Happy Blogiversary To Me!

A year today, I started a blog. I'm not entirely sure why, to be honest. As an experiment? As a place to put my thoughts? Out of curiosity? Anyway whatever the reason, here I am a year later, still putting my random rubbish out into the ether.
I have a bit of a problem though. I'm not really that new to spanking anymore. To be frank, "New To Spanking" was probably a pretty dumb choice of title. After all, I'd already been spanked three or four times when I started the blog. Why call it something that has a finite life span as a title?!
So, I can't change the URL without starting a whole new blog, but I can change the title.
This is where you come in - you can help me think of a new title.
Some friends have already tried to help. The one who suggested "Slightly Soiled To Spanking" knows who she is and knows that I'm not amused!

Maybe I could use "Not So New To Spanking"? "Sophomore at Spanking"? Or just leave it as "New To Spanking"
As you can see, I'm not very good at this game, so if you can think of any good ideas, I'd love to hear them!

The Conversation In My Head

I spent a lovely afternoon with a group of vanilla friends, two new mothers and a mother-to-be. For those of you reading this, I like babies/children fine, but have no intention of ever pro-creating myself. It hasn't been on my game plan since I was 14, and I've shown no sign of changing my mind. Naturally, quite a lot of the conversation veered towards pregnancy, and some of the things that were said prompted some replies that stayed firmly within my head at the time!

Disclaimer: I am in no way trying to say there is any real comparison between the pain of a spanking and the pain of labour, okay?

"Pregnancy has actually been quite good for my body image, you know. There's only so many times that you can be prodded and poked before you just stop worrying about it."
"Funny you should say that, I'm the same with spanking. After the nth time of having your knickers pulled down, you stop obsessing over what your bum looks like."
"Yeah, the birth's not pleasant, and it really hurts, and at the time you wonder how you'll get through it, but at the end of the day you survive, and you forget how bad it was and want to do it again."
"Um, sounds a bit like a caning to me..."
"And of course at the end of the day, you have something to show for all the pain."
"Yes you do. Cane marks. Yum."

Aren't I awful? You can't take me anywhere.

Singing and Clubbing

Two very contrasting events yesterday. First a visit to Singa-Longa-Hairspray with kinky friends. "Singa Longa" events are where a film, with subtitles, is played and the audience sing along. Simple really. The audience composition was as follows. In an audience of about 200, there were 6 men, 60 adults, and about 130 six year old girls. Which made for some long queues during the interval! After a very vanilla afternoon we headed home, practicing our dance moves to "You Can't Stop The Beat", and proceeded to transform ourselves into kinky goddesses for a night out at a club. Well, goddesses might be stretching it a bit too far. Given the heat and humidity it was more like "kinky wilting women" but we tried!
I wasn't actually feeling too good yesterday, and was seriously considering not going out, but I did manage to "get my kink on" this time, which I was pleased with. The downside though, was that my pain tolerance was non existent. I rather unfairly got dobbed in it by one friend who gleefully pointed out that I had just been saying "F*** the b*st*rds" in a very loud voice. In my defence I was actually pointing out that said phrase was a lot more satisfying than the non-swearing alternative of "Darn those people of questionable parentage" that had been proposed, but that didn't stop me being ordered over to a bench.
The first hand spanks felt like fire burning into my bum and thighs, which was when I realised that I was going to have a hard time taking much at all. For once I was in a sensible mood, and actually told this to my play partner, who, bless him, made sure he was being gentle with me. After a while he asked me if I would prefer the cane or the tawse. My answer was instant - the tawse. If anyone had come near me with a cane last night I would have run like the wind in the opposite direction. The tawse actually turned out to be a strap, but it was actually quite a nice one, and about thirty or so strokes later I was released from the bench for a nice hug, and was very glad I'd managed to overcome my reservations and "get my kink on" after all.

