Moving up the School - Head Girl Caoilfhionn!

The Lowewood term got off to a mixed start for Caoilfhionn. There were three new girls, a new teacher (Major Payne) as well as Mr Brown (returned form his breakdown) which was all very exciting. But the absence of every schoolgirl's crush Miss Cavendish was noted, and for Caoilfhionn the absence of her best friend Jemima an even bigger blow. It all appeared to go rapidly down-hill when Caoilfhionn was pronounced Head Girl at assembly. Not because she wasn't pleased with the honour, but because she felt the responsibility fall heavily.

OK, so being Head Girl of Lowewood mightn't seem like much responsibility, but for a character formed on the basis of Chalet School, Malory Towers and St. Clare's, it actually was. She worried that she might not be her usual carefree mischief-making self. And she was even more worried Jemima would disown her! (Maybe it was a good thing that she was out sick after all). As she explained somewhat dramatically, the badge was akin to the Ring from Lord of the Rings: it burned her and it changed her.

The day had its usual mix of serious moments, reprimands, classroom jokes and school girl comradery. But Caoilfhionn was different. She walked a little taller, paid a lot more attention in class, got up to less mischief and even started chastising the other girls for any uniform violations. Of course when Jemima did eventually rock up she wasn't too pleased with this new Caoilfhionn, especially one who complained about her uniform and actually was pleased that she ended up in detention because of it!

But Caoilfhionn couldn't stop herself, she had to be helpful, she had to obey orders from the teachers and set the example for her fellow students by being on time and wearing her uniform perfectly. And she had to bear it when Felicity begged for the real Caoilfhionn to come back and when Jemima call her a suck up.

Still she was to find out that there are advantages to being Head Girl too. The teachers seemed to place a lot more trust in her. Like in art (her least favourite subject) she was requested to fetch three small plastic cups of water for the girls to share. Which she duly did, one at a time, from the kitchen downstairs, by-passing the bathroom next door in the process. It took most of the lesson to do so but she was not scolded for it!

In recognition of her efforts to be a good Head Girl. and no doubt making her even less popular with her school mates, she was awarded the Father Smith Cup, for being the most spirited girl. Whether this was on the basis of her exuding the most school spirit or in light of the several vodkas she sipped at her desk over the day is debatable, but she was delighted to win the Cup for Byron House. And even if Felicity was not impressed with Caoilfhionn's Head Girl-ness she and new Bryon girl Dulcie were at least pleased with the honour for Byron. (It also struck me later as highly appropriate that she did win it, as Ni Bradaigh actually means 'spirited'!)

Of course, Lowewood being a traditional school even Caoilfhionn didn't escape punishment. Her pink slipping at that hands of Major Payne for being drunk at Jemima's New Year party was particularly humiliating. Especially as he pointed out that her new found status in the school was not appropriate for such antics. It didn't help that he had pictures from the party taken from Facebook (she was very surprised any of the teachers even knew what Facebook is!). Her protests that she was only in her underwear because Jemima had the heating up too high for comfort and that she was only drinking from the champagne bottle was as Jemima had no glasses, landed her a punishment essay for not taking personal responsibility!

She also ended up in detention due to the wonderful prank that Jessica orchestrated, helium filled condoms in each girl's desk. In the first class, history with Major Payne, they floated ceremoniously to the ceiling to our delight! And even funnier was when they started to fall from the ceiling in Mr Brown's German class causing him to look up in horror. Even Caoilfhionn as her new responsible self, wasn't too  much of a prig to take part in such jokes. However, as is the Lowewood rule the Head Girl gets double! And Mr Edmunds did not hold back, painfully teaching her the consequences of such pranks, and reminding her with such honour comes more pain and responsibility!

All in all it was a fabulous day and I'm afraid that I can't even do it justice on here. Below is a little flavour of the goings-on that made the day so great!

-Mr Shaftbotham lamenting Jemima's absence in assembly, complaining the school song hadn't sufficiently aroused him without her there

- Playing a theme song for each teacher as they entered the classroom, Major Payne's was 'You're in the army now',  Mr Shaftbotham's was 'Another brick in the wall' and so on. Not only did the teachers not get that it was a recurring joke, it also took them ages to find where the music was from!

