world to my friends “from before”, but the fact that they are still so lovely to me, despite this, makes me feel like the luckiest (if most undeserving!) girl in the world.
Of course, to add to these friends, I have a whole other set of amazing kinky friends who I also feel incredibly blessed to have, and who have enriched my life no end over the past couple of years.
Sorry, this is probably a terribly nauseating post – I'll stop with the nice soon, and you can all go and find a sick bucket, but as it's my birthday, you'll have to indulge me for a couple more sentences.
There's a line in the Sound of Music, in the song called “Something Good”, which goes something like “for somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.” And that's what I feel, because while I may not be getting a birthday spanking today, the fact that I have such lovely people around me means that I'm one hell of a lucky girl.

An Update (Or Not)

2010-07-13T22:45:00.001+01:00

Dear Reader/Random Passer-by/Russian Spy *

Many apologies that this blog/totally truthful account of life/secret private diary has not been updated recently.

This is because I have been busy watching the world cup/fraternising with the enemy/being spanked repeatedly/overdosing on chocolate.

In the event that you care that this blog/account/diary has not been updated recently, please rest assured that it will be updated as soon as I have pruned the roses/oiled my canes/rescued a stray sheep/investigated a secret spy ring/stalked George Clooney. Unless of course, I get bored/a cold/whisked off to sunnier climes/arrested.

We thank you for your continued loyalty/monetary donations/silence.

The Writer.

* Please delete as appropriate.

Running In The Family?

2010-07-06T06:51:00.000+01:00

I've had various conversations over the past few weeks where people have talked about either the suspicions they've had that family members are kinky, or the absolute proof that they have of that fact. This is always a difficult question for me. On the one hand, I have to deny absolutely that there is any genetic element in my kink. Obviously there's not. That's just a very squicky idea, let's move on please, and fast.

Of course, on the other hand, I've heard enough anecdotal evidence to suggest that even if there is not a genetic element to kinkiness for me, there certainly seems to be for other people.

So, without further ado, a little poll. Also feel free to add comments if you have any thoughts on this subject.

Learning To Cane - Or Not?

2010-07-04T21:30:00.000+01:00

A friend tried to teach me to cane last night. My lack of topping skill is a well known joke among my friends, as is the disparity between my ability to "talk the talk" and my total inability to do anything more than that! To be fair, people do generally seem to think that I will eventually get the topping bug, and they are probably right. At the moment though, even if I intellectually want to top people, I find it quite hard because, well, I don't like to hurt them!

First of all, I just worry about hurting them with the spanking, despite the fact that I know that on some level they will be enjoying it. I also worry about hurting them in a way I don't intend to, e.g. with improper technique. For this reason I often will ask people for tips about technique.

Therefore, when a friend offered to give me a caning lesson, I of course accepted. Well you would, wouldn't you? Everything was set up - an "easy to handle" cane, furniture moved out of the way, cushions positioned over the sofa. So there I stand, cane in hand, having had some basics demonstrated, start to try and hit the cushions, and basically have a wee bit of a meltdown.
I suddenly found myself on the verge of tears. I was stressed, I was upset, and wasn't truly sure why. I certainly thought I was being pretty bloody silly. After all, I was caning a cushion. There's not a huge amount to get upset about doing that. It became obvious fairly quickly that this disquiet that I was feeling was not about to magically disappear, so we hugged, and chatted about why I had reacted like I had. In my normal style, I was inclined to be hard on myself, calling myself an idiot, and generally being cross that I'd been so silly. My friend was lovely and reassured me that I was not an idiot, and we talked about what might have been behind my reaction. I don't know to be sure, but I think that it may well relate to the way I view the cane.

As I've posted before, the cane is my nemesis. It's an implement that I fear like no other, and that I don't ever think I would truly be able to "love". On the other hand, it also has a psychological power over me like nothing else. It's possible that my little "meltdown" was related to the fact that it was caning we were trying. After all, the act of using something that has such a psychological hold over me, even if I'm merely using it on cushions, is a powerful thing. Logically, it's maybe not surprising that the thought of inflicting something that I hold in such awe on another person (the ultimate end goal, even if not in that lesson!) was an upsetting one.

I think I'm going to lay off the canes for now. I might aim for something I love first, before moving onto something that I've got a less straightforward relationship with.

Blogiversary

2010-06-30T19:40:00.000+01:00

Amazingly, another has passed. I've now been blogging for two whole years, which is quite impressive, for me at any rate.

It has to be said that my poor blog has been a little neglected the past few months. Witnessed by the fact that in year one, I posted 216 posts, in year two, 172. And since January, I've only posted 54 times. Ah well. Poor blog!

By sheer coincidence, I'm celebrating in quite a special way. As we speak, Casey Morgan is on her way from the airport to stay with me for a couple of days. Yay!

Trying to figure out how much I had posted this year and last, I ended up reading through quite a lot of old posts, and had some nice surprises. Things that I'd forgotten about, thoughts I'd had, scenes I'd played. When I have time I'm going to go back and see if I can pick out a couple of particular favourites, but for now, I'm going to ask you: Is there any post in particular that you've really liked over the past couple of years? (And if no one answers, I'll take that as a sign!)

Lighthearted?

2010-06-28T22:41:00.002+01:00

Reading Emma Jane's post from the weekend, many thoughts and feelings struck me. I'll admit that a certain amount of awe was one of the thoughts. Emma Jane plays much more deeply than I ever could. She surrenders herself to a role, a situation, to the pain, in a way that I don't even think I could begin to reproduce. I've never witnessed her going into her deepest moments, but even reading about it scares me a little bit. I'm not sure I could actually see my friend in that state, even if on an intellectual level I know that this is what she wants, and trust the people that she is playing with. The few times we have played scenes together (that were much less intense than this), the hardest part was watching her reactions, hearing her pain and knowing I was a cause of it. I genuinely don't think I would cope with being a witness to or cause of something worse.

There was another feeling that I had though, and that was jealousy. Obviously not jealousy of that level of intense pain, or even intense role play, but jealousy of something being that "real". It made me realise that the last time I played in situations that really got to my head, where I was forced to submit, was back in January/February time, and I'm starting to miss that. It's not that I haven't been spanked (and strapped, and caned, and birched!) in the meantime. I have. I've also roleplayed, and it's all been fun, but I think that even though some of the people I've played with in these last few months are the sort of people I've played deeper, more intense (my level of intense!) scenes with before, the sort of play that has been happening since the new year has mostly been fun, lighthearted, not really headspacey.
Which is good, as that's what I really needed. As I'm sure you've all realised from my blog the past six months or so have been stressful for me. I've not always felt up to playing at all, and had a good two month (if not more) period where the whole idea was a bit of a turn off. So I would not have been ready in these last few months to play at any level more than "lighthearted". The fact that I'm starting to crave that sort of play where I'm made to submit makes me think that I am now ready again for that.
Which is a bit of a bugger, really, as I'm about to get (if it's actually possible!) even busier. So finding time for "real" play, as opposed to fun, lighthearted play, will get even more difficult.
I suspect there is no solution to this. I need someone on tap, ready at a moment's notice, able to fit into my schedule when I want to play. Which is a little unrealistic ;-) The only viable solution for this would be to actually go through with getting that man in the shed. You know, the one who's going to do my gardening and insect removal. I'll make sure he's a damn good top as well, and ready to spank me at a moment's notice.
That'll work, right?

Playing In Public

2010-06-26T22:51:00.001+01:00

Haron wrote a post a couple of weeks ago about public play, i.e. being spanked in a room where others are not playing, but just socialising. She asked what people's feelings were towards this sort of public play – Embarrassed? Indifferent? She said that she sometimes feels as though she's imposing on people in scenarios like this.

It made me start thinking about that scenario in particular, and public play in general. Eighteen months or so, the idea of public play would have completely freaked me out. I had only ever been spanked in private, me and the person doing the spanking. If anyone had suggested that I widen that group of people who could see my bottom, I probably would have sprinted several miles in the opposite direction. I also wasn't that comfortable with the idea of seeing other people being spanked.

In March, that “one-on-one-only” mentality changed when I was spanked by two people at once, but it wasn't until the early summer of 2009 that I actually started going to events where a) I would see other people getting spanked and b) other people would see me getting spanked. Having always been somewhat on the shy, retiring side, especially when it comes to my body, I was very surprised to find that I actually wasn't that bothered about people being able to see me getting spanked. That has persisted to this day. If I'm with a group of people who will not be surprised to see a girl being spanked in the corner, then I really don't have a problem with being that girl. I generally also don't feel as though I'm imposing on anyone or forcing them to watch my spanking. The times when I'm in a group situation where a spanking might happen, that exact possibility is pretty much taken for granted. It surprises no one, and I would imagine if anyone felt truly uncomfortable with watching, they would either remove themselves from the situation or would not have attended the event in the first place.

I do find it strange though, how I could have gone from being so shy, to being basically pretty much indifferent to being upended in public! Well, that's a little disingenuous; I do still get a little mortified, but not really enough for it to stop me misbehaving ;-) More interesting though are the things that I still do find embarrassing. Don't ever threaten me with a public spanking, public as in outside, where non-kinky people might see. I'd probably hurt you in some unspecified way before fleeing. That one is a hard limit for me.

The other thing that I still can find incredibly embarrassing is undressing when I'm just playing one on one with someone. Even partially undressing, just taking off my knickers, in the right circumstances, with the right language, can make me more embarrassed than being spanked in a group ever could. Strange, isn't it?