Not Getting Your Kink On

A while ago EmmaJane wrote a post about "getting your kink on". She made a very good point that those of us who aren't lucky enough to be in spanking relationships or have regular play partners have a "duty" to ourselves to make sure that we are always making the most of opportunities to play, even if we are tired or cranky or hungover. And she's right, we do have to get our kink on. Except for the odd occasion where we're better off not getting our kink on.
Like last night. I was supposed to have a play date. Unfortunately I also had a bad case of hormone-induced idiocy (i.e. PMT/PMS depending on where you are). I don't often get PMT particularly badly, but yesterday's was a horror. I spent the best part of 24 hours on the verge of breaking down in big wracking sobs. For no reason, of course, just because! In one way, a damn good spanking was probably exactly what I needed, but by halfway through the day, I realised that it was going to be a very silly idea. Two smacks probably would have been all it would have taken to break down that barrier that had prevented me from crying all day, and then it would have just been horribly messy. I wouldn't have enjoyed it, he wouldn't have enjoyed. It actually felt good to realise that I was too emotionally fragile at that point to "get my kink on", and also to make the decision that "not getting my kink on" was the best thing all round. Am I annoyed that I missed an opportunity to play? Yes, but in those few hours available it would have been the worst thing I could have done for myself, and been unfair to him as well.
I went shopping instead. And it turns out that there's nothing like a damn good shop (including six new pairs of knickers!) to make a girl feel human again. Of course, it could have been that the hormone wave was coming to an end anyway, but I'm going to chalk it up to the power of buying pretty things.

Waving My Bum In The Air

I'm becoming increasingly aware that I'm addicted to bending over things. It's not something I intend to do, it's just, well, natural and instinctive! Give me a sofa, and I'll automatically lean on the back and stick out my bum. The same with a dining chair, or anything that's at bendable height. Which is all well and good is most circumstances, and will give friends in the know a good laugh when I subconsciously go around presenting my butt to the world, but it's a bit more worrying at work.

I don't have the best eyesight in the world, so sometimes if someone is showing me something I tend to want to get a bit closer to the screen. By, um, bending over with my elbows on the desk to get closer to the screen. And my bum waving in the air. Or in meetings, if we are working on something on the desks, drawings or diagrams for instance, I will end up kneeling on my chair, leaning into the centre of the desk. With my bum waving in the air. Are you spotting a pattern here? I know I am.

Consipiring Against Me

I've decided to try and get a grip on my constant lateness for work. And even succeeded on the first day of trying - I was 15 minutes early! I was seriously impressed with myself.

The trouble is, that people are conspiring against me. More and more people I know are starting blogs, and good blogs at that. Which means, obviously, that they have to be read. Which I often do first thing in the morning. Which makes me late for work. I hesitate to give them any publicity whatsoever, given that they all seem to be determined to conspire against me and get me into trouble (I have no free will in this situation, of course, and *must* read what they write). However, as I'm a nice person, I will rise above this provocation and suggest most firmly that you go and check out, in no particular order: Graham, Rebecca, Faye, Emma, Caroline, Jessica and Casey.

Just don't blame me if your spare time disappears in a puff of smoke, and you are late for everything, Blame them. In fact, quite frankly, I think the lot of them should be spanked.

Flower Pressing

This weekend I participated in a field trip to the Hellfire Caves, created by Sir Francis Dashwood, and home of the infamous Hellfire Club. There were several of us, and we of course behaved ourselves impeccably and had no naughty thoughts whatsoever. Not at all. Angels, us. Stop snickering at the back!

Anyway, afterwards we were sitting relaxing in a rather un-kinky location, and we rapidly realised that we couldn't really talk about spanking quite as openly as we wanted to. What to do? Change the conversation and talk about something boring, or carry on as we were? Bright as a spark, someone came up with the best euphemism for spanking I've ever heard: "Flower Pressing". So, it is decided. From now on, spanking will no longer be called spanking but "flower pressing". Love it.

Spilling

I'm a spiller. In more than one sense of the word actually, given that I'm always dropping and spilling things. Right now though, I mean in the "spilling my guts" context. I'm not good at telling lies, for starters, so I generally don't bother. In fact I'm so bad, that my mother (who in all fairness knows me very well) can spot a lie in a one word answer I give, *via the phone*. She asked me a question yesterday, and I said, in a perfectly even tone, "Yes". "That means no", she replied. She was right as well... That's how bad I am at lying.
But in addition to that, I'm a spiller. I just can't keep my mouth shut if I've done something wrong. I'll drop myself in it in the blink of an eye. Even while my brain is screaming "shutupshutupshutup" my mouth will be admitting to something that never would have been known about otherwise.
So this is my new challenge to myself: to learn to stop getting myself into trouble when there is no need. Not the most honourable challenge in the world, but I'm sure it will make my life slightly easier!

