Monday, 23 August 2010

Reassessing The Situation

I'm a wimp. This has been my stance, and my view of myself pretty much since my first months of being out. There are several reasons that this view arose. I think it's partly a defence mechanism. If I state upfront that I'm a wimp, people will go easier on me. I think some of it comes from having watched videos in the early days and thinking that the girls on film were taking more, and taking it much better than I could. Some of it comes from me feeling that I wasn't living up to people's expectations of me, whether this was actually the case or not.
Then I started playing more with other people, and even though I swore blind that I didn't "do competitive bottoming" (and I didn't in the sense that I didn't look down on other people for what they could or couldn't take), I certainly did compare myself to others who played harder than me, or who I believed played harder than me, and found myself wanting.

Then came a period of being very ambivalent about wanting to play. When I came back after this, I obviously had a much lower pain tolerance than previously. Repeat the cycle another six months later, and by this point my perception of myself as a wimp was well and truly fixed in my mind as the absolute truth.

Except people have been telling me that I should maybe review that perception. Or rather they've been telling me to get a grip, because I'm really not a wimp. And when I look at the evidence, they may have a point. Saturday night is a case in point. I was playing with some friends, and had watched several people being caned while I alternated between actually looking and hiding behind a pillow. Then apparently it was my turn... After having voiced my dislike of canes, and preference for all things leather, the kind gentleman proceeded to use various paddles and straps. There was one strap in particular that I happily could have kept going all evening with, or at least at the strength it was being used. Unfortunately, I then heard a swish through the air.
"That's not a cane he's got, is it", I asked the others. Gleefully they all replied that it was. I thought about getting up. After all, I'm a wimp, and I really can't cope with canes. I decided to try one stroke though, and see what happened. I could always stand up if it hurt too much.
The stroke fell. It was OK. I decided to stay down. The next one was OK as well. As were the next two. Five and six were pretty ouchy, but just about bearable. I stood up, quite pleased with myself for not having made much of a fuss. (After all, I have been known to actually dance round the room between strokes...)
I was really surprised when Emma Jane, who had been spotting, told me that she had actually told the person delivering the strokes to up the strength each time, because of how I was taking them, and that by the end they certainly weren't particularly light...

So maybe I'm not a wimp. I took six fairly hard cane strokes, in front of other people, making a minimum of fuss. That's not the behaviour of a wimp, is it? It's actually quite hard to get my head round that. It's been so long that I've thought of myself in this way that to change that idea is something that's going to take time. Also, as long as I play with people who can, and like to play so much harder than I can/do, there will always be a lingering feeling of inadequacy. I recognise how stupid this is. People don't view me as inadequate. They (it seems) view me as someone who plays well, within their own comfort zone. Just because my comfort zone differs to other people does not make my play any less valid, and the only person who really ever thinks that it is is me. Even if my own comfort zone differs depending on time of month/emotional state/recent play, it *still* shouldn't matter to me. I shouldn't compete with others, I shouldn't compete with myself.

It's time to reassess the situation, to stop branding myself a wimp at every opportunity, to recognise that I can actually take a half decent whacking, but that even if I couldn't it wouldn't actually matter. So anyone who hears me call myself a wimp, feel free to call me on it!

Wednesday, 18 August 2010

In Search Of Lost Memory

People often threaten me. Well, by people, I mean tops. Normal people rarely threaten me, and I'd probably be a bit more concerned. As it is, tops' threats rarely bother me. Because, let's be honest, most of them don't exactly seem to be wonderfully blessed in the memory department. Or at least in the "remembering offences/cheek/random misbehaviour" area. If I had a pound for every time a top had threatened me with some horrible retribution and then forgotten about it five minutes later, I'd be quite a rich woman by now. Of course if I'd had a cane stroke for every time, I'd be quite a sore woman!

As is my way, I was wondering, and I thought I would enquire more generally. Is it just the tops I know who are less than formidable in this area? Or is it tops in general? So feel free to answer the following poll. You can answer it if you are a top as well. As long as you do it honestly, because we'll be watching.

Tops' Powers of Recall

How good is your top's memory?

Memory like an elephant, never forgets a thing, dammit
Their memory's OK. They generally remember to carry out threats
Memory? I'm surprised they remember their name/to get out of bed in the morning/put on underwear.

Monday, 16 August 2010

Mean Boys

My mother always told me about mean boys when I was growing up. You know, the ones that a girl should avoid because they were, well, mean. Of course, I never was one to follow my mother's advice, and over the past couple of years, I've learnt lots more about mean boys, and how they operate.

Mean boys are the ones that come to your house and accuse you of kidnapping their possessions, when in fact they are just forgetful.

Mean boys are the ones that spank you for no reason, and then spank you harder when you're cheeky.

They are the ones who make you stand in the corner with the knickers round your knees and your hands on your head, and then claim that they saw you rubbing your poor, sore bottom when they were out of the room, and spank you some more.

You can recognise mean boys, as they are the ones that “borrow” your implement bag and then use things like wooden spoons and straps on you. (Note to self, burn all wooden spoons.)

A mean boy may well make you wear a pirate hat while spanking you, because they are just that mean.