Jemima's Plea For More Knickers

2010-06-23T22:40:00.001+01:00

Dear Grandmother and Grandfather,

How are you both? Another term is passing swiftly at Lowewood. The weather continues to be fine, which means we can enjoy the beautiful school gardens at break times. Of course we have to be careful that we don't step on Mr Fingerham's carefully tended beds, but apart from that we can enjoy the clement weather.

I am sure you will both be delighted to hear that my grades are continuing to improve. Mr Shaftebotham was delighted with my rousing speech in English the other day. We had been studying the use of rhetorical devices, and I employed many to wonderful effect when arguing for the abolition of restrictions on our internet access. I think he was very pleased with my good showing.

We have also started learning Chinese, and I am finding it very interesting, though I feel the teaching methods of Dr Billeslaan are somewhat unusual. He insists when we are learning to write the Chinese characters that caning us in an appropriate manner (e.g. one rule is “horizontal strokes before vertical ones”) will help us remember. I really fail to understand his logic, myself.

Grandmother, I'm afraid you will need to send me more knickers. Miss Marwood keeps confiscating them and giving them to Mr Fingerham to burn. The latest pair you sent me were the correct shade of blue, but you may not have seen the “Supergirl” logo on the rear. Unfortunately Miss Marwood did, in detention. She had already made us take our skirts off, and when she saw my knickers, she was very cross, as they had been the cause of much hilarity during uniform inspection that morning, but she had not seen what we were laughing at. So she made me remove my knickers as well, and would not give them back. I was quite naked from the waste down, it was awfully embarrassing. Despite her undue (she paddled AND caned us!) for really quite a minor issue (it was only a little party that we had in the dorm with the local boys football team!) I still quite like Miss Marwood. She seems quite fair.

Well, letter writing time is at an end, so I will bid you goodbye for this week, and send you both my fondest regards. Please also give my love to Mummy if you hear from her, and also if you do, please remind her that it is six weeks since she last wrote to me.
Oh, and please send new knickers!
Your loving granddaughter,
Jemima
x

Whoops...

2010-06-23T07:26:00.003+01:00

To the person who stumbled across my blog using the search term "interesting sixth form Assembly", I really am very sorry indeed. Though it has to be said that I'm also giggling quite a lot. It's true that the Assembly in question was very interesting, but possibly not quite what the person had in mind.

Remember folks: the internet is a dangerous place. And porn can often be found on there. Don't say I didn't warn you.

On the subject of school, Jemima was there again last night, and hopefully there will be a post coming about her exploits soon, "soon" depending on how appealing Pimms and Lemonade in the sun is tonight.

A Tale Of Two Floggings

2010-06-14T22:47:00.000+01:00

I love floggings. Love them. With big, heavy, thuddy floggers. So imagine my delight when we were hanging out in Indy's room on Sunday afternoon to find that she had bought a lovely thuddy flogger with her. We played a little bit, and she used it on me. Abel, Haron and Cath were in the next room, and I came out and made some remark about how I didn't think it was possible for anyone to ever make me go "ow" with a thuddy flogger. This, of course, was a challenge that Abel couldn't turn down. On the bed, with a pillow under me, he set out to prove that he could in fact make a thuddy flogger hurt. Six strokes later, I was more than convinced. I do somewhat object to his methods, though. I obviously couldn't see, but I have it on good authority that both feet left the floor as he jumped up to try and get as much weight behind the flogger as possible. Which, frankly, seems like cheating to me.

Sunday evening saw an entirely different flogging though. One guy at the party, P, is a very experienced flogger. He works double handed, with two floggers. Two thuddy floggers. To say that I was in heaven would have been something of an understatement. I'm not quite sure how long P was flogging me for, but I reckon it was probably at least twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of bliss... I don't think I've ever been as relaxed and zoned out as I was after that twenty minutes. So much so that I then fell asleep in the corner of the bigger room of the suite we were all in. A suite with probably at least 15 people in there. I sat spaced out/sleeping in that corner for a looong time. All through Catherine being tied down to a spanking bench and beaten very, very hard... I might have missed most of the action, but I saw the bruises afterwards so I know how hard it was! Normally if someone is being spanked in my vicinity I'm cringing in the corner, "ouching" as every stroke is being taken, barely able to look, but unable to drag my eyes away. So the fact that I could sit there and let the most incredible thrashing (at least from the last bits that I did see) all but wash over me, speaks volumes. I was still spaced out when I went back to my room at one in the morning.
So I've decided, sod massages, sod expensive days at the spa, sod a nice relaxing bottle of wine. The next time I'm *truly* in need of some relaxation I'm going to get me someone who's handy with a flogger or two. (Though possibly not Abel ;-) Sorry, Abel!)

FMS Part 1

2010-06-12T22:30:00.001+01:00

I'm not sure I will be able to do a particularly coherent write up of the Florida Moonshine Party, and to be honest, any of my attempts will probably pale into comparison with those of Indy's, but I will try to at least give some impressions.

We arrived early Friday afternoon. I had driven the English contingent down to Tampa. They were on the most part well behaved. This may have been something to do with my threats to throw Abel to the alligators if he uttered a word out of turn on the drive. Or it may just have been because he was being nice!

As soon as we'd checked in, I called up to Indy's room, with not a small amount of trepidation. After all, here was a woman I'd been getting to know on line, chatting to practically every day since before Christmas. Would she live up to expectations? Of course she would! We headed up to her room, as she was going to come to the grocery store with us. I think the thing that struck me most within the first five minutes was just how, well, *Indy* she was... (Yeah, I know, big shock, she was like herself!)

She didn't take us to the best named store in the South, Pubix, oops, sorry, Publix, but to another one that was better. I did very well at not running around like a kid in a candy store and buying up the whole place, but rather only getting (mostly) what I had come for. Abel bought what he'd come for, plus a wooden spoon, proving once again that he shouldn't be allowed out, supervised or unsupervised.

That evening was the vendor fair. Unfortunately I wasn't feeling amazing, which was probably due to the fact that I'd only had a Casear salad for lunch, and it hadn't had any meat or fish, so was basically lettuce leaves and croutons. By 8pm I was wishing I'd eaten something a bit more substantial. Anyway, before Indy kindly took me and Catherine to get *actual* food, I browsed all the lovely implements at the fair and ended up buying this beautiful leather paddle from Leather Thorn Paddles:

Unfortunately, that was me pretty much done for Friday. When we came back to the hotel after dinner, I retired to bed at the embarrassingly early time of 10:30 pm.

Luckily, I was more on form on Saturday, and after breakfast and a walk along the beach, complete with my parasol, because I'm that English, it was time for the FMS Academy. Having decided to rebel by not wearing a black skirt, but a plaid one, wearing a T-shirt instead of a school shirt, and refusing to wear socks, I was actually genuinely upset to find out that the one pair of plain black knickers I'd bought, for school, had a ruddy great big whole in. I put on my next soberest pair, teal coloured, and earned myself 2 strokes of the ruler on the hand. Which was probably light going, given in how many ways I was violating the dress code. I also only came 6th from top in class; I forgot myself a few times and actually tried. I think Rad and Abel did a great job of teaching us as well, or at least not noticing too much that I was sucking on a lollipop.

That afternoon saw me being spanked with Indy, Catherine and a new friend. I, of course, was the wimpy butt of the group, and spent most of the time taking half as much as everyone else and ouching twice as much. After having watched everyone else taking the razor strop and saying that there was no way on earth I would be trying that, it seemed to amuse them all when I decided I'd try it once. And then again. And again... six times in the end!

The order of various events is now escaping me, but I think we may have reached Saturday evening, so I might pause here, and continue in the new post.

A Plea For Understanding

2010-06-09T20:40:00.001+01:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, I want to bring to your attention a distressing problem that someone you know may suffer from. A problem that blights the lives of its victims, who should be given sympathy and understanding. This terrible affliction causes agony, mental anguish and pain for those poor souls, and its name is this: Cheekiness.

People who suffer from Cheekiness are often unfairly penalised because of the misunderstanding surrounding this illness. But what the public at large often fail to grasp is that Cheekiness is not, as often assumed, a choice, or something that the sufferer can control. Rather it is a compulsion. When the urge to be cheeky threatens to strike, there is nothing the afflicted person can do to stop the inevitable utterances, even in the most unfortunate situations. To punish or discriminate against them in any way for this behaviour is wrong. They know not what they do.

Take this scenario: A poor young woman, over someone's knee, being spanked. Would any sane, healthy person choose that time to comment disparagingly on some quality in their spanker? For instance their singing voice? Of course not! This is the act of someone who cannot help themselves.

Punishing these poor people harder is merely counterproductive and unhelpful. Instead, compassion and understanding should be shown. So the next time you encounter a cheeky remark, maybe from someone over you lap commenting on your inability to count, think to yourself:

"Do I want to discriminate against the afflicted?"

You know the right answer, my friends.

Taking To The Skies

2010-06-02T09:48:00.002+01:00

When I first started reading blogs, about two and a half or three years ago, a lot of the first blogs that I read were by people in the US. And lots of them talked about the big parties they have over there. Things like Shadow Lane, Crimson Moon, Florida Moonshine. When I read these blogs, a secret part of me longed to be at those parties too, but it was never going to happen, of course. My spanking kink was a secret still at that time. I'd barely even admitted it to myself, never mind anyone else, so travelling abroad for a spanking party was a notion so ridiculous that it wasn't even worth laughing about.

