Gemma

I'm very bad at starting fiction and never finishing it, so this was my attempt just to write a damn story and get it finished! So I apologise for the quality, but finishing it was an achievement in itself!


She waited outside the study, her stomach churning as she waited. How much longer? This in its way was more of a punishment than what was about to happen inside the study. She knew she was really in trouble this time. Her school report had arrived in the post today. She knew it wouldn't be good. Since starting the Upper Sixth she'd lost all enthusiasm for half her subjects. She still liked Spanish and Biology, but Maths and Chemistry just bored her to tears now and she'd given up trying. She couldn't summon up enthusiasm for them any more. So she'd known this first half term's report would not be good. She hadn't reckoned on quite how bad though.
Her stepmother had called her into the dining room when she got home from school. She'd thrown the report in front of her, let the awfulness of it sink in, and then said the words she knew were calculated to inspire dread:
"Get up to your room. Your father will deal with this when he gets home."
So she'd sat in her bedroom, curled up on the window seat, gazing out into the garden, waiting until she heard the sound of the key in the front door.

Half an hour later, her stepmother had come into her room. "Go and wait outside the study." She stalked away. Gemma rolled her eyes. There was no love lost between the two of them. She straightened her skirt and made her way downstairs. She reached the door to the study and stood against the wall trying not to think about what was to come.

Eventually, just when she thought she couldn't take the wait for a second longer, the door opened and her father beckoned her inside. He motioned for her to stand in front of the desk.
He sat down on the other side, and picked up the report.
"What's this all about?" She could hear the concern in his voice, mixed with frustration and disappointment. "Are you even trying in Chemistry and Maths? Doing any work at all?"
Gemma looked back at him and decided that honesty was probably the best policy.
"Um, no. Not really. I've just lost all interest in them. I don't want to do medicine any more, and Chemistry and Maths seem so dry. I'd rather be doing history or something."
"When did you decide this?" her father asked. "You've wanted to be a doctor since you were a little girl. Why, all of a sudden, is it no longer for you?"
"I don't know... ever since I did work experience at the hospital I've been thinking more and more that the life of a doctor just isn't for me. I don't want to study for five years, and then have to work ridiculous hours for five more. There's so much else I want to do with my life. I want to travel, work abroad, learn languages, experience culture and history. LIVE!"
She paused, and finished lamely, "Chemistry and maths just seem so dry. I can't work up any enthusiasm."
Her father looked at her, and shook his head slowly.
"I understand what you are feeling. You're realising that the world is full of possibilities and you don't want to limit yourself. That's fine. There's time to make those decisions. Universities will accept you for a whole variety of subjects even with your science bias at A-Level. But they won't accept you at all if you fail those A-Levels, and that's what you're on track to do at the moment."
He stood up and walked around the desk so he was next to her.
"Look at me."
She turned to face him.
"We are paying thousands of pounds a year for your education. You will start putting effort into ALL your subjects. You will complete your A-Levels and gain A grades. If you fulfil these criteria, I will pay for you to have a year off, so you can work out what you would really like to do in life, and even take a crammer course to get do extra subjects that you're interested in, if you want."
He moved away towards the cupboard at the back of his study. Gemma turned to watch him, hoping she had been reprieved. A hope soon dashed.
"However, we have the matter in hand to deal with. You remember what happened last time you misbehaved?"
She nodded. She remembered only too well.
"And what I said would happen if you misbehaved again?"
With that he opened the cupboard and pulled out a cane.
"Well, what did I say?"
Gemma couldn't take her eyes off the horrible thing. So thin, so innocuous, and yet, as she knew, so painful in her father's hands.
"You said you would cane me again."
"Now, come, that's not quite what I said, is it?"
Gemma gulped. "You said you would cane me again, and give me double the strokes, twice as hard."
"Correct. You know what to do."
She shook her head and looked at him pleadingly.
"Dad, please, no... I promise I'll work hard from now on, I really will."
It wasn't working.
"Gemma, I am not about to let you waste one of the best educations money can buy. Assume the position, please."
She sighed, and removed her school uniform skirt, putting it on a nearby chair.
She moved towards the desk and bent over, gripping on to the other side with her fingers, mostly to keep her hands from shaking. She looked straight ahead, and tried to quell the rising nausea she felt as she heard her father's footsteps moving towards her. Now all those days of drifting off in lessons and of failing to hand her homework seemed like a very bad decision.
She cringed and buried her head in the table as she felt him tug down her knickers, baring her rear. Her stomach leapt in fear as she heard the cane swish.
"Twelve, Gemma. Stay in position throughout, please."
He didn't wait for an answer, and the first stroke took her by surprise, slamming into her bottom. Before she even realised it, she was upright, and in tears. The few times he had caned her before and been nothing like this hard.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry", she gabbled through her tears. "I didn't mean to move." She bent back over.
"I know, Gemma, and I'll let that one go, but they are all going to be that hard. As I said, I'm not having you waste your education without any thought. So if you stand up again, you will get extras."
She tried to let the desk take her weight, so that it was harder to stand up, and managed to get through the next four strokes. Stroke six, though, hit the crease where her thighs met her bottom and she gasped as it fell and leapt to her feet again.
She clutched at her stripes, tears streaming down her face.
"I can't do it, I'm sorry, I can't bend over again...."
He looked at her. She looked back, realising that she wouldn't win.
Over she went once more, gripping on to the desk again.
Her father was merciful and did not make her wait. He aimed and the stroke hit true again.
"That was six."
Stroke seven hit and she felt a well of nausea rise in her stomach, but she stayed clinging on.
Stroke eight. Her right leg kicked up involuntarily, but she stayed down. There was a pool of tears on the desk by now.
Her father placed a hand in the small of her back, a simple gesture which calmed her a little.
Nine, ten and eleven fell with less force. She was grateful.
There was a pause, and her father spoke as she lay there.
"The last stroke, as is traditional, will be the hardest. I want you to remember this for a long time, whenever the urge comes over you to slack off. Do you understand?"
She sniffed and nodded.
She braced herself, and the cane slammed into her crease for one last time. The tears came faster as she went limp over the desk.
She felt her knickers being pulled up, and then she was pulled to her feet and enveloped in a hug. She laid her head on her father's shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I'll try harder, I promise."
He wiped a tear from her eye. "I'm sorry too, Gemma, I never want to put either of us through that again."

