New Year, new 'old' me...

As I continued to heal and work through my grief, a great many things got back on track: work, friendships, relationships, health and kink. It wasn't all straightforward, and there have been a few steps back, as well as the many forwards, but the progress has been noticeable.

Throughout my scene life this blog was hugely important in helping me process my new experiences. The volume of posting had naturally diminished as I had fewer truly new things to talk about, but when I was going through the most painful experience I'd ever had, I found it impossible to write.

For me, writing has always been about processing, accepting, growing and moving on, i.e. dealing with something. But dealing with my sister's sudden death was not something I actually wanted to do. Without trying to be purposely self-destructive, I didn't consciously want to accept it or move on from it, because doing so meant letting her go, and the fear that I would forget about her. Therefore to write about it, or by association writing about anything at all, was too overwhelming,

Now I'm in a much better place, the solace of writing has presented itself to me again. A new awakening in kink too has meant a revisiting of old feelings that require documentation and debate. So I started writing again, just before Christmas, but not on this blog,

A little confession to make - I've always had another blog, Pollyanna. When I was fairly new in the scene and first writing, I was quite careful about being explicit about D/s and sexual play. Partly because I was shy, but also because I wanted A Painful Awakening to be about processing and reflection and a more rounded portrayal of me, Emma Jane. Pollyanna is in a very different style with little or no introspection. And therefore it was the easier of the two blogs to start writing in first.

Now I'm a lot less shy, and a lot less caring of what people think of me; crafting a public persona of Emma Jane is no longer important, and I'm happy to share Pollyanna's secrets. Not least because I have so many fabulous friends in this scene, who have seen me at my worst and supported me through hell; I've been more raw and exposed through real life pain than any scene could achieve and that's been truly humbling.

Looking back over the year, there's been many changes and notable events, but above all I feel I've reconnected with the people who really matter and have discovered a new kink awakening:

Abel and I are now living together and although we are open and playing with other people, we are not poly.

HH and I have ended our play relationship and discipline dynamic - a mutually beneficial change, but a painful adaption none the less.

We attended Shadow Lane for the first time, and loved seeing so many of our American friends. We are hoping to attend again this year, watch this space!

The Fawcett Hall Regency House Party proved to be as amazing as ever, with a wonderful group of people and some very entertaining moments throughout.

The Kinky Society (KSoc) met regularly throughout the year and makes me very happy to see so many of my scene friends in the one place.

And there's been numerous smaller kink events hosted by us, or our friends, that we've thoroughly enjoyed, as well as enabling us to meet some lovely new friends along the way.

So for the coming year I hope to continue healing in all aspects of my life and enjoy my kinky reawakening. And I also hope to get back to writing and sharing more frequently here and on Pollyanna.

Thank you, and Happy New Year!

Making my way back...

The signs had been good. Slowly getting back into wanting to play 'properly'. Certain types of scenes: caring, DD, and relatively easy headspaces. With time and practice and the desperate need to reclaim my head I was starting to get into proper roleplay again. Some times it's been easier than others but all the while I've definitely been moving forward. And within that, little by little, going deeper and deeper.

When Abel and I played a school scene during the week I felt I was almost back to where I used to be: so quickly had I slipped into Lucy's shoes; how easily I'd been that errant young student; and how ashamed I felt to have let myself and my school down.

And so I confidently planned scenes in advance of my recent visit to HH; I felt ready.

The first scene was to to start from the train and was intended to help me cast off my work persona and get into a good space to play. It was a fairly innocuous scene in theory: a young woman who'd lost her way and got into too much trouble, sent to a new guardian to make a fresh start in life. The idea was that careful guidance and a certain amount of discipline would set her back on track. There was nothing dark or abusive about it and I had planned to play her lightly - not taking the new life very seriously, at least at first.

To my surprise it was far from light. Ally turned out to be a complicated character and one I became so immersed in that I could see every aspect of her life: her past, her fears, her frustrations. All of which were hidden by the outward defiant persona that Mr Wilson (HH) was seeing. 

She fought back on everything from refusing to answer to Alison, to disdainfully wearing the clothes provided and insisting she wouldn't obey his stupid rules. She even refused to go across his lap for a spanking earned through her rudeness. Nor was it a cursory refusal as I would often do in a scene: it even getting to the point where it could have derailed the scene completely. Ally was outraged about being spanked and twisted and kicked and punched against him, but he was too strong for her. Finally overpowered, she gritted her teeth as she lay across his lap, waiting it out, trying not to show that it was hurting. Each time he paused to check on her attitude she threw barbed insults at him.