- New girl scouser Suzanne reading aloud in the thickest scouse accent resulting in some girls not being able to understanding her

- Jessica and Caoilfhionn almost scuffling to be the art model in the art class so they wouldn't have to draw and the fantastically bull shitting answers most girls gave to describe their drawings!

- Poor Catherine's disappointment at receiving -5 in art class for 'being too good at art' and her outrage on learning that it was Caoilfhionn who who had written it in her book, which went completely unnoticed by the teachers

- Acting out a satanic orgy in Reverend Jenkin's RE class, with Suzanne feeling up fellow new girl Harriet, Caoilfhionn dramatically whacking Sylvie with a ruler, and Jemima and Dulcie eerily waving candles, all chanting 'the internet is for porn' in slow drones

-Mr Edmunds wearing the garish smiley faces tie to dinner, that Caoilfhionn had gifted him for his birthday!

Thanks again to Jessica and Mr Shaftbotham for another excellent term at Lowewood.And to all the teachers who put such efforts into their classes. Caoilfhionn intends to spend the holidays trying to repair her friendship with Jemima!

ps one of my lovely readers pointed out to me that Aer Lingus has named its latest aircraft after my darling Caoilfhionn! Check it out here :)

Getting what she deserved...

I very rarely blog about sex. Actually scrap that, I never blog about sex. The details of what I like in my sex life I prefer to keep private. But the below excerpt from the book The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas, which I'm currently reading, just has to be shared. The sheer need for surrender and ownership, if even only momentarily, speaks volumes to me!

"The first thing she did after they were shown to their room was to ask him to fuck her. He responded to the urgency of her request; he kissed her roughly, biting her lip, exactly what she wanted from him. Moaning, she turned around and lay on her stomach on the bed. He pulled her underpants off, forced her legs apart, she heard him unzip, the tearing open of a condom packet and then his cock was entering her. She gritted her teeth, choked back a cry as he pushed hard inside her, the pain slicing her, the sensation exactly what she wanted, needed, what she deserved.

She took one, two, three, four shallow gulps of air, winced, and then she was above the pain. He was now a jackhammer, slamming into her, she was full of him, as much in her belly as in her cunt, she buried her face into the coverlet, her outstretched hands were clutching at the sheets, the fabric coiled around her fingers: she wanted him to fill her completely.

He was smashing into her, tearing her apart, destroying her and putting her back together. She was crying from the pain and the relief. She was still nowhere near arousal when he climaxed - he came with a roar, not touching her - but she let out a loud, grateful moan. He fell on top of her and she savoured the heaviness of his wet body over hers. He had made her his again."

Happy New Year to You and to Me!

Well this is quite tardy indeed, but Happy New Year people! Please forgive me for being so remiss lately. I took the Christmas break seriously this year, catching up on sleep and friends and myself and although I have so much I wanted to share it felt good to be offline.

As is my way now that I've started up again there are sure to be several blog posts to come this week as I share my Christmas exploits. These included amongst other things a Regency Ball, a Sailor's Orphan being tested, New Year's celebrations with fizz and friends and a trip to the Trinity Library where Casey and I let our imaginations run riot!

However that is to talk of blog posts future, for now I merely wish to reflect on the year that's been and the year that I hope to have ahead. As my blog has hopefully borne out 2010 has been a wonderful year for me kink wise. I've been to several fantastic events; some repeats such as Lowewood and Lord Fawcett's House Party and some brand new like Finishing school and the Shamrock Spanking Society party.

And whilst I've become closer to my existing kinky family and circle of friends (you all know who you are) I've also widened that circle and met some fabulous new people too, from both sides of the water and across the big pond too. With these people came new conversations, confidences and experiences both of the kinky and the non-kinky variety. It also brought new play and I can safely say this year I have done scenes which pushed me to the extremities of my capabilities to bear, both physically and emotionally.