Open Air Spanking

I was lucky enough this month to do something I've been wanting to do for ages - go and see a play at Regent's Park Open Air Theatre. It was well worth it. The play, The Importance Of Being Earnest, was wonderful, and the venue is very special. It's basically an enclosed copse, and, if it weren't for the audience and the seats, would be very secluded. Now I've never been much of an exhibitionist, but I've always had a yen to be spanked outdoors. I'd never do it, though, as I'd be too worried about getting caught.

I did wonder during the interval though... my mind wandered off and pictured this magical location on a summer's evening, after all the cast, audience and staff had gone home. When there would be no chance of being caught or seen. Then I would happily bend over the nearest appropriate prop and have the spanking of my life out of doors. Shame it'll never happen, really.

Dekinking

I am selling my house. It's a good time to do so, people tell me. I suspect there will never be a good time for me to sell my house, as I am a very untidy person, and trying to keep it tidy for viewings is nightmarish.
I had the first viewing for a while a couple of days ago, and I had to do a proper dekinking. When friends come round it's unlikely they will be going in all the rooms. I can usually shove any offending material into my bedroom and shut the door. Of course, with a viewing, people will want to see all the rooms. Cue panic that morning.
Have I put all the implements in the wardrobe? Nope, the canes are still out, crap. As is my new little flogger that I delight in waving around a lot.
Is all the porn hidden? Dammit, no, there's a book on the floor.
How about the vibrators? Yup, they're all hidden. Whoops, nope, my duckie is still out.
Right, scan the bedroom. Ties still on the bed. Better undo them.
Speaking of a different type of tie, is my school uniform in the depths of the wardrobe? It is now.
OK, I must be nearly done by now. Wait, no, the Sculpta Sutra and the Erotic Dinner Party Kit are still out.
I think that's it.
Being messy is one thing. Being messy and kinky is quite another, I'm finding.

It's Too Many

Here is the answer to the question on the post How Many Is Too Many.
By the way, you're all rubbish guessers!

I type this with the appropriate amount of shame:

In the pile, there are, wait for it, 83 pairs of knickers.
Plus I did the washing that morning. 15 pairs.
98 nice pairs of knickers.
This isn't counting the boring ones.
I do have a problem.
Anyone have the number of Knickerholics Anonymous?

Intelligent Conversation

I'm very lucky to have a wonderful group of kinky girlfriends, who I get to see on a pretty regular basis. In particular, we have a monthly meet up in a pub where we spend the evening having a lovely chat, mostly about kink and rudery. Very often the chat descends pretty quickly. On one memorable occasion a member of the party had dropped an earring on the floor after we'd been having a lengthy conversation about butt plugs. As she stood up and bent over to search for the earring, the table broke out in shouts of "What've you lost? Looking for your butt plug are you??", to the poor girl's embarrassment.
Sometimes though, we have very in depth conversations. This week we were having a particularly intellectual evening. We were discussing whether "competitive subbing" exists, how we respond to our pain and others' pain. Our approach and attitutde towards group scenes and to being dealt with "in public" (i.e. in front of others). What our favourite implements are and why, meeting people from online in real life and how different they can be. And it was wonderful. Rudery and hilarity are great fun, but it's also so good to be with a group of (quite frankly scarily) intelligent and like minded people and to be able to have those sorts of discussions.
There has been a lot of talk recently on blogs about intelligence and kink. While I often call myself stupid, I deep down know that this is not the case. I may not be a genius, but I'm a fairly intelligent person, and one of the joys for me in life is discovery and learning. This is no different for my kinky side. I'm endlessly curious about how the world works and about how kink works. Therefore it's a total joy to me to have found friends who I can have intelligent and interesting discussions with, as well as ones about enemas!
Someone, I think it may have been Abel, made a very good point in the comments of someone else's blog, possibly Emma Jane's, but I might be wrong! If I recall correctly, he wondered whether he was just lucky to have found a circle of people who were similar in terms of intellect/intelligence, or whether he became friends with them in the first place BECAUSE of that very reason. I think it's probably the latter for me. The people I tend to be drawn to as friends, or whose writing I'm drawn to, are those who have something to say, and who can say it in a coherent, reasoned and amusing manner. Of course, the chances are that those people are pretty intelligent.
I feel like a horrible person even writing this down, but at the end of the day it's true, and I may as well admit it to myself. I'm just not so drawn to people who write things or who email me or I speak to who are not able to express themselves well. Badly worded/spelt messages, comments, emails etc. will very likely not attract me to a person, but it's not just about spelling, it's about having a facility with words. I find nothing sexier, in a man or a woman, than someone who can truly use their mind.

