The Bad Friend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

How Long Does A Spanking Last

Jessica posted a couple of days ago about a fifteen minute timer owned by Abel, which could be used to administer 15 minutes worth of spanking. She was saying that this is quite a long period over which to spank or be spanked. It then occurred to be that I have no idea whether this is a long time or not.

I think I can safely say that I have no concept of how long any of my spankings have lasted. This is partly because I don't wear a watch I suppose. Also because I don't have a clock in my living room. I mean, I can tell you that ones I've had at things like Lowewood days were probably pretty short, but when I'm playing one on one with someone, no idea. 3 minutes? 20 minutes? Absolutely no idea! Maybe I should start keeping an eye on the time next time I'm spanked. Just in the interests of being better educated, obviously!

Amateur Mistakes

Amateur Mistake 1)

Never, ever write anything on your blog that you don't want to be used against you. Such as something along the lines of "I use counting to control the pace". Idiotic, really.

Amateur Mistake 2)

Don't buy evil, evil thick heavy canes because you have somehow decided you prefer thuddier canes. Evil thick heavy canes hurt. A lot.

Amateur Mistake 3)

This one was possibly the MOST stupid. Don't ever, ever ask... "so which of the four canes I've got it your favourite..?" because that question will be followed by "No. no, you *don't* need to test them all out. Put them down!!! Owwwww!"

(The four canes. From oldest to newest, thinnest to thickest.)

Learn from my stupidity, I implore you.

On Being Caned

I was winding up a friend over IM this morning, and it occurred to me that this might make a nice little post. I've kept the format the same, as I think it works.

It's that HAVING to submit
to something that hurts...
well, not having, but having to choose
in a way that I don't with other things because I like them, want them more
it's so much about the dynamic with the cane
think about being told to bend over a chair by a really good top
knowing that however much you protest, as long as you don't actually safeword, you WILL be going through with this
being told to spread your legs more, knowing he can see EXACTLY how turned on you are
not daring to look up
but hearing that tell tale swish
which makes your stomach turn over...
feeling the cane tap against your bum
finding its mark
then a swish, when you tense
but nothing happens
you relax
and WHAM

Pace

In general, I want to be able to take a spanking (assume with or without implements!) when I'm receiving it. There are exceptions to this rule. If I'm in a particularly obstinate place in my head, either as me, or in role, then I may not want to get through the spanking. That's the exception rather than the rule, though. My normal aim is to submit to whatever is happening to me as best as possible. I'm fundamentally a good girl, and I normally want to be seen as such.

There are certain things that have to happen for me to be able to take the spanking in an "appropriate" manner (that is without moving too much, making an overdue amount of noise or swearing). One of them is comfort. It's the age old adage that the rest of you has to be comfortable so you can focus on what's happening to your rear end. It's cliched, but for me it's very true. If I'm having to focus on dealing with pain from the position I'm in, I'm less able to focus on processing the pain being inflicted on me in other ways.

The other main factor is pace. I can't deal with fast. Just can't. Not in any way. I need time to process the strokes, and too many raining down at once basically makes me go into some sort of sensory overload, pain wise. This is especially true with canes. I know, though, that for a lot of people, the prefer fast. If they are getting 12 strokes with the cane they'd much rather get them over and done with quickly than have to cope with each stroke individually. Not me. Slow please! What's your preference?

Places Not To Take Your Mother

So, I had a little expedition on Saturday. I discovered the the bus that was diverted so that the nearest stop was about a mile from me, had been temporarily undiverted, and so the nearest stop was only half a mile away. After a very snowy, slippy, and rather scary walk down some very steep hills, where I passed the time by amusing myself laughing at all the idiots in wheel spins trying to get uphill and then having to give up and roll back down, I made it to the bus stop and into town. There I met my mother, who had come on a different bus from her neck of the woods, and we had some lunch and a brief wander round the shops.

Unfortunately for me, as we walked passed Ann Summers, I spotted a pair of knickers in the window that I had been coveting and were now on sale for £6. So I veered off and my mother followed me. Now, my mother knows about the whole spanking thing, but as I walked over to the frilly knickers she gave me the most indescribable look. At which point I told her in no uncertain terms to go to the card shop (our destination before the detour) where I would join her in a minute. Note to self, never take your mother into Ann Summers.

