Suffering for their art

So Eliane and I duly met with Jon Thorn to act out some Winterbrook scenes. Here's a brief overview of what we got up to.

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Charlotte and Lucy duly attended for their appointment with Sir George and he was terribly harsh with them. Firstly Charlotte was given her punishment for leaving the house without permission. He did not readily believe that she had just gotten lost in the search for a different quality of air. Oh how he spluttered at that one.

10 hard strokes rained down on her bottom, with not even a hand spanking to warm her up.

Then Lucy was punished for her lack of manners and oh how she made it worse by her continuous answering back. Charlotte despaired for her.

But it didn't end there. Sir George decided a punishment imposition was called for. Each were given several pens and a sheet of paper along with a list of precise instructions for writing the essay the title of which was "The efficacy of Corporal Punishment in instilling virtue and manners in a young lady"

1. The essay shall cover one side of one sheet of paper.
2. You will rule a left margin, in green, of exactly one inch..
3. The title shall be doubly underlined in blue.
4. The rest of the essay shall be written in pencil.
5. Your name shall be written in the top right hand corner and the bottom left hand corner.
6. There shall be no mistakes in spelling, grammar or layout, no crossings out or corrections.

Immediately Charlotte was in trouble for writing her title before ruling her margin. A swift spanking over the knee ensued. Then it was unlucky Lucy who wrote her title in blue instead of underlining it in blue. She too got spanked.

After many false starts and interruptions for whispering and making mistakes, Charlotte managed to finish her essay. Unfortunately writing one big sentence in large letters across the page was not well received with Sir George. Another spanking for her now tender bottom. Cruelly he continued to spank her until Lucy finished her own essay, but that didn't pass muster either.

Poor Charlotte and Lucy thought they might be there all night but Sir George also despaired of that and decided to thrash them both soundly. And so Lucy got a paddling and then 40 with a strap.

Then Charlotte, as the elder, who should really have set an example to her wayward little sister, got a lengthily and hard caning.



Such a red and sore bottom she had, 85 strokes later....

Method writing

We little band of writers at Winterbrook are such perfectionists about our writing. Not only do we agonise for ages over what to write and whether it's worth reading at all (well at least I do anyway!) but we feel the scenes must be as realistic as possible.

OK so we may not be always historically accurate or write in exactly the Edwardian language of the time, but we do try.

But where we can ensure we are being as true is possible, is to describe the punishment scenes realistically. Unfortunately for us, the only way for that to happen is to play out the scenes with each other. Yes, we need to experience very sore bottoms indeed in this quest for accuracy!

Therefore it is with some reluctance (well actually no reluctance at all!!) that Charlotte and Lucy are presenting themselves to Sir George today to taste his cane for real.

I do hope our dear readers appreciate the sacrifices that Eliane and I make for our writing.

Having the last word

When I'm not doing very intense, serious scenes as described in my last post, I do tend to have a lil fun during my play. Admittedly that doesn't happen that often with HH. We're both deep headspace players and prefer to play that way with each other. I keep bratting to a minimum, unless there is somone else around to spark off and even then I don't go too far, as I know he doesn't like it.

But the other morning as he was unsuccessfully trying to get me out of bed (hey I was tired and it was only 10am!) my brattiness surfaced. Upon hearing he was going to give me a gentle wake-up spanking, I pouted and turned away muttering grumpily that I didn't care, it still wouldn't wake me up.

Upon hearing that my gentle spanking had just been increased to something more severe I still pouted brattily. And even when the horrid slipper was raining down on my bottom, I tried to pretend I was still asleep. Of course I counted myself very lucky that he was whacking me at close range. It still hurt, but no comparison to when I'm bent over and he throws his full weight behind it!

It was actually kinda nice, even if it did sting. When he'd done he leaned over for a hug and we cuddled and that's when I tried to get the last word in, telling him I hoped he'd learned his lesson, that'd he think twice about waking me up again, that the grumpiness was hardly worth it.