How Many Is Too Many?

So, here are some of my favourite knickers...

But here's the question... how many do you think are in the pile? And is it too many?

Short But Sweet

Over his lap. Head resting on the sofa. Being spanked long and hard. Hands forcing my legs apart when I clench them together. Fingers straying to see how naughty I really am. Then being bent over a chair. Flogged. Strapped. Maybe even caned. Made to spread my legs wider, stick my bottom out further, higher. Told how much I'm revealing. That he can see everything, including my arousal. When I protest that it hurts, he reaches down and prove to me that while I may be complaining, my body most certainly is not.

Moving into the bedroom, tied on the bed. Legs spread wide. A crop falling between them. Falling and falling until I'm begging to have him inside me.

Know Your Own Strength!

So here's a question - how do you persuade a top that they actually have a very hard hand/cane stroke/way with a strap?
I have, on more than one occasion, heard tops say "but I don't cane/spank/whatever hard" in a tone of hurt bewilderment when you try to point out to them that they could maybe ease off a bit once in a while. I also know I'm not the the only person to have heard this from a top.
So here's my question: how the hell do they know?! Seriously, they don't spank themselves, so how the hell can they tell? Just because you're not putting your full strength behind a stroke doesn't mean it's not hard! And surely every bottom, both literally and metaphorically, is different? What's hard to me may not be quite so hard to someone else, but it doesn't invalidate the fact that it IS hard to me. So maybe take that into account?!
Also, when these "you spank hard" comments come from people who have played with a variety of tops, they aren't just being said for the hell of it: I have a frame of reference. Very few people I play with play softly. If I'm saying you play hard, you play hard. Promise.
This is a bit of a pointless rant, and it's not directed at any one person in particular. I don't even necessarily have a problem with hard EXCEPT if you won't acknowledge it. If I say you spank hard, "No I don't" is not an appropriate response. "Yes, I do, don't I?" said with an evil grin is acceptable. "Was it too hard for you?" is acceptable. Hell, even "Stop whining and deal with it" is acceptable. But flat out denial is not.
Know your own strength.
Random rant over.

Getting Through

He makes me stand in front of him and look him in the eye while he scolds me. Never mind the spanking, this is the thing I often find hardest. "Stand still!" Impossible I'm afraid, though I do try. "Uncross your arms. Your attitude is dreadful". I sulkily uncross my arms and put them down by my sides, but my body language still gives off "attitude" by the bucketful. "Will you stop fidgeting?" I wasn't even conscious I was doing it, to be honest. Looking him in the eye isn't happening either. I'm all about the passive aggressive when I'm in this sort of mood.

Eventually he tires of it, and makes me go over his lap. He starts spanking. He comments that he likes my skirt. Probably because it's thin cotton and gives me no protection. He spanks. He talks. I ignore. He makes me go and stand in the corner. I loll against the wall. He's not impressed. He orders me over the sofa and spanks me with the most painful slipper I've ever felt.
I'm still giving attitude though. He makes me take off my skirt and go over his knee for another round of spanking. I always amaze myself by the amount of attitude I manage to radiate even when in such a vulnerable position. He picks up the hairbrush and the lighter slipper and starts trying to get through to me with those. They hurt, but nothing is breaking through my barrier today. More corner time. More attitude. I give him the finger while my hands are on my head but luckily he doesn't notice.
Back to the, sofa, this time for the cane. Six, but they're not that hard, so I cope OK. Back over his knee, and by now I've lost my knickers as well. He spanks again. His fingers are long, and when he spanks my left cheek, the tips graze the crease between my cheeks. It stings. He notices, and pulls my cheeks apart slightly to spank between them more. Ouch. More hairbrush, more light slipper. He's still not broken through the attitude though. He makes me stand up and look at him. And stand still. Which is now even harder, given my lack of clothing on the bottom half of my body. Even I have more sense than to try and move my hands to cover myself though. He looks back at me.
"Are you done?"
I glare at him.
"Fine. Over the back of the sofa. Which of these canes was it you said you hated?" I pick up the black handled one and go to move it out the way.
"I don't think so."
Oh bugger.
Luckily, he doesn't use it as hard as he could do, but it still hurts.
After 12 with that, he picks up the denser, thicker slipper, and starts again, and at last, finally, I break, and the attitude flees and I am contrite and apologetic. We move onto the sofa for lotion and cuddles, but I do sometimes have to feel sorry for people who spank me. It's not like it's an easy job. If you want to really get through to me, you just have to keep going until that attitude breaks. It can take a while!