Fast forward a couple of years and a massive amount of exploration later, and here I am, sitting in the BA Business Class Lounge (yes, smugness is revolting, I know, sorry), on my way to Florida Moonshine 2010. My first thought is "how did that happen?!" and my second is "it had better be good!" I have no real worries on that front. If nothing else, I get to meet the wonderful Indy in real life, plus a load of other great US people, so even if every single other aspect of the trip was horrible, that bit would be amazing! And I very much doubt that the other aspects will be horrible!

As you can probably tell, by the very existence of this post, I have the means for blogging with me, so I will endeavour, if I can rouse myself from the pool, to write a couple of posts about the party.

You never know, somewhere out there, there might be someone reading it and thinking "ha, I could never go to a big spanking party..." Just like I did.

Turn Down Surprise

2010-05-27T21:54:00.002+01:00

I'm staying in a well known chain of hotels which shall remain nameless. Not that posh, but posh enough to have an executive floor and a turn down service. So imagine my surprise last night when I briefly returned to my room (on said executive floor) to find that my room had not been cleaned. Not being a particularly exacting person, I didn't really care that much. But imagine the surprise of the Housekeeper, performing the nightly turn downs on the executive floor, when she walked into my room and realised that, despite there having being no "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door during the day, the room had not been cleaned.

A note would be made, and the poor chambermaid who had been responsible for the floor that day would be called to see the formidable lady, and made to explain quite why one of the rooms on the executive floor was neglected. Whether it be laziness, forgetfulness, or distraction, the result would be the same. The chambermaid bent over for a spanking with a thick leather ruler sized paddle. Twelve strokes later, she would wipe her eyes, ajust her uniform and go back about her duties.

Needless to say, when I returned to my room today it was spotless.

Sending Out A Little Blog Love

2010-05-19T20:58:00.000+01:00

You're not going to be getting much in the way of posts from me for a while, so why don't you amuse yourselves my going and reading a few other blogs?

How about going to wish Emma Jane a Happy Blogaversary?
Or checking out an amazing piece of spanking fiction from Graham.
There's the Spanking Writers podcasts to listen to,
and Irelynn's relocated blog.
You've got Master Retep's reflections on a year being "out",
or Indy's recent spate of intelligent and thoughtful posts.

Seriously guys, with all this fabulous blogging going on, you really don't need me!

Spank-A-Long

2010-05-13T22:34:00.000+01:00

What do you do on a dull, cold Sunday afternoon when you've decided that you really actually can't be bothered to go and visit that nice stately home that you were planning to visit?
Why, you can invent a new spanking game. Well, it's probably not that new, but I thought it was a good idea.
To play this game you need a few things:

Tops.
Bottoms.
Popocorn.
A television.
A selection of bad films, preferably with a school theme, or something with spanking potential.

Now, as we all know, most contemporary films don't have spankings in them, and that's probably all to the good if we're talking about children, but I'm sure you would all agree that some films would be improved A LOT by some additions to the action. So, this is what you do. You settle down with the tops, bottoms, popcorn, TV, films and remote control. You watch the film, then, whenever you think that there SHOULD have been a spanking, the tops pause the films, and administer said spanking to one (or all) of the bottoms present, in lieu of the film's character being spanked.

Now, I would name a selection of films which I think would work for this purpose, but I really have no desire to have 10 year olds stumble across my blog whilst googling for their favourite film. So instead, I will give you some links you can go and look at if you'd like some suggestions:

Bad film, great uniforms
Bad film, with identity crisis (it's been released with three titles!)
Not a bad film, but probably lots of opportunities
Hours and hours of fun. And Alan Rickman.
You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off....

Anyway, I'm sure you get the drift. The game is called Spank-A-Long. Because instead of Singing-A-Long, you're Spanking-A-Long. Look, I never said I was imaginative, did I?!

Any suggestions of other films gratefully received.

Lowewood - In Which Jemima Behaves?

2010-05-09T21:45:00.000+01:00

Hi Frannie,

How's life back at the old dump?! Sorry I haven't written for ages. Things have been so busy. I'm home for the weekend so I thought I'd take some time to catch up, and tell you how things are going at school. One of these days I suppose I'll be able to come home on exeat and tell the grandparents that I've had successful few weeks and behaved impeccably and all that. Not this time. I don't even know how I manage it to be honest. It's not like I *try* to misbehave. It just seems to happen. I suppose a good illustration would be one day this week. Did I tell you that at Lowewood they rotate the Head Girl position? Well this term I'm head girl. Which is not as good as it sounds. It's an honour that everyone tries to avoid to be honest. Especially because if you get punished as Head Girl, you get double!

So, the day in question looked quite promising. We had Stats, Logic, English, Physics, History, Etiquette, General Knowledge, Latin and Games. I love most of them, so surely I could behave?

Well, the day started off with Assembly and uniform inspection. Miss Cavendish knocked off five points at the start for my tie being messy... EVERY time, seriously?! I HATE ties. Hate them.
Stats was great, we learnt about something called Ishikawa diagrams, which was really interesting, and then Logic. Now logic was really good, except for the fact that my logic problem at the end didn't work, and I told Reverend Jenkins (he's also my housemaster) that it wasn't working and he WOULDN'T believe me. Turns out I was right in the end though, as he came up to me at lunch and told me that the puzzle had printed out wrong and we were missing a clue. Hah! Stupid teachers. Bet it's because he doesn't even know how to operate a printer.
We had English and Physics before lunch. In English we were talking about rhetoric, which to me just sounded like another word for all the rubbish that politicians say. In Physics we were studying heat and motion, and got to play with mini steam boats in baths of water in the physics lab! My team, which was me, Sylvie and Caoilfhionn who I've told you about, and then a new girl Holly, went first and got extra house points!

Up until the end of Physics, I'd been doing pretty well. I'd had my phone confiscated a couple of times, and lost a few points, but I'd also earned loads. And then we hit lunch. Like at total idiot, I sat opposite both Rev J (actually, we call him Unstable Abel behind his back) and Miss Cavendish. Now Miss Cavendish is normally really nice, but for some reason she was being REALLY strict yesterday. I chucked a tomato at Caoilfhionn because she asked for one, and Miss C took off 5 house points. Well, a bit later on I did it again, and this time she took off 10! Seriously! Later on Beth asked for a bread roll, so I threw one at her as well. And Miss C took off -15 and said she would keep on doing the same thing if I didn't learn to behave. So I told her she was mean. To be honest, I really should have called her a mean cow, because that was the truth! Anyway, Unstable Abel heard me and took off -20 as he was being "Gallant to Miss Cavendish". Whatever! So between the two of them, I lost -50 house points in one hour! I couldn't let that continue, could I? So during the afternoon I added enough point to my book that I had an extra +30. Ha!

History was hard - I'm never very good at writing stuff in lessons, but it was quite interesting: all about some girls who rioted in a training school in the 1920s! Sounds like their teachers we're really awful, so they totally had the right idea. Bet we wouldn't get away with doing something like that though, more's the pity. I made up for history in general knowledge though! I came second top, and as we marked each other's tests, I even got away with the rude answers!

You won't believe this is me saying this, Frannie, but I was quite looking forward to Latin...! I know, right?! What's happening to me?! Anyway, that meant I was even more upset than normal when I got dragged out of Latin to go to Miss Cavendish for private detention. I didn't even know what I'd *done* this time, but it turns out they'd found those facebook photos of that last party I threw when Grandmama and Grandpapa were away... whoops!! Anyway, she gave me this really long booooorrring lecture about "appropriate choice of guests" (that's you out then!), all the time smacking away. I know you've never been whacked, but believe me, it really hurts! And this was just her hand. I hoped I might just get away with a spanking, coz it wasn't as if she was going lightly on me, but I think I really annoyed her, because, well, I'd decided to put on four pairs of knickers that morning! I had a really skimpy blue lace pair, then a frilly turquoise satin pair, then a Little Miss Fun pair, but, covering them all were a MASSIVE great big regulation black pair, so you couldn't see the rest! We all thought it was a scream, but Miss C didn't seem to think so, and ended up giving me six with the cane and telling me to get out of her sight, but not before docking me another ten points for the knickers! SOOO mean.

I wasn't doing Games that day as I had a cold, and I was actually quite gutted, as the girls were doing creative dance and it was really good fun. Trouble was, the batteries in the CD player died halfway through the first group performing, and no one had an extension cable long enough to reach outside. And they I had a brainwave and remembered I'd read in some book that you get more life out of a battery by warming it up. So I distributed the batteries among the girls and told them to hold them in their hands under their armpits, and damn me, but it worked! I was REALLY impressed. Go me, right?!

After the girls had got changed from games, it was time for final Assembly. Amazingly, most people ended up with plus house points. For once, I ended up with 0, but that was only because I faked 28 and the teachers didn't notice. Must be their age, can't read and all that. Anyway, I would have been on -28 if they'd counted properly. Turns out I was apparently still in detention. F*** knows why. Seriously, I could NOT remember being put in detention, and that made Unstable Abel even more unimpressed. I got a huge long lecture about conduct unbecoming the head girl, and how shocking it was that I couldn't even remember being placed in detention and blah blah blah. And then he strapped me with a MASSIVE great big strap and not only that but landed all twelve strokes in the same place. That probably doesn't mean much to you, but believe me it hurts like hell. He gave me double because I was head girl and said if I was ever lucky enough to be head girl again and end up in such a position again he'd give me even worse... sigh. Seriously, Frannie, you don't know how lucky you are to be still at Wingfield. The teachers were *nice* there. They breed this lot in some sort of evil farm. Oh well, at least the girls are great!