His resulting laughter lulled me into a false sense of security and I grinned at him cheekily. Even when he got off the bed I didn't suspect anything until he returned, with a cane! The pure evilness of it all shocked me to the core. Oh the injustice.

Over the pillows with my knickers down I had to go and endure several sharp cuts of the cane. Although I must admit it did little to improve my grumpiness, but I took it bravely. Some might say defiantly. Still I was glad when he was done and ready for a proper hug.

But oh no, apparently I was now sufficiently awake, but still too grumpy for his liking. I watched him set the straight backed chair in the centre of the room and tried not to throw a tantrum when he picked up the heavy hairbrush. I was genuinely confused how I came from a gentle hand spanking to this (via a caning and slippering!).

Thankfully he kept it relatively short and I decided to give up the grumpiness and brattiness for a while. Bloody hairbrushes are my undoing and well he knows it. Still, I like to fantasise that I indeed had had the last word and that it was him that learned his lesson, not me. Hmmm a girl can dream...

Getting what I need

As I wrote last week, HH and I had been discussing the idea of real discipline. Not ongoing discipline for everyday life, but me being disciplined for something done in his presence that he didn't approve of. We agreed that he now had my consent to take appropriate action if he had reason to and left it at that. The main thing was that I would not misbehave on purpose or do anything bratty, as that negated the whole idea of being properly disciplined.

Despite having discussed this, when it actually came down to it I was very unprepared for the emotions I felt on finding myself about to be disciplined. I felt stomach churning fear, reluctance to go through with it and a real dread of the pain to come.

Despite having played several scenes built around real life misdeeds, they were all just excuses for a spanking. Varying degrees of heaviness in the scene but all enjoyable and leading to a high afterwards. I'd never thought it through before, but on processing afterwards I realised for me there were two key differences between this, my first proper punishment spanking, and all the other play I've done.

For a start it was unbelievably painful. HH warned me he intended to be harsh and so he was. But I've played very hard before and this was no more than equal to my hardest scenes. The difference in this case was that I didn't fly. There was no adrenalin to get me through. No achievement in surviving, no bravery. Only shame to be in that position and relief when it was over.

And then there were all the emotions that went with it, of knowing I had hurt and disappointed HH to the point where he wanted to properly punish me. That was very hard to deal with.

I'm too ashamed to admit what I actually said to earn the punishment, except to say in giving HH feedback on a recent scene I was overly critical and hurtful in my words, saying something in the emotional heat of the moment purely to score a low blow to upset him.

He said nothing for a long time, just let me cool down and then repeated my words back to me asking was it really necessary to speak to him that way. I was immediately sorry and not because of an imminent punishment, the thought hadn't even entered my head at that point. I was just properly sorry that I had been so awful to HH and was therefore completely ashamed. On accepting my apology we hugged close and we chatted about the scene properly, where I gave my feedback in a more civilised manner.

I couldn't let it go though, my mind whirling over what I'd said. I'm a huge believer in the bottom taking as much responsibility as the top for a scene and here I was making a mockery of that by blaming him unfairly for what was really a minor detail in the scene. Worst of all what I said wasn't even something I believed, so how could I have said it to to him at all.

He hugged me close and for once I was silent, at a loss for anything meaningful to say. Understanding how I was feeling, he finally he told me this was something I should be punished for, as much for me as for him. He had already forgiven me but knew I needed to forgive myself.

Not forcing it, he just let the issue hung in the air, as I digested it. How easy it'd be to say 'no this is far too intense to punish me over, let me wallow in my guilt' but then there was the thought that I deserved it, that I needed it. Eventually I told him I agreed I should be punished.

Feeling sick at the thought, I clung to him, both wanting to get it over with and never wanting it to start. He told me quietly that it would be harsh, that I deserved nothing less and I nodded. I expected that from him. One final reassuring hug before taking me gently by the hand and leading me up the stairs. I followed him like a little lamb, completely subdued.

The dread churned in the pit of my stomach. Over and over I thought 'I'm about to get punished because I deserve it and it's really going to hurt and HH is not happy with me right now.'