When he tried to take her knickers down the battle started afresh, with no let up from her, even when he threatened to rip them off. Normally in something like this EJ will take over and give in to keep the scene on the road, especially if a pair of knickers was at stake. But Ally was in charge. So Mr Wilson changed tack: sat her on his knee; explained how he could help her; made her aware that if he really wanted to beat her into submission, he could, but that her life had to change; emphasised that she no longer had any friends or family who cared about her and this was her last chance. It worked. Breaking into tears she let herself be hugged as she admitted she just wanted to go home.

Ally stayed in my head for a long time afterwards. And even when EJ eventually resurfaced I didn't feel at all like I normally do after great immersive play; I was down, upset for Ally and unable to forget her. The feeling lasted much longer than usual and it troubled me. Yes it was normal to have a period of resurfacing after scenes but these feelings were surprisingly painful. I couldn't cast off her despair. Was it because those feelings of misery were too like those I'm experiencing in my real life?

It made me doubt the other scene we'd planned: a much darker context. A maid who had breached her contract and had been sent to the House of Correction as punishment. It was to start with admittance to the institute and a private flogging which I knew would be severe. Despite changing the original premise of the scene, from one where she was blameless to where she was culpable of the offence and had redemption and hope when she finished her sentence, I still expected it to take me to dark places. I just wasn't sure I wanted to go there anymore.

I was worried about how I would feel post scene. What if I didn't fly? What if I got trapped in her misery and struggled to come out of the horrible dark place? I was also worried on practical level: I hadn't played a severe scene in a long time; I was afraid of how much it would hurt. In the end I decided to go for it, letting my fear build up as HH made his preparations.

Again I quickly slipped into Nancy's head: she was regretful of treating her employer so badly; wishing she had worked harder for him and not been so lazy; pitying herself for being sent to the House of Correction. Her hands shook as she made her birch, needing several attempts to secure the bundle. Blushed as he made her strip naked, laughing at her predicament. She was already crying by the time she was chained to the whipping bench. A properly terrified girl.

Anyone who's ever been spray birched can attest to how agonising it is and for Nancy nothing could have prepared her for the searing pain. She screamed in shock as the first few strokes fell, building quickly on each other; anticipated each following stroke in terror as she heard it swishing down with the shards breaking off every time it connected with her skin. It wasn't long before she was sobbing. At times she couldn't breathe, couldn't understand how she was surviving it. But she had no choice: whatever feelings EJ had on the matter were dismissed - there was only Nancy and the warden.

He was thorough and vicious: alternating between slow and fast strokes; ensuring the birch crept into the sensitive places exposed by how stretched she was over the bench; taking his time to land strokes precisely on her inner thighs, laughing at the louder shrieks of pain this elicited. He was a man determined to take her to the point of doing anything to make him stop: when he demanded what he wanted she didn't resist but silently complied. And then the last dozen strokes fell on her limp body as she lay crying silent tears.

Post this scene I hid under the bed covers on my own trying to come out of the scene. At this point HH always checks if I want him to stay near or leave the room. Either way he waits until I want him but he knows I can't be touched until I take Nancy out of the scene and then get out of her head. I cried until I retched, for her, for her misery, for the promise of more abuse to come, for the physical pain I was feeling.

But when I started to calm down and disassociate from her I cried even more to realise I wasn't feeling the usual relief in surfacing. The misery and fear refused to leave, the despair hung over, it all felt too familiar. Now I was crying for me, for the familiar feelings of fear and despair that are never far away. And I wondered why the hell I roleplayed such misery and fear when I've had so much of it, seen so much of it this year?

I didn't really recover from this scene until we played the rest of it the next day. When the Master took his turn to abuse her: birching her on her breasts and thighs, threatening a full repeat of her recent birching, so she was amenable to what he wanted. And when she faltered at a request, took a strap to her until she screamed, stuffed her mouth with his handkerchief to muffle the screams and then whipped her some more until he was satisfied she was fully compliant.

The difference with this scene was that I didn't go nearly as deep - I was Nancy, but EJ wasn't far away. But it brought closure to the character and in the end  I did fly and feel thankful that I could go back to the deep dark places and it wouldn't kill me. But then the real life deep dark places don't kill you either: you just make your way back, slowly, slowly, slowly.

Pain

I can't take the pain. It's too much. Too severe. I want it to stop. He holds me, saying nothing, listening to me scream.

 "Please, it's too much, I can't cope, I just can't cope"

I'd never imagined anything could hurt so much. I thought I was tough, I thought I was brave, I thought I was invincible.