In my personal life the year has been up and down. Work has been horribly stressful, involving very long hours for various reasons. This coupled with continuous travel back and forth has made me rundown and easily susceptible to colds and bugs, meaning I've been sick far too often. And I have struggled to balance all aspects of my life, work, kinky, vanilla and the me-time

I hate to say no to anyone but have often found myself conflicted about who and when and what to visit. I'm constrained by both time and  money and it's been a constant worry that I am letting people down both sides of the water: worried what my family think that if I don't visit as much, afraid I'm losing touch with my best Irish friends, afraid of offending by refusing a kinky invitation, afraid of over doing it by travelling every weekend.

And yet what is the point of worrying about such things? If I decide to live in the moment, then why spend so much time over-thinking my choices? What an earth do I achieve? These are the questions I have asked myself as I ponder my year. Will I change what I do? No, I love my life. So therefore I must stop worrying about such things. Because I am slowly coming to realise that I am putting too much pressure on myself, that both my vanilla and kinky friends understand that I cannot be everything to everyone all of the time. That I can only be me.

Therefore this year I will try to be the best person I can be. The best friend, lover, confidant, roleplayer, blogger, sibling, daughter, worker bee. The best I can be, whilst also being just as kind to ME.

Merry Christmas!

I hope you enjoy this year's artistic effort. It's only the second time I've shot purely to capture a photograph.  Once again HH was the expert photograpaher making the most of the light, the snow was our prop and both Abel and Catherine were on hand to advise and hold my coat!

Whilst I'm not naturally comfortable with how to pose, we tried a variety of positions and this is my favourite. Doing the shoot I felt emboldened and beautiful and worthy of being admired. My confidence was at its peak and it's a great feeling.

So Merry Christmas dear readers, thank you for your support throughout the year. Even if you don't comment my stat counter tells me you are there and it means so much to me.

Soothing the soul

I've recently returned from a weekend at HH's house. It had been a few months since the last visit and I was excited to not only see him, but also the house. Considering I've had so many intense experiences here each room invokes different feeling and memories, some quite conflicting. There's the hall where I've waited to be summoned to detention, a gentle thrill in my tummy. The library where I've been lectured and caned, overawed by the power of the room. But it's also the place where long and intimate chats are had. Then there's the playroom where I have cried more tears than seem possible, with its distinctive smells that stir real fear. And the bedroom where I have often been chastised, abused and humiliated and yet also hugged and comforted and revived.

Although the snow and illness meant unfortunately Eliane and Haron could not make it, I had the pleasure of Abel and Catherine's company for the weekend, as well as a lovely evening with Marlowe and Lily. In all it was relaxed and fun where companionship and conversation took centre stage. For me that's important, the chance to reconnect at a real level, to show we have more that binds us than just kink.

That was not to say we didn't play, of course we did. And there was the usual beating me out of bed in the morning. Although in a cruel twist HH took to pulling me out of bed by the ear, stripping me and pushing me under a cold shower!

But in our actual scenes, the tone was different.  Adapting to both Catherine who is getting over a nasty illness, and me who is still recovering from my judicial. HH proclaimed me fit to play but with nothing sharp that would cut, so no canes or switches!

My headspace was also important. I did not want severe pain or traumatic places. I wanted comforting scenes, with safe characters. So school scenes it was. The tops have already blogged the Sunday Detention scene, so go check out HH's account here and Abel's here.

Whilst the detention scene was physically harder, paddle and taswe are no picnic even if we only got 6 of each., it was the first scene that got to me more. In the scene we were being punished for making a video that ruined the reputation of the school and insulted the Headmaster. (A very rude snowman in the Headmaster's gown with a very large appendage!). HH and Abel are experts at making a girl feel an inch tall and soon into the lecture Catherine and I were squirming. It got worse when Abel put us over his knee and spanked us bare bottomed, informing us he would let the entire school know how we were dealt with. Oh the shame!

And then it was HH's turn and he pronounced the slipper. He called Catherine forward first and I couldn't help peeking around and confirming to my horror that it was 'the' slipper, not the junior version. I felt sick as the 6 strokes were meted out to Catherine, its impact so loud and startling. As I have much discussed here, the slipper is a very powerful implement for me, extremely painful and belittling. I can never be brave for it and in this case I really didn't think I could take it.