Four Days Play

Ouch... it's the primary word in my vocabulary at the moment, pretty much every time I move. Four days of play in a five day period is a lot! So, in addition to my caning on Saturday night, and the role play day on Sunday, I played with friends on Tuesday night and discovered what a sjambok is, and quite how much a tyre paddle can hurt. To be honest, I'm not sure which was worse. Both had me levitating off the bed. much to the amusement of the guys in the room, but with one of them (and I genuinely can't remember which) I howled like a werewolf, or at least this was what I was later told by someone who had been in the bathroom next door at the time! It seems the whole house heard that yell. This was on top of a paddling for speeding on the way to the party (speeding? moi?!), a strapping for getting the other girls into trouble all evening, and was followed by an appointment with Miss Marwood to address the issue of my using foul language in front of other girls who had just been punished for the same offence. On Wednesday morning by bottom was sporting some of the most spectacular bruises it has ever had, in places where you don't normally have bruises, courtesy, I believe, of the evil and enormous tyre paddle.
So you'd think that would be enough for me, right? That my bum (and brain) might have decided that enough was enough? Nope. I had a play date on Wednesday evening, which contained among other things, a 13 stroke caning, and an OTK belting, and what felt like hours of hand spanking. (Why is it that all the tops I play with seem to have lead hands?!) All on a very sore bum. My cries of "Ow, it hurts, it's already sooo sore, can't you tell" were met with the response "And that's my problem why?" Hmpf.
But it seems I still wasn't quite done. When said friend left, he unfortunately stumbled over the doorstep on his way out. Which I found absolutely hilarious, as he has done exactly the same thing at least twice before. So I dissolved into giggles, but didn't quite shut the door in time, as before I could blink I was bent back over the sofa for another dose of spanking, this time with a sweet looking, but deeply evil, 12 inch leather strap. By this point I was well and truly done, but that last dose had been totally worth it.

Jemima Goes To School Again

With memories of her detention thrashing for being the worst girl in the school last term, Jemima headed back to school for the new term determined to make a better show of things.
Of course, she still had to attempt to push a few boundaries, but was deeply disappointed that her appearance in assembly with her hair in about 50 plaits garnered no comments from the teachers. Strictly speaking, she was within the rules (long hair must be plaited...) but she still had hoped to incur some wrath, on the basis that winding teachers up is just plain funny.
To be honest, some of the teachers seemed in a rather pleasant mood this term. Many points were gained in English Grammar, History may have gone better if she hadn't been paired with one of the new transatlantic girls, Cassady. The girl seemed nice enough though, so she may forgive her for her poor performance in history class.
She thought Mr S was very kind to ignore the fact that she dozed off in PSE. All this talk of "One Thing Leads To Another"... well, of course it does, isn't that rather the point?! She wishes Lowewood wasn't quite so prudish on the boy issue.
Art was another matter though. Mr B was not impressed when Jemima left her sweets from her new Irish friend Caoilfhionn. It wasn't fair to put them away. They were in a leprechaun and so cute. So anyway, that was her being called up to the front of the class and spanked. It was a very sulky Jemima who went back to her seat and proceeded to stare at her piece of paper, feeling totally uninspired. Amazingly, because she was working with other girls, she found out at the end of the day that she'd actually gained 10 house points for doing nothing. Score!
Unfortunately, her run-ins with Mr B were not yet finished. She was called to see him during biology to discuss her behaviour on the recent field trip. It seems someone had put in a complaint to the governors, and she found herself being spanked and slippered and given 12 of the best. Very unfair, as it was all due to another pupil leading her astray.
It was with a very sore bottom that Jemima made her way on to the Games field for Netball. Luckily, she found herself on the same team as the head girl for the first match, which is infinitely preferable to playing opposite the head girl, which she had to do in the second match. Her team won 14-2, and then the second match was a 9 all draw. Jemima would like to point out that she can claim no credit for these results, having spent most of both games loitering round the goal posts, and being shouted at for being closer than three feet to the person with the ball. Her frequent cries that she had no spatial awareness and did not *know* how much three feet (or six inches) was fell on deaf ears. Unfortunately, the point at which she told Mr S to "p*ss off" after he suggested a cross country run after netball did not fall on deaf ears.
And so to the end of the day, and detention. Even though most girls (including Jemima) ended up in positive points (+20, a 55 point improvement on last time), the staff decided that the general standard of language and behaviour, had been so awful, above all during games, that they were all going to be dealt with in detention. So to the staff room, and a long lecture involving paddles and canes from Mr E about maintaining decorum and avoiding bad language. After promises (yet again) to try harder next time, Jemima went outside and sat with Jessica to keep her company while Natalie was being dealt with. Poor Jessica could not be thrashed on her bum, due to a medical note, and so was destined to be punished on her hands or thighs, not a prospect that enthralled her. So Jemima tried to help by suggested she offered Mr E and alternative to punishing her. Of course, she was convinced of Mr E's probity, and that he would not take Jessica up on the offer, but it was quite funny to bet her anyway and see if she could land herself in worse trouble. Which she did. Silly girl. Propositioning teachers? Whoever heard of that..!