I fought the tears of course. Tried not to give in. I've learned that if you build the walls high enough you can fight off most onslaughts. But he knew what he was doing. They all do. Expertly find the chinks in my armour with their weapons of choice: kind words, sincere hugs and unexpected presents; sometimes they even cry with me.  

His weapon was putting me over his knee, spanking me hard until the walls loosened, gently then so the tears started and finally a short firm burst, until I was sobbing.

Afterwards, when I've cried myself out I lie quietly, feeling better for now: beautifully, emotionally numb. My mind wanders to other times I've cried like this with him. The levels of physical pain he has caused me; the dark places he has taken me to and how much I loved the pain and misery that accompanied those times. I used to think I knew what severe pain was: I was wrong. 

In real life there are no safe-words. There is only time and love, and eventually the faint stirrings of hope.

Discipline, rules and consequences.

As regular readers of the blog will know, discipline and punishment is one of my main kinks. It's a dynamic that I have with HH, and only with him. It's not something that lends itself to multiple relationships and it requires a deep level of trust and understanding.

In the past few months when I haven been playing much the discipline has still been important. I ask HH for help with things: generally eating and sleeping properly and staying safe. I've written about such punishments on here previously and, generally, serious punishment doesn't happen very frequently.

A few weeks ago I sent him some new rules I wanted help with; ambitious ones. So ambitious that I soon gave up even adhering to them. On one level I knew I was getting into trouble and that made me happy (temporarily), and on another I excused myself as they were too stringent in the first place.

Combined with my return from the non-kinky wilderness I threw caution to the wind: I wanted to play and play hard. Somewhere in my head the line between roleplay and discipline muddled itself. So I made sure he knew I wasn't even trying with the rules. I wanted to be punished. I wanted to have no reason not to go through with it.

HH pulled me up on both of these things: wanting to be in trouble and setting rules I couldn't or wouldn't adhere to.

My 'don't care attitude' lasted about a week and then an email from him brought me down to earth. He reminded me the rules were meant to be about keeping me safe and healthy - not an excuse to enjoy being in trouble. Therefore he was going to punish me in such a way that neither of us would enjoy it, to make sure it didn't happen again.

In advance, we talked about how our weekend would work and I asked to be punished immediately so we could enjoy the rest of it. I also suggested being punished from the train, something we'd never managed to do before when I came to visit.

On the day I had to write him a list of all the rules I had broken and email it to him; it was a very long list. My initial attitude had been that if I was already in trouble what did it matter how many rules I broke? Writing the list it started to dawn on me that it would matter. His response confirmed it.

I was sick and nervous for the rest of the journey, and not in a good way; there was no anticipatory thrill, not relishing being in trouble.

When I arrived at the station he wasn't at the platform to greet me. Although I knew that he'd be waiting in the car it still hurt. Having to get into the car, with no hello, no hug, and driving home in silence was awful. Reality was dawning and it wasn't a comfortable one.

Once home he sent me upstairs to wait for him. The tears were already pricking so when he came up stairs and made me look him in the eye, as he lectured me, they started falling immediately. He didn't mince his words. Told me the rules were not for fun, not convenient reasons to find excuses to play. That he respected them, respected me; more than I did. Told me how he was genuinely disappointed to have to punish me knowing I hadn't even tried, that there was nothing to be proud of me for. That he wasn't used to having nothing to be proud of in my behaviour.

Looking into the eyes of someone you respect as much I respect HH and hearing that broke my heart. I was ready to accept all the pain he could create for me so I could absolve myself. At that point I needed for the guilt to be thrashed out of me.

But that wasn't to be. I wasn't allowed to escape that easily. He had warned me he would punish me in ways I truly wouldn't like and so he did. And some of it hurt, but mostly it just made me face up to parts of me I don't like and be bitterly ashamed of myself.

Once the initial lecture was delivered he took my jeans and panties down and put me over his knee. Calling me by my real name, he explained this wasn't EJ having her naughty bottom spanked, it was me, he spanked me with his hand. It wasn't even very hard, leaving me to think about how the real me, the career girl, oldest sister, control freak, perfectionist was across someone's knee getting a spanking. The stuff of fantasies once upon a time; the stark reality made me cry pitifully.

Afterwards he put me in the corner: nose to the wall for 6 minutes, timed with an egg timer. It doesn't sound like a long time but believe me it was an eternity. Having to stand still, time to think, feeling your panties and jeans pooled at your ankles, dreading what was to come next.