Taking Orders

Taking orders is something I often have a bit of a problem with. I don't like being told what to do, as simple as that. If something is phrased as a request, then fair enough, but being ordered to do something? It just makes me want to turn round and go "no" or something ruder. I find this problem rears its head particularly severely with SatNav systems. I don't have SatNav in my own car. There are a couple of reasons for this: one is that I hate the way that people often turn off their brains when they turn on the SatNav. I have had people go *miles* out of their way driving to my town because they were doing what the SatNav told them, which involved a 30 mile detour from the route they had driven twenty times before without a SatNav! Tales abound in the UK of people driving down tiny, narrow lanes because the SatNav told them too. Read a map guys, seriously!!
I do use other people's SatNav's once in a while though, or have them in hire cars, and this is when I realise *just* how much I hate taking orders.

SN: "At the next road, turn left."
Me: "Hmpf. Bossy thing."
SN: "Turn left."
Me: "No, why should I? I don't want to!"
SN: "Turn left now."
Me (shouting by this point): "Stop bloody well ordering me about, I don't WANT to turn left!!!!"
At which point, I turn left. Obviously. Because that's the right way to go. Doesn't mean I'm happy about it though. After a whole journey of this, I'm about ready to take the SatNav and hurl it into the deepest, darkest ocean I can find. After I've stamped on it twenty times.

SatNavs are one thing. When it's a real life person sitting next to you, it's altogether different. I drove some friends home the other day, and was taking directions from the lovely gentleman in the front seat, who was very kindly telling me where to go, as I didn't know. The trouble was, I was getting more and more wound up by being told what to do. I mentioned something along those lines, and at the next junction he didn't give me directions. Cue me asking very nicely in my most polite voice, if he could possibly tell me where to go, and then getting annoyed again when he did.
Sigh. I think I need to learn to take orders better!

Birthday Spankings

I survived last night :-) It helped that I was gatecrashing the after party of the Lowewood Academy celebration. And at the after party, at the club, all the girls were going in their Lowewood School Uniforms - and herein lies the rather wonderful catch: Eliane might have been 33 yesterday, but Jemima was only 17. (I actually tried to plead that I was two, but I figured I'd stick with 17 if that was on offer!)
But before birthday spankings I had to open my presents, a beautiful photo frame, a rather naughty rubber duck, an erotic dinner party kit, sculpta-sutra, and a lovely little martinet (that I spent most of the evening flogging the table with, much to everyone's amusement!) Lots of lovely presents - thank you very much everyone :-)
So, onto the birthday spankings. Now, I had actually provided the implements that evening, as the rest of the guys would not have been able to take them to their first venue, but I was coming via home after my vanilla celebrations. I was therefore providing the instruments of my own downfall!!
Mr S spanked me first, to warm me up, helped by the lovely Miss Cavendish, one of the Lowewood teachers, who incidentally was wearing THE most gorgeous skirt ever, making us all green with envy. We moved on to the actual birthday spankings, the first of which (I think) was given by Beth, with my lovely big flogger. Miss Cavendish came up withe the idea that I should count backwards! Doesn't she know I can barely count forwards? I believe that a caning came next - the Reverend Jenkins couldn't be with us in the evening, so he delegated the job of giving my birthday spanking to Sylvie, who chose the cane. It was well delegated, as she caned me very hard, making all 17 strokes count.
Next, Miss Cavendish chose my lovely strap that I bought at LAM the other week. It was the first time I'd had it used, and on a nicely warmed up bottom it was gorgeous. Now Miss Cavendish had quite a nice backhand technique with the strap, and as I'd loved it so much, Mr S suggested that she used it on my left cheek while he used the tawse on my right cheek, and I double counted. This tawse is the one that I thought I'd lost, but reappeared earlier this week, caught down the side of the sofa. And do you know what? It's going BACK down the side of the sofa!!! Ow, ow!!!!! It's rather more heavy than I remember. It was also what I got my "one for luck" with. So in total I think I got 5 x 17 lots of strokes. Which is much better than 5 x 33. I think I'll be 17 every birthday!

Think This Might Be A Bad Idea...

It's my birthday today. Happy Birthday to me! This will be the first birthday that I've really been properly "out" about my spanking. I had been actively being spanked for about two months at my last birthday, but I had only being spanked about four or five times, and didn't really know that many people to play with. Of course that has changed a little bit now... I wasn't necessarily planning to have a "birthday spanking", though I suppose it would be nice. I think I might have gone a little too far, though. I'm actually going to be spending tonight in a fetish club, with rather a large group of friends, some of whom are toppy types. One birthday spanking would be quite nice. Several people taking it into their heads to give me one might be slightly more than I bargained for! I'm hoping that my saving grace will be that I know for a fact that several people coming along may well be a little tipsy by the time they arrive. Hopefully tipsy enough to put any thoughts of spanking out of their heads.
So what do we think boys and girls? Do you think I'll be safe, or is my bum going to regret this?!