Well, I'd better go do something useful before someone else decides I'm in trouble! Miss you loads, sweets, and hopefully we can meet up again soon! Maybe for another one of my legendary parties in the summer?! And this time I *won't* put the photos on facebook ;-)

Luv ya forever,

Jems
xxx

Position Vacant

2010-04-29T20:40:00.001+01:00

I'm single, and for the most part happily so. I'm fundamentally a loner, and a selfish one at that. I love my own company, being able to do what I want, when I want, making my own decisions, running my own life. Just once in a while, though, it would be nice to have a man around the house. Not so much to do those things I can't do, but to do those things I can't be bothered doing. So to remedy this situation, I'm thinking of placing a "Position Vacant" advert.
What do you think?

Position Vacant: Man Of All Work

Duties include:

Tyre pressure checking

Lawn mowing

Shopping Mule, especially when recreational rather than food shopping

DIY duties - hanging pictures, painting decking, tiling, plumbing.

Periodic insect clearance

Gardening advice (esp. regarding what are weeds vs actual plants that should be kept)

Sex on demand

Spankings as/when needed (must be handy with canes and straps)

Dishwasher unloading

Vacuum Cleaner bag emptying

Taxi on demand

Suitcase carrying

Payment:

The pleasure of my company (when I'm in the mood)

In addition accommodation will be provided. In the shed. It has a light, you know, and curtains, and if I run the hose from the outside tap to the door, it will have water as well. What do you mean it doesn't sound very comfortable?!

So, think I'd get many responses?

The Party

2010-04-26T06:01:00.000+01:00

In which I get drunk, beaten and showered with presents...

I think a good glimpse into the evening would be via my tweets... in my defence when I'm tired I tweet nearly as badly as when I'm drunk, because I can't be bothered to force my eyes to focus. So some of the bad spelling was due to tiredness, OK?

5:33pm: Whoops, think I might be drunk!
8:45pm: They ALL just spznked me! All of the m...
9:35pm: House is undekinked and spankng somethinged. Thou i mightnbw a bit drnuk.
10:22pm: House is undekinked and spankng somethinged. Thou i mightnbw a bit drnuk.
12:06am: @lucythematron You can totaaky come ti the next one! This ine wax housewarming. Next one is brthday :-)
12:22am: @catherine_987 and i thank you for not soanking me. But i thunk you were the only one! Well dime for @lilemmaj tho, she deserved it!!
12:24am: I know it looks kikeilm drunk tweeting but realky it's inly coz i'm tired and can onky fodus with one eye.
12:36am: AM a very happy girl
12:45am:
@lilemmaj Omg, you totally climbed thru my 80's retro serving hstch! Bad girl! Did youmget dealt with for thst?!

It was true, as well, they pretty much all did spank me. I think only two didn't, and one of those held me down while the others did. You see, apart from the various beatings that people gave me through the evening (Jessica, Lady Emma, and Haron, complete with fear inducing lipstick!) there was a moment where everyone had a go. It was all the doing of Abel and Haron. They brought a little scroll with them, you see, and claimed it was an old decree that was still in existence... they are generally very truthful people, so I had to believe them, didn't I?
I don't have my scanner set up yet (I know, give me a break, I had a housewarming to get ready for!) so I will reproduce the text here:

By Order of His Majesty's parliament
24 April 1710

It is hereby decreed that, henceforth, each new resident of the parish of X shall receive a "housewarming" spanking", the number of strokes or spanks to be equal to ten times the house number of their new abode.

Failure of the said new resident to comply fully and willingly with this decree shall result in either a doubling of the number of strokes or spanks, or the use of more severe implements, or both, by the decision of the assembled guests.

So at a certain point in the evening, Abel decided to round up people to help give me my forty strokes. Of course I'd tried to convince everyone that I lived at number 1, but they'd all walked in the door of number 4, so weren't that easily fooled. (Which surprised me!)
I was bent over the back of the sofa, so I don't really know exactly who did what, but I think that Abel, Haron, Master Retep, Emma Jane, Irelynn and Olivia all had a go (six strokes each). If I'm wrong, and missed someone, I'm sorry!! What they had a go with is lost in the mists of memory, but I think I said "ow" a lot. Someone else finished off the last four. Was it Abel again? If this all sounds like I was too drunk to remember, can I just point out that when you have your head buried in the sofa and someone holding on to your arms in such a way that there's no way you're getting up, it's a bit hard to distinguish who is hitting you with what :-) (Well, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!)

So, was my house thoroughly warmed? Yes, and my bottom was as well. I don't really have any excuse now for not being comfortable with spanking in the house. Um, when I'm drunk, at any rate.

So Why Are You In Detention?

2010-04-25T06:32:00.000+01:00

A vanilla friend on Facebook posted the link to a wonderful Huffington Post article. It is a picture story, with shots of detention slips given to people for the most ridiculous reasons.
I think my favourite is the poor boy who got detention for getting mad at his teacher when s/he insisted that a kilometre was longer than a mile...

They could be the basis for some great scenes for those of us with a liking for unfair punishment. In fact I issue a challenge to my readers. What's the silliest/most unfair reason you can come up with for someone getting whacked in detention?

Reality Show Spanking

2010-04-23T21:56:00.002+01:00

I was innocently surfing online (it happens once in a while, promise!) looking for the lastest forum gossip on a new reality TV show in the UK called Over The Rainbow, which is searching to find a leading "Dorothy" for a new production of the Wizard of Oz. (Yes, I am at least 30% stereotypical gay man.) Anyway, in my totally innocent browsing, I stumbled across this article about the latest series of Britain's Got Talent:

http://www.digitalspy.co.uk/tv/s107/britains-got-talent/realitybites/a216109/some-spanking-action-on-more-talent.html

It's about an act, who, from the sounds of things, either performed the spanking scene from Kiss Me Kate, or possibly quoted Shakespeare while spanking. I'm trying to find a video and not having much success, so if you do, please share!

It sounds like some of us have missed out on a career opportunity though. Maybe we could do some sort of orchestrated spanking?

Time To Get Over It

2010-04-22T22:25:00.000+01:00

The time has come to get over it. It being my fear of being spanked in the house. This somewhat irrational (OK, maybe not that irrational!) fear has been with me for the past two and a half months, since I moved, and is occasionally heightened by hearing the neighbours sneeze!

I now no longer have the option of being squicked by the thought of spanking noise being overheard by the neighbours. This is because in under 48 hours there will be up to eighteen spankos in the house, invited by me to my kinky housewarming party. It would be more than a little unreasonable to invite a bunch of kinky folk to a kinky housewarming, and then ban play, wouldn't it? And to be honest, knowing the propensity of some of this lot to starting to whack people with merely the slightest provocation, I suspect banning them from playing would be a pointless task anyway ;-)

So yeah, time to get over the anti-spanking-noise hang ups. I suspect the most effective way of doing this may just to be get rather drunk, lose my inhibitions and not care what's happening. The other option, staying sober and freaking out, doesn't seem like such a good idea.

Longing

2010-04-18T22:30:00.000+01:00

This weekend I ended up in a leather shop at a craft site on the Lowewood Go Wild In Wales trip. Leather shops are nice. I love the smell of leather. I love the feel of leather. And there I was talking about feeling it with my fingers, but I also love the feel of it on my butt cheeks as it hits home. This shop had the most wonderful selection of belts. Proper, beautiful leather belts, soft to the touch, and as I was staring at these things of beauty, and a not unfamiliar, but more recently somewhat unaccustomed longing came over me.
I longed to be bent over, waiting, and hear the sound of a belt buckle being undone. Hear the swish of the belt as it came out of trouser loops, the creak as it was doubled in half. The swish as it was tested. The crack as it landed. Again and again. It's very cliched, but I find a man taking off his belt and using it on me an incredible turn on. There's an impromtu-ness to it: I don't need implements, I don't need canes or paddles to use on you. I can still deal with you. Here's an implement I carry round with me all the time... yum.
I'm still longing, a day later, but now it's bedtime, so I might take my longing up to bed and see if I can't turn it into a nice little fantasy! Night all ;-)

Postscript To A Birching

2010-04-11T09:07:00.000+01:00

Some of you may have concluded from my account of my first ever birching, that I was perhaps not quite as contrite as I could have been.

Abel apparently thought the same thing. When he asked if I was sorry, I made some sort cheeky remark in response, so he bent me back over the bed, and unleashed the big gun in his arsenal of weapons... his hand.

A mere four whacks with that was enough to have me genuinely apologising, proving once again, if proof were needed, that Haron's claim that "Abel’s hand is the most awesome, most frightening weapon in his collection of implements" is indeed a true and accurate one.

My First Birching

2010-04-09T22:40:00.000+01:00

I had my first ever real birching yesterday. It was to teach me a lesson, namely that I should not be a bad influence. I learnt a lesson as well.... don't get caught being a bad influence!