Sub Drop

I've never used to feel entitled to claim that I got sub drop, for the simple reason that I didn't feel I played hard enough or got off on the pain enough to experience a physical endorphin crash, which is what I always thought to be the definition of sub drop

I then started to wonder if I was doing myself a disservice taking that point of view. I often spend the next day or so after a spanking in a funk, being slightly depressed, unable to properly focus, desperate to fulfill my kinky needs, unsatisfied by my everyday life. However, I came to realise that sub drop is not just that, it's also a craving, that need to *be* kinky... and it's a similar feeling to that I've experienced when something deliciously wonderful, like a holiday, or the run of a show, is over: the longing to be back in the situation again

So maybe, I concluded, sub drop is not just about a physical endorphin crash, maybe it's also about that sense of loss experienced when something that was fun and exciting and enjoyable is over; when you can no longer be in the company of like-minded people but have to start to function again in the "normal" world. Maybe I was doing myself a disservice denying myself the opportunity to be able to give those feelings some sort of a label. Labels are only a way of categorising things, but sometimes if you can put a label on something it aids your understanding of it, and therefore your ability to cope with it.

If I had any doubts as to whether I experience sub drop, they were wiped out after a day's role play on Sunday. In all fairness I was very tired, having got too little sleep the night before, but once the role play was over, I had the most massive crash that I've ever had. In a matter of minutes, I reached the stage where I could barely function. I was supposed to be helping getting dessert out and had to ask for instructions every minute. Everything just went. I felt weird, spacey, on the verge of tears, and just in need of massive hugs. The strange thing (though probably not so strange given the situation) was that I was not the only one in this position. At least four people, and probably more, all pretty much crashed at the same time. So the only real thing to do was to give each other lots of hugs and go home to bed. Which is what happened. I was still in a pretty bad state the next morning though, but luckily one of my friends was staying so she was able to give me another big hug to help me through the day.

So yup, no denying that I get sub drop any more. I suppose it's the price you pay for fantastic experiences. If so, it's a price I'm willing to pay.

Sulking

This is possibly a slightly dangerous post to write, as some of the people who I play with actually read this blog, but I want to talk about sulking, specifically my sulking when I'm being spanked.
If I'm genuinely being told off for something, or am role playing, I've realised that I have this terrible habit of going into a sulk! Role playing over the weekend, I was dealt with for a minor misdemeanor, only a few strokes of a paddle I think, and was sent back to carry on with what I was doing (an art lesson), but I just sat at my desk and sulked. I'm actually surprised I didn't get dragged up and dealt with again, as I'm sure my attitude must have been fairly obvious, or maybe I'm getting better at hiding these things.
Now in this particular situation, some of the sulking was my character, but a fair portion of it was Eliane, just having a good old sulk. I find it often happens, albeit unconsciously, when I've not been punished enough. I don't really *mean* to sulk, but unless I have been made to feel contrite before the spanking begins, the first few minutes only serves to turn me into a sulky brat who feels mistreated. And if the spanking stops there, I continue feeling like a sulky brat who has been mistreated! Of course, if said spanking carries on, I rapidly become more contrite. The mere swish of a cane will ensure that... but the conclusion I seem to be coming to is that I need to have the sulks whacked out of me. But shhhh, don't tell anybody who might actually try and do that.

Her First Caning

I acted as "test guinea pig" for EmmaJane last night. We had been chatting for a while about topping and she decided to try and teach me by very kindly offering up her bum for my use.
Well, I was UTTERLY rubbish at handspanking (truly, truly bad) so she tried a few times on me to try and get me to see the difference between cupped hands and uncupped hands (or something), but gave up and suggested I try with a slipper. I did actually manage to get some sort of semblance of technique with the slipper, but to be honest my heart really wasn't in it. I can absolutely talk the toppy talk, as I'm a bossy wench, but when it comes to walking the walk, not so much.
In the end we gave up with me trying to learn to top, but apparently my failure made her decide that *someone* had to top for the evening so she proceeded (with my blessing of course!) to spank me, use my bath brush that she "liberated" from the bathroom, and then cane me, which was the first time she'd ever caned anyone. We used my thicker cane on the basis that it's easier to control, and she made a damn good job of it. There was the odd stroke that wrapped a bit, but I've had that with much more experienced caners. Pretty much all of them landed on target, and she managed to get a few blinders in there as well! In fact (don't tell her this, I don't want her to get a big head) but it's still sore this morning!