Survey Results

So, what do you all love and hate? Well, first of all, I need to justify a couple of my choices on the list. I had complaints (sorry, comments!) from Abel and Frank that I hadn't included birches and hairbrushes respectively in the favourites list. There's a reason for that, guys!! Don't forget I'm writing this from a bottom's perspective, and if any of fellow bottoms would like to correct me and say that yes, indeed, the hairbrush or birch is their absolutely favourite, first choice, be spanked with with that above all else implement, I will happily stand corrected. In fact, if any of my readers who identify as bottoms come out and truthfully state the above, I will willingly be dealt with with either of those implements. That's how confident I am that no bottom in their right mind would name them as a favourite!
So, going back to the list, the results for favourites were as follows:
31% Cane
28% Hand
17% Strap/Belt
7% Something else
7% Wooden Paddle
3% Flogger
3% Tawse
3% Wooden Spoon
Nobody loves the poor lonely slipper and leather paddle.

So, some thoughts. Canes winning?!?? I hope that's because toppy types were voting. If 31% of you bottoms like canes as your favourite implement, you're all certifiable!
I'm not surprised hands came a close second, or straps and belts. If I had an order of preference, they would probably come second and third. For me though, flogger will always win. I have a lovely thuddy flogger and it's one of the few things I could just go on being spanked for hours with.
I'm surprised 7% of you voted for wooden spoons, and equally surprised that only 3% voted for tawses. I'm wondering how many of the things that got few votes are actually people's second or third choices? I could ask that, couldn't I? In fact, I can keep on doing polls and never have to write a post again ;-)

And so to least favourite implements. First of all, many apologies for not putting hairbrushes in the poll. A silly oversight, as it does truly deserve to be in there.
26% Cane
26% Wooden Paddle
16% Wooden Spoon
11% Slipper
11% Something Else
5% Tawse
5% Birch
Everything else, no votes.

So, 31% of us love canes the most and 26% hate it the most - if nothing else, it's certainly an implement which we feel strongly about! I have to say I'm not surprised to see either canes or paddles up there at the top. They are both pretty horrible. Wooden spoons, slippers, hairbrushes, tawses and birches... no surprises in this list. My own personal demon is the cane. It used to be the hairbrush but that's probably now reserved for second place. I don't think I have a love/hate relationship with canes, I just have a hate/hate one. Some canings are easier to take than others, and I do LOVE having stripes. Receiving them, on the other hand, is an entirely different matter. So, any tops who play with me... if you want to make me behave, just threaten me with the cane. Especially thin, whippy, stingy, evil little buggers. I'll behave straight away, no need to actually use it! The threat will suffice.

Thank you all for your answers in the polls!

What's Your Least Favourite Implement?

And to follow on, we have a question about your least favourite implement. Complete with added implement of birch.

Least Favourite Implements

What is your least favourite implement to spank with/be spanked with? Cane Hand Wooden Paddle Leather Paddle Flogger Strap/Belt Tawse Wooden Spoon Slipper Birch Something Else Current Results

What's Your Favourite Implement?

I have things to write about, but that involves having more time than I actually possess right now, so for now I'm going to try something I've never done before and play with some web polls.

Favourite Implements

What is your favourite implement to spank with/be spanked with? Cane Hand Wooden Paddle Leather Paddle Flogger Strap/Belt Tawse Wooden Spoon Slipper Something Else Current Results

Getting Your Friends Into Trouble

I've realised that while it's one thing to get a friend into trouble from afar, it's quite another to do it to someone who is in the same room as you. Last night I jokingly said that Rebecca should be dealt with for bullying me when we went to LAM. (She was in fact hitting me at my request so I could see what various implements felt like.) Of course, what with us being in room full of tops, someone promptly did just that, with me sitting right there. Poor Rebecca got dealt with. quite hard, with a large leather paddle. On some level, I knew there was a fair chance she was enjoying it, but mostly I was just consumed with guilt that the reason she there being paddled was 100% my fault. Every squeal of pain she let out made me feel a little bit worse. (I'd just like to point out, by the way, that I'm not writing this to make Rebecca feel bad!) From the first swat I was begging for the spanking to stop, pointing out that the reason Rebecca was there was purely because I had lied. I got spanked for lying, but that didn't help, and by the time Rebecca's spanking had finished I was so remorseful at having put her in that situation that I was almost in tears. I didn't expect myself to react quite so extremely to having placed someone else in that situation. Funny really, because there were other spankings going on that evening and I was just interested (and, ahem, a little turned on ;-) ) by them, but when it was one directly caused by me, I would have given quite a lot of money for it to stop there and then.
The whole experience did make me wonder whether I could actually do the group scene I fantasised about the other day where there was a group punishment because everyone was protecting one person. I think I could only do it as the guilty party if I was able to get so far into a different character that there was no element of me there. I've taken acting classes and all that, but I'm not sure I'm *that* good an actress that I could maintain that level of commitment while all my friends were being caned because of me. I still could totally play it as one of the innocent people though. After all, I'm terribly innocent!