When the first stroke landed the tears started, by the second I was crying softly. Not because of the pain, but because of the mercy he was showing us. Whilst not gentle, I noted with relief they were nowhere near the full body impact of his usual strokes and that made me cry, that he was being so kind.

The other special thing about this scene was despite knowing and playing with Catherine for over a year this was the first school scene we had ever done together, either on our own or in a group. Our scenes have tended to be hardcore, limit breaking epics and this was a lovely change of pace.

In all it was a very relaxed weekend, and I went away with my soul soothed and my energy restored.

Austerity

It's all about austerity right now. The economy, recent play sessions, even the London Tanner's new range of implements (check them out on his new site, launched just in time for Christmas).

But hey what would a kinky life be without a little bit of pain.Or in recent weeks a lot of pain. Anyone reading the blog and my play at Shamrock, Finishing School and my Judicial might be forgiven for thinking that all I'm about is severe play and pain. It's certainly not true.

I'm primarily about headspace and the mental journey. And with the right set-up and trusted play partners I can go deep with very little pain. A lecture from Abel or HH can have me in tears with just a hand spanking, and even at the judicial I was crying before any strokes fell at all, so consumed with fear and the enormity of the situation.

Yet there is a part of me that likes to play hard too, sometimes. I'm not quite sure where that drive comes from. On my judicial post there was a great discussion about hard scenes and what various people get out of them and why they do them  - for art, for a loved one, an act of submission or just...

I understand my need for pain when I'm being properly disciplined. When I accept pain as a means of atonement. But that's different. There's no flying there, no pride in survival, just shame and regret.

And reading that sentence back maybe there's my answer - flying and pride. I certainly fly after severe pain scenes. The challenge of surviving my punishment, the fear and the adrenalin intertwining throughout and the endorphin rush at the end. When the tops throw down the gauntlet and I get through it, it's like a personal victory. One I am proud of.

Yet the sane amongst us would ask what's to be proud of to be beaten until you scream, to cry with body-wracking sobs, for your bottom to be marked so badly you shudder to look at it, for sitting to hurt for a week. And I cannot answer that. I cannot answer what it achieves, except to say how I have felt. I've let myself be vulnerable, raw, broken - submitted willingly to pain beyond my limits but have not given in. And for that I have felt better, stronger, more powerful, invincible, free!

So as in everything, balance is required. I need the gentle scenes and light-hearted ones, the group ones and the just me ones, the dark mental places and the safe little girl feelings. But there's a place for the severe too. Austerity doesn't always have to be a bad thing.

p.s. I have been short listed as Spanking Blog of the Year at the Spanking Spot. I'm there with some great and much loved sites including Chross and Spanking Writers and feeling very scared amongst the big guns. So please vote for me :)

Back before the Court

I was summoned before the court again, and was even more petrified this time. I hadn't considered in advance whether having been there before would make it better or worse this time. Better maybe, as I knew I could survive. Worse though, because I knew what was in store. With the previous experience I thought I knew how much it was going to hurt., thought I could circumvent their mind games.

I underestimated both.

They started freaking me out early on, tweets from various people about how much trouble I was in, the court summons emphasising the seriousness of a repeat offence, the mails from the Judge (out of role) asking me was I sure I was up for it, that Ms Switch was determined to make an example of me.

With the hassle over flights and the uncertainty of whether it would go ahead or not,  it wasn't until lunch-time on the day that it really hit home. I shriveled up into myself when reality dawned, as Abel who accompanied me will bear witness to. (He plans to write up his perspective on SW soon). They were going to hurt me, hurt me a lot. Not damage me of course, but certainly hurt me.

And for all my worrying and fretting it actually  turned out to be far worse than I could have imagined. I have never felt pain like it before. I honestly don't know how I got through it. Nor do I know what drives me to put myself through such an ordeal. Right now I am certain couldn't do it again. But knowing me as I do, I'm also sure I shall very likely do it again.

Before you read any further, note that this was a severe scene and the pictures at the bottom are testament to that. It's not everyone's cup of tea. I have no idea what motivates me to do something like this. But I wouldn't do it unless I trusted my play partners explicitly. Trusted them to be 100% accurate and to leave no lasting damage. As you can see all their marks are exactly on my lower bottom, which is my play zone. Whilst today I am slightly grazed and sitting very uncomfortably the marks will fade and in a few weeks I'll be playing again. And despite their evilness in the scene, I was much cuddled and fussed over afterwards and am flying high today!

