All I Want For Christmas...

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Christmas!

Spankable

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

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

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

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

My Mouth

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

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

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

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

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

Watching

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

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

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

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

The Doorbell

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

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

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

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

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

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

It Gets Into Your Head

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

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

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

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

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