The Caning Dream

Had a slightly strange dream last night where I was a maid in a Victorian house, or possibly role playing a maid in a Victorian house. Anyway, whatever the exact situation, I seemed to be being caned an awful lot by various gentlemen. I'm not entirely sure of what I'd done wrong, possibly just existed. The strange thing was this though. The canings were not hurting, or at least barely at all. I remember being bent over and thinking "Oh come on, is that the best that you have?!" It was only with the last caning that the last five strokes managed to get home to me at all. So I was quite surprised when I went to a friend to show her the damage, and my bum was bruised and bleeding (sorry, gross, I know) because I hadn't felt anything.
I'm wondering if this was a message to me from my subconscious. I haven't been caned in about a month, and I go through phases of really starting to be scared of being caned. I have this problem, with canes, and nothing else that I've discovered so far, that the intensity of the pain can cause waves of nausea, so I feel like I'm going to be sick. Which is frankly not that much fun. So anyway, I'm wondering if my "I can't even feel the damn caning" dream is my subconscious telling me to stop being stupid and get over the fear.
Either that or my subconscious is just weird.

A Moment Of Silence

Ladies and Gentlemen, I think we should have a moment of silence for EmmaJane's bottom. The poor girl very stupidly decided to get her readers to weigh in on how many strokes she should get with each of the new implements she had borrowed. For every comment made on the blog she would get one stroke with each of the implements, i.e. six strokes in total as there are six implements. Her dear readers of course stepped up to the plate to help her out. Now EmmaJane had not been quite specific enough in her post. She did not state there were any rules whereby multiple comments would not get counted so some people thought it might be funny to comment several times each. Silly EmmaJane. At time of writing (10pm UK time on Friday night) she has 37 comments. Even if you take her own two comments out of there it leaves 35. 35 multiplied by 6, boys and girls, equals 210!!
Now the previous day I had kindly suggested to her that maybe she went for a round dozen with each, and then ranked them in order, she have 6 with her least favourite, 12 with the next, etc, up to 36 with her favourite of the bunch. That would have been "only" 198 in total, but she would have had to suffer much less with the nastiest ones. I thought it was a rather kind and fair suggestion, but oh no, she had to go off and do things her own way. Well, quite frankly she deserves all that's coming to her ;-) Even so, a moment of silence may be in order as a show of sympathy for what her bottom is going to be enduring this weekend.

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On a totally different note, I'd like to point you in the direction of an interesting post by Master Retep in response to my question yesterday about what tops feel about punishment. Thank you for your thoughts!

Punishment From A Top's Perspective

I am endlessly curious, about everything, not just about spanking. I suspect I was one of those irritating children who always asked "Why?".
This curiosity has of late turned towards yet another spanking subject, this one slightly more serious. I was trying to write some fiction the other day, and I started thinking about punishment. Not role play type punishment, but "atoning" type punishment.
I understand what bottoms get from this, being the sort of bottom who is not adverse to an accountability/discipline type spanking relationship in the right circumstances. What I am curious about is what a top gets out of this type of encounter.
I suppose to my mind there are a couple of scenarios. There is the sort of scenario where rules have been broken, bedtimes, diet rules etc, earning a spanking. From a top's perspective, what, if anything do they get out of that sort of spanking? Is it a chore? Is it a delight to be spanking a bottom whatever the circumstances? Is it something you do because you know it needs to be done?
Then there is a second scenario, which is a more serious type of punishment. Maybe one in which something has been done that hurts the top or the relationship. As a bottom, you may accept a punishment for an issue like that to feel forgiven, and like the slate has been wiped clean, right? But as a top, if you are punishing for something that has hurt you, do you gain something different from that type of spanking? Do you get, I don't know, revenge, for want of a much better word? Do you get "closure" as well, as the recipient often does? Does it make you able to forgive more easily?
I realise this is not so much a post as a series of questions... I also realise that many people who read this blog are not so much into discipline relationships, or even fewer who are are tops who would comment, so I'm not really expecting any answers, but if you do have some thoughts you'd like to share, I'm interested in hearing them!

Unjust Punishment

I posted a yesterday about a fantasy of a group punishment, where the girls would be caned, one stroke at a time, until a confession for a misdeed was extracted.
Jessica made an interesting comment that got me thinking:
"It's really sad, but if it's me, I always own up - I would never let anyone take the rap for me. And if I had to take it for someone else and subsequently found out who it was, I'd make their lives a misery!"

