Knicker Survey

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

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

Knicker Survey

How many pairs of knickers do you have? I'm a woman and I have over 200 pairs I'm a woman and I have between 100 and 200 pairs I'm a woman and I have between 50 and 100 pairs I'm a woman and I have between 20 and 50 pairs I'm a woman and I have under 20 pairs I'm a man and I have over 200 pairs I'm a man and I have between 100 and 200 pairs I'm a man and I have between 50 and 100 pairs I'm a man and I have between 20 and 50 pairs I'm a man and I have under 20 pairs Current Results

The People I Play With

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A lot of people are combinations of several of these.

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

Pretty darn lucky, if you ask me.

Raindrops On Roses....

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

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

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

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

The Spanking Collection

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

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

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

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

A Little Ray Of Hope

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

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

Birthday Presents

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here's to next year!

Being Scared

I'm scared.

There, I've said it.

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

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

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

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

Kinky Holidays

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Praise Of Tops

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goodbye To The Old Me

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

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

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

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

No Clothes

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

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

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

The Continuing Adventures of Alice

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

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

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

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

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

Beat Me Now

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

Role Play: A Means To An End

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eliza - An Unintended Consequence

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

Free Speech, Oppressed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not Craving

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

Dear Diary

Dear Diary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm going to go and cry now.

Jems.

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

Spanked Out Of A Strop?

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

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

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

Topliness

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

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

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

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

Bravery

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

2010 - The Year That Was

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

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

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

Happy New Year, everyone.