So there we go, EmmaJane has now caned a real life human being, and I was happy to oblige by providing a real life bottom. I hope she enjoyed the experience as much as I did!

One Of Those Weeks

I can still (once in a while) have a couple of weeks where have no real life kinky interactions. No meeting up with kinky friends, no playing, all my social life revolves around my vanilla friends, which of course is fine.
Some weeks are a bit different though. My lovely friend EmmaJane is coming to stay tonight, and tomorrow our alter egos, Jemima and Caoilfhionn are off for a day at school. Jemima is going to attempt to behave herself this time. And wear regulation knickers. Maybe.
Then on Tuesday there's dinner with kinky friends, Wednesday I will hopefully be playing with a friend, and Saturday a group of us will be picnicking at a lovely location near me which may inspire some kinky conversation. See - an exhausting week, kink wise.

I'm especially excited about Sunday, as I'm going to be meeting some new friends. In addition to all my existing Lowewood friends, I will have the honour of spending the day in the company of the lovely Grey sisters, Caroline and Graham. Meeting new friends, especially kinky ones, is always an exciting experience for me. Having spent so many years of my life hiding from even myself my deepest desires, meeting people who share similar desires is still something of a revelation.
All in all, it will be a fun week :-)

Stately Homes

I have had a new experience in the last couple of weeks - stately home visiting with kinky folk. I have always been a fan of history and stately homes, a National Trust and English Heritage member for years, and always up for a stately home visit. Basically I'm a history nut - the earlier the better, I love all things pre-Tudor but most stuff will "float my boat".
Since I became more open about my kink to myself I've enjoyed these visits rather more. So much history to get lose oneself in, so many scenarios to imagine. What I have now discovered is that these visits are so much more fun in kinky company. All it takes is an exchange of looks by a particular table, or chest, or chair to know exactly what another person is thinking, and it's guaranteed to be dirty. Butter pats or carpet beaters in the kitchen/scullery will provoke fits of giggles which will have other people turning round wondering what's so funny. The scenarios that can be created and whispered while wandering round are all the more fun for being shared with people. I seem to be driven to even greater heights (or should that be depths!) of imagination by the company of other kinksters. Stately home visits with, say, my mother, will never hold quite the same appeal again!

Medieval Whippings

An episode of Robin Hood on the BBC a couple of weeks ago has had me pondering medieval whippings for days, much to the detriment of anything else I was supposed to be doing. Of course, the episode was not forthcoming with actual "medieval whipping" goodness, such programmes rarely delivering the goods, but there was enough there to spark my interest.
The scenario was quite perfect. A young woman, dragged by her father in front of the sheriff of the town for refusing to marry any of the men of his choice. The hearing was held in public, in front of the castle. In the programme, the young woman was set free. Boring. How much better a turn of events if she had been sentenced to be whipped, in public, for disobeying her father's wishes. Locked in a room overnight to ensure she didn't escape, and then brought out in her shift the next morning, proud and defiant, to be punished before the waiting crowd. My fiction writing abilities don't often get tested, but this particular fantasy may have them seeing the light of day sometime soon.

A Spanking That Wasn't...

But maybe would have been in different circumstances?

The situation was something like this: I have developed an allergy to strawberries over the past couple of years, and unfortunately it's a respiratory allergy, i.e. if I eat (or sometimes even smell) strawberries, I have an asthma attack. Which is a pain, because I like strawberries. Also, because it's a fairly new thing, I sometimes forget, or fail to realise that I'm eating something with strawberries in it. (This story makes me sound quite stupid, which is fair in this case.)

So, I was away for the weekend with various vanilla friends, and I was the first one up in the morning. I went to the kitchen, heated up a croissant and proceeded to put strawberry jam on it. I hadn't quite put two and two together and realised that strawberry jam may well contain strawberries... (I know, I know...) As I was having a nice little wheezy/coughy fit, one of my friends came into the kitchen. He's about 10 years older than me, has quite a, well, dominant personality, and as far as I know is completely vanilla. He is also a well qualified first aider with quite a lot of experience of food allergies. He asked what was wrong, and once I'd taken my inhaler and was OK again, I explained. He berated me a little bit for being so idiotic, and breakfast carried on.