And next was being back over his knee again, another lecture directed to Me. The eggtimer again, this time for a steady hairbrushing. If 6 minutes had felt like an eternity, this 3 minutes felt like eternal hell. And as much as I tried to be brave and to not kick and wriggle I couldn't manage it. Another piece of me died.

The next part is so hard to think about, let alone write about. I swore afterwards I wouldn't blog it but it was a big part of the punishment and HH was adamant I couldn't hide during it. Hiding from my blog seems wrong.



He put me over his knee, my bottom high up in the air and gave me an enema. As he did it he described every step in detail, repeatedly using my name. There was no place to hide: his voice in my head, the uncomfortable sensation inside, the water trickling out; I was mortified.

When he was finished administering he hair brushed me, still over his knee, as I struggled to maintain control. And when he was finally done I pleaded to use the bathroom, natural urges overcoming my embarrassment.

But that was denied, I had to serve more corner time first. When he finally gave permission he told me he would allow me to close the door, but if he ever had to seriously punish me again he would stay in the bathroom with me. This small crumb of comfort broke any resistance I had left and I cried emptily.

I was completely broken and ready for the punishment to be over. He had made his point. But no, I hadn't been punished for everything yet. It was a long list, he reminded me.

Making me wear a pair of white panties and a white vest, he sat me at the school desk to write 100 times: "Agreeing rules and then disobeying them is silly and childish".  For every line that wasn't perfect he would give me one stroke of the cane.

The shame burned on so many levels. Not permitted a uniform to escape into a role, wearing white after the enema and not being allowed to leave the desk until my task was complete, not to mention the lines.

For people who don't know me very well this was another horrific task. I do not have neat hand writing and I'm too impatient usually for my writing to be even legible. It was one of the worst tasks he could have given me, but he knew that. Somewhere I applauded his ingenuity but mostly I hated how well he knew me and how that could be used to terrifyingly to my disadvantage.

Something inside me snapped. I was humiliated to the core, afraid of what was to come next and set up to fail with writing lines. I needed to fight back, but quietly. So I tried my hardest with the lines. I wrote each one slowly and carefully, concentrating on every letter. It took me well over an hour to write them all. My hand ached and I was cold, but they were perfect and I didn't get one cane stroke. It was a tiny victory.

Unfortunately we still weren't done. Printing out my email of transgressions he set it in front of me and asked me to write a list of the punishments so far and then read it to him, so I had to say it aloud. He  explained so far he had punished me for all but two of the rules I'd broken: there were two more punishments to come.

Taking me downstairs he told me to get the slipper. I didn't have the energy to beg or resist, just cried silently as I fetched it and got into position. He placed me over the bed, with my bottom and thighs tight and struck with his full weight behind it. It was excruciatingly painful and resulted in the normal howls of misery.

But it was familiar at least, and I could cope with it. Afterwards I was out of it, completely drained by the evening and promising never to do anything to earn such a punishment again. HH confirmed what I suspected: he hadn't enjoyed it either. He promised that over the weekend we would revisit the rules and come up with new ones that were less ambitious, with no excuses for not obeying them. He reminded me part of the lesson I was learning was not to be disrespectful of the discipline dynamic and to not set unrealistic expectations, putting to much pressure on myself.

The cuddles and reassurance afterwards were much needed. And although I had the exercise punishment to come, I knew I had mostly paid my dues and things would be OK.

That said by the time we did the forced exercise routine on Sunday I was shattered and bitterly resented having to go through more punishment. So what should have been a straightforward work out started and ending with a hard tawsing on my bottom and thighs and included an over the knee spanking in the middle, with me crying tears of misery throughout.

A friend texted during the weekend saying she'd never understand why I do the punishment stuff but just wanted to check I was OK. The truth is I don't understand why I do it either. It's just something I need; deep down really need. I don't want to receive a punishment like this ever again but it appeals to my kink knowing that the boundary is there, that HH will enforce it, if I need it.

It's all about discipline, rules, consequences and ME.

The naughtiness continues!

This evening Abel and I went out to dinner with some new friends. Let's call them Bambi and the Hunter. Mainly because one will really hate their name and the other will be bemused by it.

We've met Bambi and the Hunter a couple of times now. Enough for EJ to start escaping. Both are fairly new to the scene and meeting kinksters, although both experienced with each other. They're partly contributing to my kinky re-awakening as I look at their enthusiasm to play and their precious time grabbed with each other, making the most of it. I used to be like that; before I got spoiled and had play on tap. Before there wasn't room to flirt and brat and fantasise because my play was all around me.