Obviously this type of situation is not her thing, and I started to consider why that fantasy would work for me. I suppose primary "motivator" is the element of group punishment. The idea of several girls being punished simultaneously, unable to see what is happening to their friends, but able to hear every second, is a hot idea for me, partly because of my reactions to the sound of punishment, and how intense I find listening to be. However, I can't deny that the element of unjust punishment is also hot. In this fantasy, I would be unlikely to be the one who "did the crime". If there was any element of Eliane in the character I would crack after about two strokes. I suppose I could only be the villain of the piece if I managed to create a character who had a very real reason for being too scared to speak up, or who just didn't care about getting friends into trouble. That in itself might be quite hot to play, as I'm generally far too nice and rarely get the opportunity to be truly horrible.
I also find being the "wronged party" an interesting dilemma. Would I understand why the guilty party was keeping quiet? At what point would I crack and drop them in it? Would I at all? If I was being Jemima, I may well break pretty quickly, purely because Jemima seems to be a bit of a tattle-tale on occasion. I think she has a sense of justice (or injustice) which means that she would want to see the guilty party get their comeuppance. In which case, she may not be the best person to role play this as, as the scene wouldn't last very long!
As you are probably gathering, a lot of the interest for me in this fantasy has very little to do with the actual punishment, and more to do with a examining and experiencing a group reaction to an event or threat like that. It's my insatiable curiosity about what makes people tick... maybe I should stop spending half my life being kinky and do a degree in psychology instead?!

The Group Punishment

Inspired by real-life events, I've thought of a scene that I would very much like to play. The situation would be this: a group of girls, possibly dormitory-mates? Or maybe something else, members of the school orchestra? Someone would have been spotted from afar, in the act of committing some misdemeanor like sneaking back into the dormitory after an out of hours/out of bounds trip; or was it that a stack of alcohol had been discovered at the back of the orchestra rehearsal room, but no-one would admit any knowledge of how it got there. No one will own up, nor will they get their friend into trouble by naming her. So the teacher is left with no choice. The girls are called to a classroom one evening. The desks have been moved and are arranged in a circle round the edge. Each girl is instructed to go and bend over one of the desks. The teacher moves round the circle one by one, flicking up the girls skirts and pulling their knickers down. Then utters these words:
"You know why you are here. I am going to cane you all. One stroke at a time. We will continue until the guilty party owns up, or someone else cares to name them. Then you will all receive the same number of strokes again. So it is in your interests to speak up as quickly as possible. Does anyone want to say anything now?"
There is silence.
"Very well, we will begin."
And so the teacher moves round the room, one measured stroke at a time. The girls bent over cannot see anyone else because of the way the desks are arranged, but they can hear. Hear the swish, the gasps, the exhalations, the barely contained sobs as the cane moves round the room. How long will the girls last without breaking? Who will be the first?
It's a common fantasy, I'm sure, but it's not one that I've ever really thought about before in terms of playing. I'm thinking about it now though...! It would be pretty intense for me, as I find listening to the noises of someone else's spanking/caning happening much harder than just watching one, especially if the person is a friend. Intense but worth it.
All I really need is a few fellow victims and a cane wielding teacher. Any volunteers?

Buying Hitty Things

I went to LAM (the London Alternative Market) with Rebecca on Sunday. It was my first time going to one of these events, and while I was actually going to scout out corsets, I ended up with no corsets and several hitty things, displayed below.




Not the best photo in the world, but hey. At the top of the screen, a beautiful, very well worn, razor strop. I love well used implements, the leather is supple and beautiful. In the middle is the world's prettiest flogger. Pink suede, gorgeous wooden handle, the tails are probably about 12 inches long. It's from Jack's Floggers. Rebecca also bought a gorgeous leather one, giving me serious flogger envy. I'm going to have her take a photo so I can order one like it online.
Incidentally, it's useful taking a friend who has some topping ability to an event like this - they can "help" you try out anything you might be interested in buying, as well as cooing over pretty things with you.
And at the bottom, ladies and gentlemen, we have, it seems, a willow birch. I would like to point out that I DID NOT BUY said implement, the person who sold me the razor strop very kindly threw it in for free, much to the amusement of my fellow shoppers. Um. thank you so much, Mr Seller Guy. I'm not quite sure what to make of that one. Rebecca thinks it will be pretty nice and break fairly easily without doing much damage. Then again, she likes canes, so I'm not sure I want to listen to a word she says ;-)
I think the birch might be hidden away somewhere, out of sight being out of mind and all that.

R.I.P Lowewood

Yesterday marked the end of an era. The wonderful Lowewood Academy blog came to an end.
I've left comments on the final page of the blog, but I just wanted here to show my admiration once more.
I first stumbled across Lowewood via the Informed Consent website. That was probably in about March 2008. I quickly realised that there was already a year and a half's worth of postings on there. I tried starting to read from the beginning but I realised that to catch up would take days out of my life that I just didn't have, so I just started reading from March last year. I was amazed by the quality of the writing. At that time, I hadn't even thought about starting a blog, and hadn't written fiction since I had to for GSCE, more years ago than I care to remember. Writing was something that I'd always found very difficult, and yet here were these people building and maintaining this fictional world over months and months, posting every day, and all of it engaging and quality content. I was blown away. It was also obvious that there were multiple writers involved, and I marvelled at the amount of effort the logistical organisation of that must take, getting everyone writing to the same time line, about the same events. Seriously impressive. So I carried on reading, and eventually started commenting, and by a slightly strange series of events, got to know some of the people involved in the blog, and then realised even more quite what an undertaking it was.
It was inevitable this day would come. There is only so much of your life you can give to something like Lowewood when it does take up so much time. There is only so much you can write under the constraints of school-type fiction. There are areas where you can't really go, and you are also for a large proportion of the time constrained by your surroundings, i.e. the majority of the action must take place within the school. So yes, it was inevitable, but still, for me, as a fan, a sad day.
I've loved reading Lowewood for the past 18 months. I've loved learning about the lives of the characters, and being immersed in their worlds. I'm also glad that I have 18 months worth of posts still sitting out there waiting for me to go back and read, to stop me from having immediate withdrawal symptoms!
So here's to the Lowewood writers. Thank you all so much for being generous enough to share your creation and your wonderful writing with us!