Which should have been the end of the story, right?

Um, wrong...



Later that day we were all out having a pub lunch, and dessert appeared on the table. Each dessert was garnished with a strawberry. Now I have this thing where I worry that I've just somehow convinced myself that I'm allergic when I'm not really. So I sometimes eat a strawberry just to see what happens. (Given that the smell can bring on an attack, I don't know why I have doubts, but hey.)

Unsurprisingly, the inevitable happened. I started wheezing and had to grab my inhaler to relieve myself. At which point the friend looked over and asked what was wrong.

The person sitting next to me said, rolling their eyes, "She was just checking she's still allergic to strawberries..."

"She WHAT?!" exclaimed first aider friend.

I was then treated to a long lecture about the seriousness of respiratory allergies, about how they did not always escalate gradually, how you could have a mild reaction one time and a very serious reaction the next, etc. etc, about how damn stupid it was to "test to see if I was still allergic" when I know perfectly well that I am, blah blah blah.

In all fairness, it was a good lecture, and it did give me pause for thought: I am more careful now, and try and think before acting. But I do wonder quite what would have transpired in similar circumstances but with different friends, or if the friend lecturing were a spanker.

I can quite picture the scene, once we got back to the holiday cottages, being led into one of the bedrooms for a rather more "impactful" lesson on the stupidity of knowingly endangering ones health.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you think... "if the dynamic here was just a little bit different, I wonder exactly what would be happening right now...?"

"No"

Such a sexy word... I was watching a TV programme (on my ipod at work...!) today and in it the lead male character kissed the lead female, and then answered her request with a simple one word answer: "No". Sounds simple, but it made me go weak at the knees.
Of course fantasy is a little different to reality. The idea of someone taking me on, standing up to me and having the guts to stand up to me and tell me "no" is a huge turn on. In role play, or in a scene it's fine, but in real life if someone tries to do it to me I tend to react rather badly. Even though I'm relatively introverted, circumstances through the years have turned me into the person who is often a leader within a group. I'm the bossy one (in a nice way, I hope!) who organises everything, and often gets my own way. If there's something I really want, or want to do, woe betide the person who tries to stop me.
"No" might be sexy in fantasy, but I have a bit of an issue with it in real life. Maybe I just haven't met the guy who can tell me "no" in the right way!

Non Spanking "Punishments"

I was inspired by a post involving mouth soaping on Lowewood today to consider my opinions on non-spanking punishments.
So, in no particular order:

• Mouth Soaping - never had it done to me, though given my often foul mouth, this is possibly a little surprising. Do I ever want to have it done to me? 95% of me says no, 5% secretly says yes.
• Corner Time - I don't intrinsically have a problem with this, but I don't like having to put my hands on my head as my arms go numb really quickly!
• Lines - Don't make me do them. Seriously, I can't think of anything worse. Well, obviously I can, but you know what I mean. Especially don't expect me to write *neat* lines. I'm dyslexic. I don't do neat when it comes to handwriting.
• Anything else involving writing or copying - see above. If I could do it on the computer, of course, this would be a different matter.

I'm not actually all that imaginative when it comes to things like this (which is probably why I'm not a top!) so I must have missed some stuff - let me know what it is, and then I can have a think about how much I would love, hate, or love/hate it...!

Staying Down For A Caning

I was thinking about caning today, and how much better I've become at "taking" a caning. Obviously some of this is just that my tolerance level is building, but I think some is down to the positions I've been caned in more recently.
I used to fantasise pretty much exclusively canes, so the hottest fantasies for me were those where I was being caned in a "traditional" style, bending over and touching my toes, or with my hands on a chair. As with all these things, reality intervened. Whilst I can actually touch my toes (mostly because I have long arms!) it's not exactly a comfortable position to be dealt with in!
The first few times I was caned, it was mostly bent over with my hands on the sofa or on a chair. I always had real trouble staying down, and there was one infamous occasion where it took me 30 minutes to get through 12 strokes.
But the last few times I've been caned I've been able to "lean" on things, and I've discovered it makes it so much easier to take the strokes. If I'm able to support the top half of my body on a table, or over something else, for some reason it makes it WAY easier to take. I really don't know why, but it's true. Even better of course, is kneeling on a spanking bench, like I did in the club on Saturday. That of course, is because I can't just stand up, like I can do if I'm just bending over. However, even leaning on things helps a lot, though I can't think why. Strange really. Maybe it's just psychological.