Upstairs he placed himself on a very high stool and called me to him. Seeing the heavy hairbrush in his hand it was all I could do not to run away. My least favorite implement by far, so not a surprise that he'd chosen it. It remained unspoken between us that there'd be no safeword. I knew he expected me to take the punishment fully. No tantrums, no storming off, no angry frustration, just acceptance.

Gently he told me he wasn't angry at me but that I needed to realise how hurtful my words could be. And reminded me that once it was over it would all be forgotten, and I could forgive myself.

Then lifted me over his lap, my hands and feet well clear of the ground, and swiftly pulled my knickers down to my knees. The heavy brush rested briefly on my bottom before he slammed it down beginning his assault. I really tried to be brave, to not kick or wriggle, to show him I was sorry, but I couldn't. The brush cracked down hard, over and over and over all across my bottom, along my crease and down the tops of my thighs at an unrelenting pace. Three strokes in I was crying, silent tears at first, eventually giving way to sobs. I clutched his leg in vain trying to take it without begging him to stop until I couldn't help myself and started wailing 'I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...please..'

Finally he stopped and set me down. A short lived hope we might be done, but deep down I knew we weren't. I wasn't anywhere near forgiving myself. I was guided to the corner and given a short respite from my thrashing. He told me to think about why I was being punished and how much my words had hurt him. With that the dam burst and I dissolved into body wracking sobs as the shame and pain in my bottom melted into one.

When he called me back to him I was placed face down over the whipping bench. With terror I noticed the thick tawse in his hands. Of all implements in his armour, HH is scariest with straps and tawses. And he didn't disappoint. His first crack of the tawse made me scream out and reignited fresh sobs, the second was just as hard, burning stripes of pain across my bottom. Again and again they landed as I forced myself to stay down for them.

I have no idea how many he gave me. In between all the searing strokes on my bottom, he landed perfectly aimed low ones across my thighs, knocking the breath from me completely, too painful to even release a scream.

Each stroke was horrendously painful but the ones across my thighs made me beg for mercy. Finally he promised just 3 more, the last landing again so low down, I knelt up rocking from the pain. I prayed we were done.

Pushing my hair back he lifted my face up gently, told me we were nearly there. Just the paddle to go. 6 he said. I wanted to beg and plead that I'd had enough, couldn't take any more, but I knew I had to take all that he prescribed.

Reluctantly I lay down again and braced myself as best I could. But still screamed as the paddle landed full force on my bottom. He wasn't holding back and I didn't expect anything less. Clinging for dear life I struggled through all 6, distinctly remembering that with 3 to go I didn't think I could make it. Then waiting for the final one knowing it would be the worst yet. By the time he'd administered them all, I was almost cried out, heaving dry sobs and almost collapsing with relief at finishing.

He picked me up off the bench and pulled me close. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. The very picture of misery, eyes puffy and red from crying, hair flattened to my head with tears, all dignity absent.

We cuddled for a long time afterwards. My bottom and thighs throbbed painfully but all I felt was relief, catharsis and closure. And a deep and real desire to never have to experience that again. Ever.

Dis-empowerment

On a recent training course I was asked in advance to think about what empowerment was, situations where I was empowered and what it meant and felt like. At the course we then had a general discussion about what we had each come up with. The common themes were being in control, having freedom, getting what you want, achievement and fulfilment.

On the flip side, we were then asked to think about what dis-empowerment was and the feelings associated with that. I agreed with my group that it meant losing control, having no privileges, being restricted, answering to someone else. But while the rest of my colleagues were saying that made them feel frustrated, angry, unloved and sad I had to refrain from blurting out that it made me feel elated, adored, safe and special.

It just wasn't the right environment to explain that I've realised allowing myself to give up control to a trusted person is the most empowering decision I ever made!

Real discipline

I've written before that discipline is at the core of my kink. Which is why punishments like mouth soaping, hand tawsing, standing in the corner, being sent to be bed early (ideally with no supper!), the threat of being dealt with in public and having to write impositions are so hot for me. Not at the time of course, but just the actual thought of them, either in fantasy or looking back after the event.