So what is a birching like? Well, first of all, let me explain for those who don't know something that I didn't know: there are two kinds of birches. The first is a spray birch, show here:
Spray birches are basically made up of lots and lots of twigs, leafless, but possibly (I think) with buds still left on. They are relatively light.

The so-called "Manx" birch, on the other hand, is made up off several long straight twigs bound together. As someone said to me, "like six or seven canes hitting you all at once."

The birch used on me was a spray birch (or wimpy birch!) I don't think I'm quite ready for the more hard-core version yet!
I was quite nervous, nerves made worse when I went to the bathroom and saw a whole bunch of twigs soaking in the tub! Pleas of birch pollen allergies (actually true, by the way!) were ignored, and after a rather nice dinner it appeared the time had come. Bending over the end of the bed, knickers off, skirt raised.*
The first few strokes weren't that bad, a little stingy but OK. The cumulative effect is what I've always heard people talk about, though, and they weren't wrong. The sting very quickly builds and the birch continues falling, and rapidly becomes really rather ouchy! Apparently I had 40 strokes, though if you'd paid me I wouldn't have been able to confirm or deny that. That left me with a rather warm, and slightly itchy bum, that was a delightful shade of red. I always judge how much a spanking has affected me by "bounce back time", this being the amount of time it takes for me to start being a cheeky madame again. I think it was about 10 seconds this time, so I probably could I have taken a few more strokes, but it was nice to stop when we did given how ambivalent I've been about my kink recently.
Now for the all important question: would I want to be birched again? Yes, with a spray birch. I'm not sure I'd ever be ready for its big brother!

Thank you to Abel for my first birching. Even if I have been sneezing all day today. Birch pollen allergy, you know....

*As an aside, I had worn the best skirt in the world for spanking. Silky, double layered, falls back down over your bum at the slightest movement!

Kinder, They Say

2010-04-06T22:30:00.000+01:00

I always wonder what's worse. Is it worse to know beforehand, so your mind can dwell, for days or hours, on what's going to happen to you? Playing it over in your mind, imagining the scene, the implement, the pain. Does this help you cope?
Or is it better not to know? To not even realise that you are going to be punished until retribution falls? If you know beforehand, have you mentally prepared? Does that make you more stoic? Better able to take the strokes?

They always used to tell us. Even if we didn't know the exact day, we knew that the transgression had been noted, that retribution would be coming our way at some point. The thought would be there, at the back of your mind, squatting like a toad, until the appointed hour came.

They've changed the rules now. Kinder, they say. Now you don't know that you're going to be whacked until you're standing on the carpet in front of his desk, mind jumping everywhere. What? Why? How much? Help!

Kinder, they say, but the few minutes I have been standing here have been nothing less than the concentration of all those days and hours of worry that I used to have. A few minutes, but overwhelming minutes, of sickness, panic, nerves. Until he announces the sentence.
Pausing. Standing and looking me straight in the eye, though I can barely return his gaze.

“Twelve, I think.”

"This Will Hurt You More Than It Hurts Me"

2010-04-05T20:45:00.000+01:00

A serious piece of research, reported in the Telegraph last week, has an interesting slant for us spankos. It seems that scientists have discovered that talking about pain actually makes it worse for the person experiencing it. So saying to someone: "this may hurt a bit", or "you might feel a little pain" can make feelings of discomfort worse. The researchers hypothesise that

"It is possible that those conversations intensify the activity of the pain matrix in the brain and therefore intensify the pain experience"

For the tops among my readers, this could probably go one of two ways. The nicer among you may well read this new piece of work, and think "oh gosh, well, I really should make sure that I don't compound my poor bottom's pain by talking about it and making it worse."

Of course, the more likely scenario is that ALL tops reading this will rub their chins in a gleefully evil way, and go "Mua-ha-ha, what interesting information, I need to refine my patter a little bit!"

Then there'll be no end to the "This will hurt you more than it hurts me"s and "You do realise this is going to hurt, don't you"s. Of course, I'm not a top, and therefore not that imaginative in this area, but I'm sure there are plenty of other phrases that could be used to exacerbate a poor bottom's pain.

Head Vs Other Head

2010-04-01T19:22:00.000+01:00

The kink is slowly returning. I had my first "proper" spanking courtesy of Emma Jane last weekend. I survived ;-) I think it was good, but if I'm being very honest (and this in no way a reflection on EJ!) mostly I remember being panicky about the sound travelling. Hopefully I'll get less worried about this as time goes on, or maybe experiment with different locations.

That spanking, and conversations with EJ have kick started the kinky part of my brain. There are various fantasies spinning around in there. Dark fantasies, for me, if not for others. Strappings, birchings, canings. Being tied down, having control taken from me, being in someone else's; prison scenarios, reformatory scenarios, things removed from my more normal schoolgirl fantasies.

So that's what the fantasy part of my poor little confused brain is longing for. However, then the other part of my head intervenes. The realistic part. The part that actually has to process the pain. And it tells me to shut the hell up immediately. Because spankings hurt, and strappings hurt, and canings hurt, and though I've yet to experience a birching, only a very silly person would bet on them not hurting. And I don't like pain... and I haven't been spanked in a while... and I don't want to be spanked... probably.

Ack. Which part do I listen to?!

Accidental Pervery

2010-03-31T20:37:00.003+01:00

I bought a couple of little sets of drawers for storing things in in my study/library the other day. Nice, natural looking, the sort of look I'm going for in there.

I got the drawers home, and putting them in place, glanced at the label:

"Three Tone Rattan Drawers"

It seems I can't help it. I even manage to buy rattan by accident!

However, the other two recent purchases for that room were very intentionally pervy:

A nice new lamp

And a lovely ottoman

I'm especially looking forward to putting the ottoman in place when it arrives.

Food Porn

2010-03-26T20:48:00.003Z

The jury is still out on the kink. Just when I think things might be flickering back to life, work crashes the party in a major way, and bam, there goes the kink. Also hearing my neighbour sneeze the other day was enough to scare me vanilla for many a week.
So, while I'm still undecided, I thought I'd provide you with some other form of porn. Food porn.
If you have a sweet tooth (and chocolatey), this is the most evilly wonderful dish in the world.
However, it is rather, um, English, so some translations first of all:
1) Golden Syrup is rather English. I believe that light corn syrup may be substituted in countries without good old Tate and Lyle Golden.
2) Maltesers. If you are in the US, you don't have Maltesers. I feel for you. Maltesers are wonderful. You can try this recipe with Whoopers or Mighty Malts, but having tried them, quite frankly, I wouldn't bother. Go to Canada or the UK. Stock up on Maltesers. I promise you won't regret it!

So, here we go:

Malteser Tray Bake
100g Margarine
6 tablespoons of Golden Syrup (do NOT overdo the syrup)
250g Milk Chocolate
200g Ginger Nut Biscuits (or something milder like Rich Tea or Digestives)
200g Maltesers

Melt the chocolate, margarine and syrup together.
Take off the heat
Add in the biscuits and Maltesers
Spread in a baking tray lined with greaseproof paper
Chill
Cut into squares
Eat. Possibly all by yourself!

Spring Awakening

2010-03-21T21:45:00.002Z

I was driving to the next town today. Windows down, 12 or 13 degrees C outside, sun shining, music playing (probably far too loudly as I got into the built up area...).
It occurred to me that sometimes it's the simple little moments that can make us happy. Driving fast, seeing the sun, realising that spring is on the way. The clocks will change next weekend, the days are getting lighter, the daffodils and crocuses in my garden are flowering. The church graveyard is full of snowdrops. I feel as though I'm awakening from the depths of winter with the flowers.
The potentially good news is that it's not just me that's awakening from the depths, it may be my kink as well. Yesterday I felt some stirrings from my libido. Wanted to read blogs, think kinky thoughts. Just having that flicker of interest back is a great sign for me after the 6 weeks or so of disinterest.
I'm not saying I'm about to run out and get spanked and it will all be fine again, but just the fact that the idea holds some appeal now is a big step forward.
So here's to spring awakenings. Let's hope things continue waking up!

Interactive Experiences

2010-03-19T19:42:00.002Z

I'm still feeling distinctly unkinky, but sometimes my brain just can't help it... It was particularly inspired by the BBC, today. It seems that the National Trust is getting more "hands on" with the new season of house visits beginning:
"
[It] is employing a more ''interactive'' approach to encourage more visitors to its stately homes.
Instead of not touching the exhibits and furnishings, members of the public will, in some cases, be allowed to get more involved with the historic surroundings - sitting on comfy chairs, handling artefacts, and even playing musical instruments. "

Of course the BBC couldn't report all activities available - helping to birch the maid in the master's study, watching the governess spanking the disobedient young lady in the school room, taking part in the whippings in the stables... after all, as Irelynn and my recent visit to Hughenden Manor proved, they provide the implements. The butter pats (aka paddles) are shown on her post, and she didn't even mention the riding crop in the boot the stables. So nice of a national organisation to provide for us kinksters.

A Revelation

2010-03-03T19:26:00.004Z

Walking round the supermarket today (buying a fitted sheet, two lampshades, two Wii games, a skirt, and not many of the groceries I went to get, moral of story never shop when tired), I had a revelation as I was avoiding the knicker section in the clothes department.
Do you think that maybe giving up knicker buying is related to losing my kink? The timing is pretty suspect... one followed the other fairly swiftly. Maybe my loss of kink is a sign? A sign that I should never, ever attempt to stop buying knickers?
What do you think?