A mean boy puts ice on your bottom and says they are doing it to make sting better.

Mean boys use nasty wooden hairbrushes. And not on their heads. Nasty wooden hairbrushes that will be dead nasty wooden hairbrushes if I get my way.

Mean boys use phrases like "Because I said so" far too often.

Mean boys cane.

Don't tell anyone, but I quite like mean boys....

Friday, 13 August 2010


I need to be dominated. I need to be bent over, to be caned, to be made to stay in position. To take the strokes, slowly but surely. To know that there will be no turning back, no matter how much I whinge and whine, but that it will be done in such a way that I will make it through. I need to release.
I really, really, need to be caned "properly".

That is all.

Tuesday, 10 August 2010

Oh Not Again!

Someone please explain to me why I feel the need to buy things like this...

Because I really have no idea!

Sunday, 8 August 2010

What Do You Get...

...when you take 30 kinksters, some alcohol and two birthdays?
Well, you get:

  1. A girl jumping out of a cake (who thought that a wish expressed on twitter three weeks before would be made true?)
  2. A totally unjustified spanking, to remove me from the room while the “cake” was set up.
  3. A multiple flogging from my darling GNO girls.
  4. The most perverted scene I could ever imagine where at least ten people were all stood in my bedroom taking it in turns to give me a birthday spanking while singing “Happy Birthday” in a dirge like manner. I mean, really, people!
  5. A fabulous barbecue, thanks to all the kind chefs.
  6. The chance to watch a dear friend get her share of birthday spankings. (Well, actually, her comeuppance!)
  7. A caning and a belting.
  8. The chance to meet the London Tanner.
  9. The amusement of watching someone try to put up a tent in the pitch black and yet refuse any offers of a torch.
  10. The indignity of losing at cheesecake Jenga, mostly because the Meanest Man On The Internet cheated!
  11. The chance to flog real life people, and oh my goodness did I enjoy it.
  12. The joy of coming down the next morning to find that the cleaning fairies had started work. They do exist!
  13. Some more lovely spankings the next morning, from those I'd forgotten to collect my birthday spanking from the night before.
  14. At least two threats of retribution to be served up at a later date for cheek. Anyone who knows me will know how unfair and unjust this is!

To be serious for a minute, I want to thank each and every one of my guests for their presence yesterday. You made the party, and I hope you all enjoyed yourselves as much as I did. You all rock!

Thursday, 5 August 2010

Frisking The Guests

I'm having a party on Saturday. A kinky party. There are quite a few people coming. Up to 28, to be precise. That's quite a lot of kinky people.
Having a houseful of kinky people would be a lovely event, but for one small problem. This party is a birthday party. Well, it's actually a joint birthday party, but the other person is denying that it's her birthday. We all know what happens at kinky birthday parties, don't we? People get birthday spankings. Fine if it's one or two people delivering them. Fifteen or so? Not so fine.
So, friends, I have a plan to save my butt. This plan has two parts:
Part one: Hide all my toys that I don't like, leaving only those which I do like available for use.
But wait, you say, what about the people coming? Surely they will bring their own implements?
Well, here is where part two comes into play. Part two involves frisking all guests on arrival. Frisking them for implements, you understand. If I discover any implement that I think will be detrimental to my health, I will remove it, and/or make the bearer sign a legal document swearing that they won't use it on me.
Clever, right?
My one problem? What to do about Abel's right hand... Personally I don't think it should be allowed on the premises, but as I'd quite like the rest of him to be in attendance I don't suppose I have a whole amount a choice.
I'll let you know how my plan goes, shall I?

Sunday, 1 August 2010


If you go down to the woods today....

You're likely to find two pervy girls wandering around debating the merits of switches.
One of us (not me) has a fascination about getting sent out to the woods to find a switch. Well, OK, maybe I find that quite a hot fantasy as well. So when we found ourselves in the woods, we decided that it really would be an opportune time to do some research.

Research into switches seems to involve lots of walking around looking at the floor, trying to spot sticks that might prove "fit for purpose". It's amazing how many aren't, actually. Too thin, too thick. Too long, too short. There were a whole load that never even made it off the ground and into our hands for further research.

The ones that did though, were of a particular type. About two feet long. Thinnish. Picked up, swished up and down through the air. Noises studied, brittleness assessed. Merits debated. Many discarded at this point.

A few make it through to the next cut though. Then we start trying them out, on our hands, once or twice on each others bottoms. Some broke, so they were discarded. One was doing fine until I caught it on an overhanging branch on my back swing, so that one was gone as well.

We ended up with three switches, but the additional research with them still didn't prove very conclusive. Switches always sounds like a very painful implement when you read about them, but as I tried one out on Irelynn, she didn't seem to be particularly impressed. To be fair, my technique isn't great, and when I was repeatedly hitting the same spot, it elicited an ouch, but none of the switches we picked seem to emulate in any way those mythical implements we'd heard of.

So what is it that make a good switch? Does it need to fresher, cut straight from the branch? Thicker? Thinner? I've brought three home with me that I'll maybe soak in the bath and see what that does to them. But what do you know about switches? Any advice you can give us?