Don't...

Searching through my books the other day, I discovered a little tome called "Don't: A Manual of Mistakes & Improprieties more or less prevalent in Conduct and Speech." It's a reprint of a manual issued in 1880. Reading through, I found some useful tips to share with you.

Don't, as hostess, insist upon taking a caller's hat or cane. Pay no attention to these articles. It is right that he should carry them; it is not right that you should notice them.

So, ladies, if your gentleman caller arrives carrying a cane, it is not polite to make any mention of it, let alone run away and hide. I wonder if one is allowed to notice his cane once he starts using it?

Don't carry cane or umbrella in a crowd horizontally. The trick is a very annoying one to the victims of it.

Having been a victim of a horizontal cane several times, I can't disagree.

Don't interject sir or madam freely into your conversation.

Well, I try not to, but some people seem to insist on it.

Don't, as master or mistress, give your orders in an authoritative manner. The feelings of those under you should be considered. You will obtain more willing obedience if your directions have as little as possible of the tone of command.

Are you paying attention, all you tops and doms? You have to ask us nicely if you want us to do something!

I hope you found these tips edifying, and will endeavour to pay attention to them. After all, we should all strive for less impropriety!

Vanilla Right And Wrong

I have two very contrasting views of "vanilla". In one aspect of my life I strive for and embrace it, but in another I, if not loathe it, certainly try to avoid it at much as possible.

In my work life, I am in the IT industry. "Vanilla" is a very common term in the IT lexicon, and basically means software used as designed, with no modifications or customisations for a particular customer or implementation. It's somewhat of a Holy Grail in the software business, for both suppliers and customers, because the more non-vanilla a piece of software is, the more it costs to change and support, and the more headaches it gives everyone concerned. Due to this, I spend a fair proportion of my life advocating the vanilla approach.

Of course, I spend the rest of it advocating the "non-vanilla" approach, it's modifications all the way, thank you very much! It's not that I I'm prejudiced against vanillas, to coin a well know phrase, some of my best friends are vanillas ;-) It's not what I want for me though. I came to the conclusion not long after I embraced my kinkiness that it was very unlikely that I'd be able to have a relationship with a non kinky person again, and the passing months have only confirmed this. My kink has (rapidly!) become an integral part of who I am, and I don't think I would be able to have any sort of meaningful relationship with someone who didn't, at least to some extent, share that kink. So I will continue to be an advocate of vanilla 50% of the time, and the complete opposite the other 50%.

A Little History

I'm afraid I'm feeling rather lazy today. I actually have lots of posts I want to write, but the current heatwave in the South-East is rather taking it out of me, so what I'm going to do instead is tell you a bit about Jemima. You've already read about some of her adventures, but here is an explanation of how she ended up at Lowewood in the first place.

Jemima Symington-Gore is 16. She's been sent to Lowewood from a minor public school as her maternal grandparents, who pay for her education, have decided that standards are too lax there. The final straw was when she visited them on exeat one weekend and they found her drunk in their greenhouse in a compromising position with one of the farm hands from the farm next door....
Her mother is famous society beauty the Hon. Arabella Spencer-Smythe, who Jemima does not take after when it comes to looks. Arabella married when she was 19, had Jemima when she was 20 and is generally more interested in partying in London than looking after her daughter. Jemima's father, Hugo Symington-Gore, disappeared in mysterious circumstances when she was 11 and has not been heard of since. When this happened, Jemima's grandparents decided to have the child come and live with them in the school holidays.

Her paternal grandparents live in the wilds of Derbyshire and have little involvement in her life, though she generally goes to visit them once a year. Her maternal grandparents, Baron and Lady Bledlow never approved of their daughter's hedonistic and feckless ways. They didn't think Hugo was a suitable husband for Bella and, having been hoping for a quickie divorce, were most put out when Jemima came into the world 6 months after her parents' marriage. However, they have grown very fond of their granddaughter and are determined that she will NOT follow in her parents footsteps, so have been increasingly strict with her over the past couple of years as Jemima has reached her teenage years and started to discover drink and boys. The greenhouse incident was the final straw, and so they have taken the somewhat drastic step of removing her from Wingfield, the small, independent school
modelled in some respects on AS Neill's Summerhill where she has been a pupil since the age of 7, and sending her to Lowewood instead. Whilst Wingfield is not as anarchic as Summerhill and does have some actual structure, it should be expected that Jemima may well find the rules at Lowewood somewhat baffling once she gets over the initial shock of being there.