To Spank Or Not To Spank?

2010-02-26T21:36:00.002Z

I've been totally disinterested in kink since I moved. Not scared of it, like last August, just utterly disinterested. Before, the thought of being spanked made me want to be sick, but this time, I just couldn't really care either way. This time, apart from twenty minutes of sheer, animal need in the middle of this week, there's been nary a glimmer of my kink, and I'm not sure that bothers me. In fact, the only reason I'm writing this post is that I want to canvas opinion.

The lack of interest leads me into several trains of thought, often contradictory. One is "Well, does it really matter if this is it, if I never feel kinky again?" One is "It's only been two weeks, get over yourself." Another, "Two weeks is a long time for you." Also, "I *do* care if my kink disappears... it's been part of who I am for two years and I like it."

One thing I do wonder, is that if I have unconsciously made the lack of interest worse. Have I, by keeping telling myself that I've lost all interest, actually reinforced that assumption more than would necessarily be true. Have I, in fact, made my disinterest worse?

So now I'm wondering what the cure is, or if I even should try and find one? Is it just worth getting on with it, getting a good spanking, get over the hump, as it were, and remind myself why I love being a kinky girl? Or is there a bigger risk of it just reinforcing my disinterest?
Alternatively, do I just leave well alone and let me head/desires sort themselves out in their own sweet time, however long that takes?

Thoughts please!

A Waste Of Potential?

2010-02-16T22:37:00.000Z

I love my new house. I love everything about it, with the possible exception of the gas oven, and even that is growing on me now my mother has shown me how to light it. Yeah, I know... I am under no illusions as to just how pathetic I am.
So, my new house. I love the kitchen. I love the living room which is big enough to have my sofas, a proper dining table, and eventually a sideboard in it. I love the conservatory, I love the spare rooms, in spite of the décor, I love the bathroom, I adore my bedroom, with its new bed, wardrobes big enough to play hide and seek in and en suite. I especially love my new “library” filled with my books, and the shed with the left over wooden stepladder, about to be converted into library steps.
Ah, library steps, you say. I remember you talking about library steps, Eliane. Why yes, indeed you do. Before I moved, I talked about library steps, and being spanked in every room in the house, and generally revelling in more space to be kinky.
Except that I have a little problem. It feels a bit wrong to be thinking about kinky stuff in my lovely new house. Like I might sully it with kinky thoughts and deeds or something... I'm still kinky, don't get me wrong, I'm not going through a vanilla patch or anything. I just feel bad thinking about kink in the house. I hope the feeling goes away soon, as it's going to be a hell of a waste of house potential if it doesn't!

"We're Downgrading, Actually"

2010-02-15T19:45:00.000Z

I am installed in my new home, and my mobile broadband is working, so I thought I would take a little pause in my unpacking efforts to blog about my trip to London.

Of course, this was one of the most important weekends of my life, so I thought it would only be appropriate to shoehorn in a visit to the Covent Garden Branch of Coco De Mer along with all the other things I was doing. As you do.

My partner in crime on this little jaunt was the inimitable Emma Jane, and we decided to visit Coco De Mer prior to afternoon tea at the Berkeley hotel. (Another experience which is thoroughly recommended!) Once we'd found the shop, we wandered around looking at the various things for sale, and trying fairly hard not to faint at the prices. The stuff is amazing, but the vast majority of it is not for young ladies who have just had a substantial increase in their mortgage repayments!

There were however, a couple of things which caught my eye, and made their way into my hands. Unfortunately, they are both wooden... I think I was suffering from "pretty disease" again. This is where I buy something (especially knickers and implements) because they are pretty.

I'm having trouble uploading the photos, but the links to the two paddles here. First, a beautiful spatula spanker, and second, the thing I had gone for in the first place, the utterly gorgeous rubberwood paddle. I actually picked up two of the paddle, one for me and one as a present, and Emma Jane had a spatula spanker as well. As we were walking to the till, one of the assistants came up to us and enquired whether we were experienced in spanking and flogging, as the implements we were holding were quite severe.

I blushed, stammered and decided that I'd quite like to sink into the nearest hole and hide there for a while. Emma Jane, on the other hand, with great presence of mind, replied.
"Yes, we are experienced. We're downgrading, actually, with these implements."

Of course, it remains to be seen whether they can actually be classed as "downgrading". I'm sure they could be used sensually and gently, but I'm equally sure that most tops of my acquaintance will not be able to resist using them rather more than "gently"... That being said, when I've had chance to test them out properly, I'll report back!

Little Hiatus

2010-02-12T06:00:00.000Z

You'll have to forgive me if there aren't any posts for a few days. I'm going to be without the internet, for a very good reason: I'm moving house, to a bigger place. As I keep telling people "a grown up house".
With room for all my books (well, actually, let me wait till all the bookshelves are in before I make that massive assumption!)
Room to have people to stay "properly", rather than on a zed bed.
Room to have parties.
Room to have a dining table up all the time so I can have people round for dinner.
Room to hang my washing out in the garden.
Room to do all sorts of things I couldn't do here.

It's a little bit of a double edged sword, as this place, where I sit and type right now, was my first home as an adult. The place I bought when I was 23 and moved out of home. I've been here for getting on for ten years. My Dad came here, he knew this place, he helped me decorate, he did the DIY. He and Mum finished cooking dinner when I'd invited them round and got to drunk to finish the dinner. There will be no link to him in my new house, and I'm sure that at some point a little bit of sadness will creep in about that. At the moment though, the overwhelming emotions are those of panic, worry, and, more than anything else, excitement!

So if there are no posts for a couple weeks, you'll have to forgive me. After all, with all the kinky potential of the new place, I should have loads to post about in future :-D

Release

2010-02-11T09:11:00.000Z

I've written before, several times about the fact that sometimes spanking just enables me to let go of things and release tension.

It's strange because sometimes I don't even realise just how much tension I'm holding inside myself until it does come out. It's scary to think that I carry that crap around inside me every day, and that it often gets very little chance for release. I'm often so focused on being strong, and coping with life, getting on with it, proving that I can deal with everything on my own and don't need anyone else, that I forget to acknowledge that this independence that I love and value does come at a cost sometimes. That cost being letting myself get more stressed than I maybe need to or should.

This is where spanking can be a bit of a sanity saver, because if I'm not even aware that I have so much stress inside me, it's hard for me to do anything about that! The sort of spanking where I do just let go, eventually, can be a very good thing, even if it doesn't feel like it at the time. Usually what makes me start crying is the pain, but that's not why I continue crying. I continue crying because I need to.

And this is where it can get really difficult for a top. I get that having a girl shed a few tears in front of you can be hot. Having a girl who's totally distraught is probably rather less hot. But as that girl who has been totally distraught like that, I know that sometimes I need the spanking to carry on. That I'm not done with letting go and letting out, and I need more. Maybe not harder, or even hard, just more. Of course, sometimes I don't need for it to carry on. Sometimes I need to just be left curled up in a ball to cry. Sometimes I need to be hugged through it. And as a top, how on earth are you supposed to know which time this is? Goodness knows, but I am grateful that I have people who are brave enough to push me enough that I can release some of that tension. Without that, I may well have ended up locked in a nice, white, padded room by now!

Aiding and Abetting

2010-02-09T21:37:00.000Z

I have some advice to fellow bottoms out there. Never, ever, ever aid and abet a top in the crime of implement buying. If they buy the implements, you have no control over *what* they are buying. They'll buy an innordinate amount of hitty things, when quite frankly you'd rather they had bought chocolate. Even if you were going to buy something, you'd pick the thuddy strap, described as moderate. They'll pick the one strap in the world that is actually stingy rather than thuddy. Quite a talent, that. I love most straps, but that one... well, let's just say if it had an unfortunate encounter with a dustbin, I wouldn't be crying. (Um, unless I was the one who put it in the dustbin, in which case I suspect I might well be crying!)

So, as usual, learn from my mistakes. Help a top buy implements, and you deserve everything that you get. And everything that you get will probably hurt.

Giving Up The Knickers

2010-02-06T20:13:00.000Z

Knickers are so pretty. Frothy bits of lace, silky ones, ruffled ones, cheeky slogan ones, turquoise ones, pink ones, white, black, navy, green, red... I love them all. I love owning them, looking at them, wearing them, and I love buying them.
I can actually identify the start of my knicker buying obsession (and believe me, it is an obsession, or possibly an addiction). It was when I went to New York in October 2008. On that trip I was trying to cut down on my book buying habits, I have actually improved on that front by the way, but I seemed to somehow substitute books for knickers, and it got worse, and worse, and worse, and worse, and worse, and worse until today I realised that I had managed to buy yet another five pairs of knickers in two days.

Just looking back over my blog to pull out all my knicker buying posts has made me ashamed, and if I hadn't already realised that I have a problem, that would have done it.

The time has come for a change. I must have (and I've not counted) getting on for 200 pairs of knickers now. Silly and excessive, especially as at least 150 of those have been bought in the last 16 months. So I'm going to do something about it. I'm going to stop buying knickers. First of all until Easter, two months away. Call it an early Lent decision. In general, if I really set my mind to doing something, it will happen, so I've got a pretty good feeling that I can stick to this. However I want added incentives, and this is where my friends come in. Adele Haze has already offered to confiscate two pairs of knickers for every one that I buy, but I think I need something even more drastic than that, so I'm hereby giving every top that I play with permission to give me six strokes of the cane if they find out I've bought any knickers between now and Easter!
The thing is though, none of them are going to get the chance to do that, as I *will* be strong!