But I digress, that's a blog post for another day. Needless to say with EJ escaping and finding a kindred spirit in Bambi the evening turned out to be playfully mischievous. First there was a ride on a carousel for Bambi, Abel and me. (Oh how we sniggered that Abel rode Joseph!) Then a trip to the big purple cow to sit on the magic mushrooms (work that one out yourselves people!) Before dinner in Yo Sushi.

Now this is one of my favourite places to eat at the minute but I hadn't truly appreciated the potential for brattiness. There's the water taps on the table: if you push the tap too hard everyone on the table gets splashed or if you overfill the drip tray people's feet underneath the table get wet! Then there's the fun of pressing the service bell, on and off, lights flashing and announcer claiming table 12 needs attention, followed by the exasperated look of the waiter arriving to find we weren't in need of anything at all. Or the fun of the carousel with the bowls of sushi. However, I'm not going to describe the strange chocolate dessert, save to say Abel's description of 'japanese condom' was very apt!

As the Hunter took Bambi off he promised she would pay for her naughtiness. Abel assured him I would pay for mine too. And so I got my first caning in my new home, with the dreaded dragon cane. I would have gotten six, but HH on hearing I was to be punished was so approving that Abel decided to double it, in his honour.

I can't tell a lie: the 12 strokes really hurt! But I was a good girl and took them bravely(ish). Didn't I stripe beautifully?

That feeling...

I've got that swoopy feeling in my tummy. You know, that squirmy, oh oh I'm in trouble, eeek feeling.

It started with a cheeky email, sent to that person, after a few glasses of fizz. It was bratty and provoking and he responded on form. Surely time to back down? Oh no, I haven't felt bratty in a long time, best to go all out, not leave him in any doubt of my intentions. Hence, I bravely declared that he didnt scare me: oh no, not a bit.

But sometimes he knows me better than I know myself. Today there was a short message: "I expect you've been regretting this. If not, you will." Not a threat, you see, but a promise. Now I'm properly scared; deliciously so. You see, I haven't felt properly scared in a long time, wouldn't let myself be. So yes, I'm worried that my bratting will be dealt with, know it will hurt and that I'll be crying regretfully. But at the same time I'm welcoming that feeling, so long absent.

And enjoying that feeling whilst still being properly scared is the delicious contradiction of consensual kink, right?

The words won't come...

I'm waving shyly at you lovely readers and hoping my absence will be excused. That's the first problem I face returning to the blog that I have shamefully neglected. Shameful not just because of the perceived neglect of the readers I've had for so long, but the neglect of myself and my need to document and process.

All I can offer is that it's been a challenging couple of months with health issues and family and personal stresses. But I feel in a better place now; not a perfect place, but a good place. Nothing is easy, but nothing is impossible either. Kink wise I'm playing with the people I love and trust the most and when play doesn't work out I still feel safe and cared for. And I'm surrounded by my friends, some of whom happen to be kinky, but it's not the defining link anymore. As ever my family are special and important.

Finding energy and space to write hasn't been a priority, yet I know I'm missing out on so much: I miss my blog and I miss my readers. But the words won't come. I want to talk about the wonderful kinky weekends and parties I've had and been too, the scenes that were great and the people I love. But the words won't come. And nor will the capacity to process the more difficult elements: the scenes that didn't work; the sudden and irrational anger, frustrations and jealousies; the relationships and groups dynamics that are tough to navigate. The words just won't come.

So here are some pictures to keep you close to me and let's all hope the words come back, when they're ready, when I'm ready.

I celebrated my 30th birthday recently and had a party with a London Blitz theme - the house was decorated in blitz style and all our guests wore 1940's costumes, and thanks to Lucy, all had perfect 1940s hair too. Below is just one of the many decorations and posters my dear Catherine Thomas made for the party! And the fabulous cake Kinky Ella made (using all her ration for months to do it!). Of course I went as an evacuee, determined that EJ's girly spirit was just as strong, even in my 30s ;-)

I've been trying to improve my overall health by getting fit and having a better diet. HH and Abel are very supportive of this, so much so they delight in over-seeing my training. This is all for my own good you see; as is caning me as extra motivation. Nothing whatsoever to do with their sadistic natures, apparently.

The last two are from a recent weekend away in the darkest countryside with HH and Abel - a weekend where I was their play thing, abused and used for their pleasure. Abel has written a great post about it here, for those of you who would like more detail. But I think these two pictures tell it all: the submissive girl, birch in hand going to meet her fate and the broken girl, sore and sobbing but yet feeling comforted and safe by those who know her best.