A couple of years ago I was in a long-term relationship with a guy who was semi-kinky. Between us we developed a kinky relationship that worked for us both. Lots of hot and kinky sex (primarily for him but I wasn't complaining!) and lots of role play and discipline scenes (all for me.)

When I think back now I find it hard to believe the type of relationship we had or how we made it work for so long. We were functioning almost on some domestic discipline level, but only as and when I felt like it.

I very much controlled things from the bottom, giving him clear signals on what he could punish me for and when I was in the mood to be dealt with. It was a very tricky situation for him, trying to read me properly. While it was horribly frustrating for me as I had to resort to telling him when he should punish me, or that he had missed an opportunity to do so.

In the end we came up with the discipline diary. In it I had to record all the things worthy of punishment and an appropriate punishment for them. Each week he would look at it, express disappoint and give me the exact punishment listed for the week!

I found this diary buried amongst a lot other rubbish when I moved house. Once of the entries was as follows: Tuesday - missed two lectures = 12 whacks with hairbrush

Looking back now I can admit it was a preposterous charade of discipline. In all honesty it was just an extended roleplay scene that manged to make me feel like I was being disciplined although I wasn't really. But I guess it worked in a fashion, at least for a while.

In the past year I've played with many people and had countless wonderful scenes. Mostly roleplays of schools and reformatories and what not along with some very light spur of the moment scenes where I've been a brat or been getting into mischief with other brats.

While I truly love this type of play I still want to explore 'discipline'. And I don't mean domestic discipline or the fake roleplay discipline of above. But discipline for real life things, punishments for me, not a crafted scene with Emma Jane or one of the many other alter egos. Being sent upstairs to be dealt with for some infraction, as and when it happens. Not a role play. A proper punishment that the top wants to administer for more than the turn on of playing. The desire to change something in my behaviour. And I don't mean punishments that results from bratting to high heaven. Cos that's not discipline, that's a fun game!

This subject is one I've been chatting through with HH lately, in advance of my visit this weekend.

In one of my mails I told him:

I'd also like to do more real life stuff, but not with me bratting you majorly, just for things that you'd prefer I didn't do. My mind is in a real need to be disciplined place right now...

His reply showed that as usual he understands where I'm coming from and what I need. But also acknowledges that what I'm asking for is not easy to do and there is a risk involved, on both sides. So we've agreed that it's something we'll explore.

As he says:

I think the "realer" things can't be pushed. It's very good to have consent to explore them (consentual non-consent, of course) but the spaces where it can happen mustn't be rushed. So we will wait until the right opportunity presents itself. And then you may regret your offer...

Hmmm, that's another thing he's probably right about, I may just regret it indeed!

Self-discpline

A couple of weeks back I offered to help a friend out by reviewing a document she had written. I like being helpful and the document was of the type my real life persona would be very interested in reading, so it was no chore at all.

But as eager as I am to help out a friend I can be a bit of a procrastinator and weeks passed before she gave me a gentle reminder to look at it. So we agreed I needed a deadline which just so happened to fall today. And this morning she cheekily threatened to report me to Headmaster Higgins if I missed the deadline!

Well Headmaster Higgins is very scary at the best of times, but getting punished for real life misbehaviour is always way harder than for scene related crimes so I wasn't eager to get into trouble for that reason. Therefore this afternoon I duly sat myself down to do my assignment. To motivate myself further I decided to wear my new school skirt, acquired just yesterday. (It's a fabulous blue and black plaid one and I love it!)

So in full uniform, right down to regulation white knickers and a very tight collar I sat myself down and tried to focus on my task.Then shifted restlessly in my hard chair and tried once more. Until finally I put my head down and got to work.

Once I was done I sent it off to her, changed out of my uniform and then went out to play (well out for coffee with a friend!) completely carefree. I think that's the first time I've ever been happy to actually avoid a punishment!