Body Issues

2010-02-04T23:30:00.000Z

I went to my spa the other day, and had a lovely time, apart from one little incident. I was saddened to see a young woman (very early twenties) with what pretty much anyone would consider to be a "nice" body. Slimmish, though not skinny (not that there's anything wrong with skinny), nice chest, nice bum, wearing shorts over her bikini. She was obviously not comfortable enough in her own skin to just wear bikini bottoms in that environment. And I really did think that was sad. What sort of society do we live in where young women, even those who by any "accepted" standard would be considered very attractive, are too insecure to "expose" their body in what is actually a surprisingly forgiving environment, with all shapes and sizes on display?
Well, I know the answer: a society that strives for perfection in everything to do with looks, for women, and increasingly for men. If you read too many papers and watch too much television, or rather pay too much attention to what they say, you will spend your life striving for a body ideal that is suitable for only a very few people.
Of course, I have no right to criticise. I have my own share of body issues, and to be frank, they are justified, as I'm fat, and need to be less fat. On the other hand, I long ago learnt not to aspire to "conventional" standards of beauty, as I'm never going to be slender - it's just not in my genes. Coming from hearty country stock I would always be a "big" girl even if I was not overweight.
Let's move on though, as this is not supposed to be my issues, but about the confidence I've gained over the past couple of years. The spanking scene, on the whole, seems fairly open and accepting of all sorts of body shapes. Or possibly I've just been very lucky with the group of people I've met. What their acceptance has given me is the ability to become more at ease with my unclothed, or partly clothed body.
When I started this, even baring my bum was a little traumatic. In front of one person. Then I started going to events like Lowewood where we all got undressed together, something which I'd only really done under a towel in other communal changing situations before. Also, I was being spanked in front of other people, having my knickers pulled down. And so it grew, via parties where I danced around in my underwear, to the extent that a couple of weeks ago I not only *totally* undressed in front of two tops, but then ran through the house completely naked to show the remaining girls the stripes on my bum and thighs. Of course, one of the reasons for that complete lack of inhibition was because I was on a high, but even so, that was a big first.

So yes, like most women, (and probably a lot of men) I have body issues. But, through the generally non-judgemental nature of our community, I have gained a huge amount of confidence over the past few months, and even learnt, that, god forbid, some people actually *like* bigger girls. Here's to many more years to come of running around naked!

Three Types Of Play

2010-02-01T23:12:00.001Z

I've probably talked before about the different types of play I enjoy. There's three main ones. One is “just for fun”, when it's me, not in character, not being spanked for anything in particular, the second when it's still me, but the spanking is more serious, either because there is a genuine reason behind it, or just because I want a “serious” spanking. The last one is obviously role play. All the different types have their merits. Just for fun spankings are great, if very superficial. Being hoiked over someone's lap because you've just made a cheeky remark is (mostly) always fun. Letting a switchy friend loose on your bottom just for the sake of it can be very amusing.
Role play, likewise, is immense fun. Of course, half (if not more) of the joy of role play is the fun of being a different character, often in a different time, and getting so involved in your character that you react as them and not yourself, even if that character is influenced by aspects of your own personality.

I think the type of play I enjoy the most though, is the more serious stuff. Stuff like this, when I can just let go, submit. There's only a handful of people that I like to play that seriously with, or rather, I suppose, that I trust enough to play like that with. If I'm making myself vulnerable in that way, then I need to be doing so with people I trust not just to let me fall, but to catch me as well. You see, the thing is when I do play more intensely like this, the reason I love it is not because of the pain, or the amount of strokes I take or anything like that. It's because I can be me, and, once in a while, I can submit, and be submissive. (The two are not always the same).

This is something I've not yet been able to achieve in role play, and I'm not sure whether I ever will. My instinct is always to create characters who are, shall we say, somewhat spirited. Cheeky Jemima, opinionated Francesca, spoilt Lucinda. These are not women who would ever submit willingly to anything. In creating these characters I make it very difficult to reach any sort of submissive headspace in role. Maybe my next character needs to be the submissive type?

That's the main reason why I love playing intensely as myself. When the connection is between two people being themselves, it is, to my mind at any rate, more fulfilling than role play, though that is fulfilling in a different way. I was chatting to Abel a couple days after we had played the table scene. I was to curious as to whether he had been playing that scene as any sort of character. I knew that I had been me, but I didn't know if the same applied to him. His response was, and apologies if I'm misquoting slightly. “No, it was me abusing you.” Of course to anyone outside our world that statement would be terribly worrying, but of course he was “abusing” me in a way I wanted, and with my consent, and for me, that was a delicious response. Allowing myself to let go with that handful of people and experience that level of intensity, and of submissiveness, is one of the best things about This Thing We Do.

The Bad Friend

2010-01-28T20:16:00.002Z

One of my biggest fears since I started exploring my kink is that I am neglecting my “vanilla” friends. As time has gone on and I have become more immersed in my kink life, it is a fear that has become something of a reality, and one that I'm not particularly happy with.
So when someone said to me today that they thought I was not spending as much time with other friends as I used to, it touched a very raw nerve indeed. So raw, in fact that I spent most of the afternoon in the office fighting tears, mostly unsuccessfully.

You see, the thing is, it's true.

I have neglected friends over the past 18 months. Some friends who I may have naturally grown less close to anyway, some who don't deserve my neglect. It's inevitable that friendships change over the years. I'm of an age where a lot of my friends are (as I so delicately put it) sprogging up. I have never been particularly interested in having children, though I think the majority of my friends' kids are wonderful, so that was something that was without doubt going to change the nature of some of my friendships. When you have children, no matter how much people warn you beforehand, your life changes irrevocably. That's not to say that I love those friends any less, but the amount of time we are able to spend together now is of course less than before.

So some changes in these relationships were always going to happen. The more unforgivable thing, though, is those friends where our bond would have had less reason for changing and it's me that has changed it. Friendships that I have let die a little over the past few months. Phone calls not returned as quickly as they should be. Letters and emails prioritised below kinky letters and emails. Weekends where I might have seen them given over to kinky activities. Being in their neighbourhood on trips and selfishly not wanting to give up an hour of fun to go visiting... All with the excuse that we were growing apart anyway. But were we? Or have I just forced us apart?

I was talking to Emma Jane about this earlier today. She wisely said that it's a problem that a lot of us coming into Kinky World have, and that all we can do is share ourselves out as much as we can. We can't be perfect. She talks a lot of sense, that girl. The trouble is, while I know I can't be perfect, it doesn't stop me trying and it sure as hell doesn't stop me from beating myself up when I inevitably fail. I mean, who the hell am I to treat people who are supposed to mean something to me in such a manner? What did they ever do to deserve me ignoring them, neglecting them, taking weeks to respond to them, never making time for them. Nothing, of course.

So I know it's silly of me to dwell on this, and it's indulgent and crass to have a pity party about it, but I'm afraid that's the lie of the land right now. I need a little pity party, I need to berate myself, and I need to figure out what the hell to do about it. Somewhere out there, there's an ideal balance. If anyone finds it, for goodness sake, let me know.

The Tale Of The Kitchen Table

2010-01-25T22:44:00.000Z

After a lovely weekend, Sunday evening had arrived and there were just a few of us left. We were sitting round the big pine kitchen table, variously eating spicy Indian takeaway and random leftovers. As we sat and chatted, either HH or Abel, I can't remember which, commented that such a big sturdy table would be ideal to tie a girl to and whip her. Mention was also made of how overlooked the kitchen was if the shutters were open, and how humiliating it would be for whoever was being whipped. After these throwaway comments, dinner and conversation carried on as before, but I could not get the thought out of my head. I was incredibly turned on. I knew that saying that out loud could well provoke something I wasn't really sure I was up for, so I whispered in the ear of one girls that I thought the idea was amazing, and then moved on, hoping that my mind would focus back on the conversation in hand.

Except it didn't. About ten minutes later, in a move fairly alien to me, I said out loud to Abel and HH that I was finding the idea of the table rather interesting, except I definitely wanted the shutters in the room closed, and well, that was that!

I was sent to wait in the kitchen, and decided to be helpful while I was there and close the shutters. Unfortunately, HH came in halfway through and told me it was very presumptuous of me to assume that I was allowed to close them. Whoops. It was at this point I started getting worried.

I was ordered to the side of the room and told to disrobe while they finished clearing the table. My heart sank. I asked how far I should "disrobe", suspecting I knew the answer but hoping I didn't. I was instructed to continue until told to stop. I took off my top and skirt, and looked at Abel.

"Carry on", he said. Reluctantly I removed my stockings and suspender belt. At this point I stopped undressing.

"Are you being disobedient?" Off came my bra. But I couldn't take off my knickers. I was just too nervous. Abel came over and slapped my knicker-clad rear twice. Hard. I took off my knickers.

At this point, HH and Abel, who were assuming more of their evil personas by the second, deigned to close the shutters fully. They then ordered me to get on the table and lie on my back. This totally tripped me up, mentally. When I had been imagining this, I'd been thinking about lying on my front, back exposed, not the other way round. Or at least certainly not to start with. They were already well on the way to having me in their power.