Can't think what her problem was with these knickers, really!

Edit: I should add for my non UK readers that Ann Summers is a UK store selling lingerie and sex toys. And is often more famous for the latter than the former... this is one of the main reasons why going there with your mother is a bit weird ;-)

How You Know Your Child Is A Perverted Little Spanko

Once upon a time there was a girl called Eliane. She was 12 at the time of our story. She read a book called "The Power Of Three", by Diana Wynne Jones. One of the main characters, Gair, gets into trouble for fighting with his cousin. His aunt wants him punished, and so we have the setting for a wonderfully atmospheric scene where Gair is waiting outside his father's room expecting to be punished. Grown up Eliane is a little sad she doesn't have the book to hand right now to quote from, as the scene continues with Gair being called into to his father's room, and made to stand facing the wall. He hears Gest, his father, removing his belt, lifting it above his head, and the whistle as it comes down.

And the thump as it hits the floor.

You see, Gest doesn't like Gair's aunt, and isn't about to take orders from her, so he refuses to punish Gair for real, but makes the sounds of a belting anyway to keep the peace in the family. This upsets Gair, as he feels that Gest, an acknowledged hero, is "cheating".

It certainly upset young Eliane, who was really getting worked up about this exciting scene, and was truly gutted to be cheated of the conclusion to it. This, ladies and gentlemen, is how you know you have a spanko child on your hands: when, instead of being glad that the protagonist is treated justly, they are gutted to be deprived of the detail of an actual spanking. What a little pervert I was :-)

Snow Day

Sneaking in through back door, closing it softly. Sneaking upstairs, praying he didn't hear her. He was home two hours early. Hopefully he would think she was studying, and not have looked for her.

The voice from the living room. She acts surprised, claims to have only been out for a walk in the snow. Half an hour or so. Tries not to blush as the lies fall from her mouth. He tells her the office was closed early because of the weather. He has been home for two hours. He knows she has been gone that whole time.

She confesses. In the pub, with her friends, all at home due to the school snow closures as well.
His words are scornful. 18 years old... thought she was trustworthy... obviously not... barefaced lies... consequences inevitable....

And later, she curls up on her bed, rubbing her sore bottom, the stripes from his belt still ridged there, crying softly, but knowing from his hugs that all is forgiven.

New Year - New Scenes

So, about 3 years ago (at least that what it feels like) I started a post reviewing my fun in 2009. I'm still writing it. It might appear by 2011... in the meantime:

I don't generally do making New Year's Resolutions. My year round resolution is to be happy. That's it. Nothing more complicated. So I try and do whatever I need to do to accomplish that. Which obviously is a lot more complicated than it sounds, but hey, I try!

So, because I don't do New Year's Resolutions, I haven't made any specific kinky ones. There are some kinky things I would like to accomplish this year though:

1) I want to properly try out my new strap, and also my new canes which I bought in a fit of madness. I'll try and post a photo in the next couple of days so you can all laugh at my insanity.

2) I want to play a "proper" role play scene with a male top and a female top at the same time. Maybe with both as guardians, or two school teachers, or a prison officers or something. I imagine this would be really rather hot, and not something I've ever done before.

3) Thinking about it, I don't think I've had two male tops dealing with me at the same time in a role play scene. So yeah, that would be something else I'd like to do. And while I've had two female tops dealing with me simultaneously, and it was very hot, and I'd do it again any time!

4) I'd also like to do more joint scenes with fellow bottoms, as they are always fun.

5) I'd like to maybe explore my submissive side more. It's in there somewhere, I know. It once in a while rears it's head, and I'd like to explore what it is that triggers this.

6) I'd like to have some more foreign kinky fun. I'm already going to Nimhneach for a return visit later on in the year, and there are a couple of other things that are on the cards which would be fun.

7) Host a fabulous kinky house warming party. With Champagne. You've been warned.

8) Spend lots more time with all the amazing people I got to know in 2009 and hopefully meet lots more amazing people!

12 Days Of Spanking Madness

Adele Haze is a bit crazy. The evidence for this can be found in the fact that she agreed to Mr Haze's dastardly plan of playing "The Twelve Spanking Days of Christmas". This of course follows the famous rhyme, so on the first day she gets one stroke of an implement, next day two strokes of a different implement plus the one with the first day's again, etc. etc. until on day 12 she gets all the strokes, with all the implements. Crazy, right?