Abel escorted me to court, my guardian and court representative. On arrival I was handcuffed and led to a cell to wallow in the misery of what was to come. When I was finally brought before the Judge he immediately pronounced me guilty. Abel could only plead for leniency in the sentence. There was none. I was a repeat offender and they were determined to teach me a lesson once and for all. The Judge spoke at length about how my last punishment could not have been efficacious enough as I seemed to have borne it too well, and had been too soon forgotten given that I was in trouble again already.

He sentenced me to two sets of 30 seconds with the spray birch and 24 strokes with the cane. As he discharged the court officials to their duty he ordered that they should not hold back, that I was to be made to repent, that he wanted to hear me cry out. On hearing this I started to cry with fear, sick to the bottom of my stomach,

As they strapped me in, I tried to focus, to draw some strength, to encourage the adrenalin to course through me. Ms Switch lifted the birch, the countdown wound to 0 and so it began. The birch builds and burns to an unbearable level, and I was soon in agony. This time I felt the individual strokes were harder, and afterwards it turned out there were actually a few less than last time as they concentrated in a more forceful impact. The first 30 seconds amounted to 53, and the last 10 seconds felt twice as long as the the first 20. But I clung on to not making a sound, erupting in noisy gulping sobs when it was done.  I struggled to compose myself, barely able to drink the water offered to me.

And then it was the turn of Mr Allen, just as hard but managing to get in a few more strokes, 61.  It was harder to hold on to my silence this time, as the intensity became too much, but I did, just about. Once more convulsed as the birching ended.

I took strength from that minor victory,knew it would be the only one that day,

The remnants of the birch were brushed from my raw bottom and then it was time for the cane. I only got a brief glimpse of the implement before we started. Later, I would appreciate that it was long and thick, almost Singaporean. Ms Switch's favorite apparently and one she used expertly, raising it behind her shoulder and bringing her full body behind it, making the impact drive through my bottom each time.

The first stroke was horrendous and I panicked. Absolutely no way I could take 23 more. I cried out in pain and despair. It was beyond what I could endure. The second was the same, cue more cries. And so on it went, with each stroke landing viciously whilst I was stunned in disbelief that anything could hurt so much. Feeling utter terror at the prospect of so many more to go, questioning my sanity to put myself through this.

At number 6, a particularly brutal one I gave way to my feelings, a blood curdling scream lasting a full 10 seconds. Full of pain, anger and despair. A brief respite then she lifted her cane again, pronouncing 18 more and that I'd better try to suck in the pain.


I did try. Some I bit back, others I gulped back and muffled my sobs with a pitiful 'oh', but most made me cry out loudly. I clung to getting to 12 and Mr Allen taking over. Have no idea why I thought it would be any better with him but I hoped it couldn't be worse.

When Ms Switch took up the cane again for 13 I died inside. I had nothing, no strength, no bravery, no adrenalin. I was done in. And still the strokes continued, all severe all unbearable, yet some more even harsher than others. Struggling so hard to deal with the pain, I managed to wrench my wrists free from the straps. My hands were numb and I was shaking. I couldn't take the last 8.

For a brief moment I had the hope they would stop, but no. I was permitted to keep my hands free, with my legs and bottom still securely fastened. Now with each stroke they had the pleasure of my head flinging back in pain. My red face and swollen eyes visible in the mirror for the watching Judge and my Abel. I vaguely wondered what they thought of this spectacle. Were they worried, nervous, pleased, sombre?

The one mercy shown to me was the last 4 were delivered relatively quickly. At 23, and only at 23, did I finally believe I could make it through.

When the last landed I struggled to breathe and lay face down gulping the air and praying there would be no extras. Dazed, disorientated, drained. But I had survived. And today I am flying. There is nothing I cannot do, there is nothing that can hurt me. I am free.

Directly afterwards. (The bruises at the top and on the left thigh were there already)

 

Bedtime that night