I got up on the table, pulled up my legs and covered my breasts. I also squeezed my eyes shut. Someone, HH I think, came and took my arms, and put them spreadeagle to the edge of the table. You see, the thing is, no one had any rope with them, so they told me I would have to hold onto the table edge. Abel, at the other end, pulled out my legs, so that they were spread towards the corners.

I didn't dare open my eyes. I could hear them talking, discussing with each other what they should do with me. I can't recall what they said in any detail, but very soon they had started to beat me. With floggers, and a leather Josephine. On my breasts. And my inner thighs. When I flinched and moved my arms, one of them took the Josephine, and used it on my hands. HH decided he should go and get the new (extremely thin) little whip he had purchased that weekend. My eyes were still screwed shut, but I could hear them talking about how nice it was to use on my nipples, and then HH moved down and started using it on the front of my thighs, delighting in the criss-cross marks he was making. I don't know how long the torture on my front carried on. I do know I was shaking through most of it. I could feel it, especially in my arms, and kept trying to will it away every time there was a slight pause, as at this point I was still trying to fight their hold over me, at least a little.

They made me turn over, and repositioned me with a cushion under my hips. And then they really started. It's all a little blurry but I think they were flogging me on my bottom. from both sides, so there was barely any pause between strokes. Again, every time I moved my hands or feet, they were flogged too. The flogging then moved onto my back and by this point I was starting to get pretty vocal, which is unusual for me. At some point, they moved back to my bottom, this time with a strap, hard, until one of them decided they should go and fetch the cane.

I don't remember much about the caning. I'm not sure how many strokes, or even how hard, though I know at the time they felt exceptionally hard. I think I screamed, or at least cried out very loudly. Tears were running down my face and into my hair. Abel was holding my arms down, which were by this point gripping the front of the table, while HH caned me. I know we reached a stage where I was told there were two left to go. I was also told that if I moved, the strokes would start again from one. My stomach dropped.
Abel was still holding my arms. Kindness in his voice, he asked "Would you like some help with these?"
"Yes please", I gulped through my tears.
He let go of my arms.
"Well you're not getting any."
I felt bereft.

Two final strokes lashed into me. If hadn't already screamed, I'm pretty sure I did at that point. I didn't move though. It turns out the ties of the mind can bind more effectively than the ties made of rope, and boy, they had my mind.

As I lay there, eyes closed and tears dripping on the cushion under my head, Abel went and opened the shutters, talking about what he was doing. I knew it was unlikely that there would be anyone who could see in, but I was mortified and lay there hoping they would relent and close them again. It was only as they helped me up that I realised that he had opened them only the tiniest crack!

Hugs followed, and within two or three minutes, I was bouncing back up again, pain and mind games forgotten, on the most wonderful high from the scene. And it really was wonderful. It was very out of character for me to either ask for something like that or actually go through with it, but I'm so, so glad I did. The two of them played with my head so effectively. It was fantastic, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. In fact, I probably would have gone through it all again 10 minutes later if anyone had suggested it. I just hope that the next occupants of the house don't know what we were using the kitchen table for!

Marks Hunter

2010-01-21T06:03:00.000Z

I've always been a marks hunter. After the top grades, the most points, the distinctions in exams.

Nowadays I hunt different sorts of marks.

It's actually quite hard to admit, but I really, really love having marks from a spanking. Well, let's be honest, it's mostly from canings or strappings or something. I think reactions to marks vary. Some tops don't particularly like leaving them, as it shows that actual damage has been done, however short term or superficial. Let's be frank - a bruise is caused by broken capillaries. No matter if the bruise is small and light, you've still broken blood vessels. This is why bottoms often don't like getting marks either.

It's for all these terribly logical reasons that I know I shouldn't like having marks. I really shouldn't. I can't help it though, I do. There is a problem though. The best marks come from canes, which is the first part of the problem. The second part of the problem is that the best cane marks, the ones like these, the ones that really just make me want to spend the day staring at the bottom in the mirror (I'm not generally narcissistic, but cane marks make me so), are the ones that come from a cold caning. And cold canings hurt. A lot.

From a psychological perspective, I'm not quite sure why I like marks, but I suppose there are a number of reasons. They are a testament to my "bravery" in enduring something which find painful, they are a mark of having submitted to something and come through the other side, they are a memento of someone's beautiful handiwork. All of those reasons are valid to me. Probably not to a psychoanalyst, but to me, yes.

Well, psychoanalysts be damned: there's really nothing like having a beautiful set of parallel stripes on your bum. They are pretty. They are a trophy. And I like treasure them.

Weekend Fun

2010-01-20T06:19:00.000Z

I'm organising a weekend away this weekend. 12 kinksters, gathered in a remote location in the wilds of Britain. As usual, when we have big gatherings like this, I've been wondering whether I'll be getting spanked at all. I've not prearranged anything with anyone, so I'll probably just see. There are tops there I'd like to play with, so If the mood takes me, I might ask if people want to play, but if the mood doesn't take me, ah well!

I also may well end up being terribly well behaved in general. In bigger gatherings, unless I'm in character, I'm usually one of the better behaved members of the group, so I don't often end up getting dragged over bits of furniture and beaten. The one exception to this rule is if alcohol is applied, in which case I tend to misbehave pretty quickly. But, as we all know, the thought of Eliane getting drunk is so completely alien and inappropriate as to be totally unbelievable.

The thing is, even if there is not a single hand connecting with my bottom the whole weekend, I don't think I'll mind that much. When I organised this weekend a few months ago, my aim was to have something to look forward to in the depths of January, a month I always struggle with. It was not supposed to be any sort of "formal" play weekend, or even a spanking party. It was just supposed to be a chance for me to spend time with like minded people and lovely friends. For me, just the having the opportunity to be in the company of my lovely kinky friends is important and valuable. Especially at the moment. What with the weather, Christmas, the weather again, and some stuff going on in my personal life, it's been at least three weeks since I've seen any of that group, and a lot longer in most cases. Just seeing them all will be a joy in itself!

And so my primary aim remains. As long as everyone is having a nice time, and I have a nice relaxing weekend with the people I like, I'm not going to feel the lack of spanking action.

My New Bed

2010-01-19T06:37:00.000Z

I bought myself a new bed. It won't be delivered for a few weeks, but I'm excited about it.

I had a few requirements for said bed. Some were purely aesthetic. I wanted a wooden frame bed, in a pale wood. I don't particularly like iron bedsteads, and while I like dark woods, I don't think they will go very well in my house. Most of all, I cannot stand "divan" style beds, so they were totally out.

Once I had the "look" out of the way, I turned to thoughts of a more kinky nature. A girl needs a bed she can be tied to. It's as simple as that really. Which means the bed has to have places to tie both arms and legs to. On a slightly more practical note, I also wanted the end of the bed to be high enough that I didn't "not see it" and walk into it constantly. Bruises on bums are OK. Bruises on calves are not that attractive.

Simple list then, palish wooden bed frame, with a decent size head and foot board, and some thing that you can fix a girl to. It was actually quite hard to find, but I managed:

Now all I need is someone to tie me to it and give me a nice spanking!

Learning To Count

2010-01-18T06:10:00.000Z

A lovely little anecdote about counting on the Spanking Writers the other day reminded me of an incident on New Year's Eve.

Before we go any further, let me point out that I was stone cold sober on New Year's Eve. I was sick, I was driving, and not a single drop of alcohol had passed my lips since December 27th. So *that* wasn't the reason for what happened.

Which was that I lost the ability to count. We were playing with the evil dice and weren't generally counting strokes out loud, but I was in my head, and every time we got to the end (apparently) I would be there thinking that I'd only had eleven, or seven, or whatever, one less than I was supposed to have. This happened three times, I think, and once when I could have sworn that one of the other girls got less than they were supposed to. Of course, as I was sober, I was convinced that it couldn't be me who was having problems counting, and said so. Which naturally meant that the next time the dice fell in my favour (disfavour?), HWMBO decided that he was going to give me a little arithmetic lesson. In the art of counting from 1 - 12, out loud. Anyone surprised to hear that I managed it that time? Thought not!

So why was I being so numerically challenged earlier in the evening? Who knows? Lack of concentration? Still feeling a bit ill? Or maybe it *wasn't* that I was numerically challenged. Maybe it was that everyone else was wrong? Yup, that's the explanation I'm going with.

Uncanny Similarities

2010-01-17T06:04:00.001Z

The person who caned me the other night is male, has short hair, and in no way could be mistaken for a woman. The person who taught me singing a couple of days later is female, has long, flowing locks and could in no way be mistaken for a man.

So how did I find myself having the exact same conversation with both of them?

Conversation 1:

Me: (Kicking my legs up repeatedly, and eventually standing up) I can't do it!
Him: (Glaring) Yes, you can.
Me: (Whining) No I can't. It's too hard.
Him: (Still glaring) Yes you can. It's supposed to be hard.

Conversation 2:
Me: (Stamping my foot, of which I'm not proud) I can't do it!
Her: (Glaring) Yes, you can.
Me: (Whining) No I can't, it's too hard!
Her: (Still glaring) You don't pay me to be easy, it's supposed to be hard. You can do it.

It was at this point during the second conversation that I realised I was having the exact same conversation as when I was being caned, burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, and could think of no good explanation to give to my singing teacher as to WHY I was laughing.

On a slightly more serious note, it turned out that I could do it. Both times... I should stop underestimating myself, maybe.