Now, as I've been following her insanity, I had cause to wonder why she was picking certain lovely implements, like a flogger, for a fairly small number of strokes. That was until yesterday's post when she mentioned she'd done some calculations and put some thought into her choices, and I realised that of course it was all about cumulative strokes.

So I went off and did some maths of my own:

# of Strokes # of Days Total
1 12 12
2 11 22
3 10 30
4 9 36
5 8 40
6 7 42
7 6 42
8 5 40
9 4 36
10 3 30
11 2 22
12 1 12

Looking at the totals (and yes, I did need to write it all down!), you want the nicest implements you own in the middle of the pack, and the there's a toss up with the more evil implements - do you have fewer strokes with them, but every day, or do you just have one (or two) lots of horribleness at the end of the 12 days.

I debated this, based on the implements I own, and my conclusions are below. Of course, I don't own anything like the variety of evilness that Mr Haze seems to, so there are some repeats of implement types (i.e. four different straps!).

Day 1 - junior cane - evil whippy stingy little thing.
Day 2 - hairbrush - I've never been a great fan of wooden hairbrushes, so the fewer strokes per day the better.
Day 3 - Tawse - my tawse always hurts a surprising amount when used. It's still quite stiff, which I don't think helps.
Day 4 - Slipper - MY slipper, this would be. Which is quite light!
Day 5 - Antique strap, that I bought at LAM in July. Hard to handle, but yummy.
Day 6 - My heavy blue flogger, bought at Babeland in New York. Yum.
Day 7 - Hand. Nuff said, really.
Day 8 - New Strap, as posted about a few days ago. 8 whacks a day would be a positive treat!
Day 9 - Bathbrush. Not as mad as it sounds. My bathbrush doesn't actually hurt that much. But don't tell anyone.
Day 10 - Vicious evil little ruler strap. Looks sweet, has a hell of a sting.
Day 11 - Crop. Not the shaft please, just the bit on the end. Which probably has some technical name!
Day 12 - Senior Cane. Well, is there a more symbolic way to end 12 days of spanking than with 12 strokes of the cane?

So, were I ever to be mad enough to undertake such a thing, I would pick those implements. I think. I'm interested to find out what the rest of Adele's choices are.

New Year's Eve Spanking

Well, I had my last ever "first" for 2009 - my first every New Year's Eve Spanking.
It happened thus, boys and girls (sorry, it just felt like a story-telling time of year):

I went to Sweet Torments fetish club with the delightful Jessica, Rebecca and Scarlett, and Jessica's HWMBO and Rebecca's Boy Interest. I had intended to wear my corset, but I was feeling pretty rubbish, so I just opted for a dress instead. I was surrounded by a sexy school girl, a girl in a pretty corset and one in a nightdress (the sexy kind, not the floor length kind) and two gentlemen in tuxes and leather trousers, so we had quite a nice variety of outfits.
We spent the early part of the evening playing a challenge game with the dice of evil, which seemed to result in me being upended over bits of furniture and beaten with things about the same amount as Jessica, but rather more than Rebecca and Scarlett, who the dice favoured. Or didn't, I suppose, depending on your take on things! That being said, Scarlett managed to get herself upended a few times without the dice (for throwing breadsticks and hitting people with crops, as I recall). There were also some utterly fabulous knickers on display - my frilly La Senza ones, Rebecca's tutu like ones, and Scarlett's ones with diamante bits among others.

So, midnight approached and it was time for the traditional Sweet Torments Spank Down from 60 to the New Year. We ended up with the four girls lined up bent over the table, and the gentlemen spanking along the line as twelve approached. We then ended up in a big hug circle, but unfortunately HWMBO and R's BI realised they were hugging each other, freaked out, and swapped placed before we started passing a kiss round the circle (to the tune of Eidelweiss. Don't ask.) This was a shame, as seeing those two kissing each other, even only chastely on the cheek, would have made my 2010 before it had barely started!

So there we go, my first ever New Year's Eve spanking. I hope the your NYE celebrations (or non-celebrations) were as sober/fun/drunk/quiet as you wanted. Happy New Year to everyone!