Justice for knickers!

I'm certain I have an underwear fetish. And what's more I don't believe I'm alone in this. Most of (all?) my kinky girl friends seem to have one too. Adele and Eliane and Niki have all posted at some stage about the numbers of knickers they possess. I'm tempted to follow suit and count mine too but I'm too lazy so let's just say they don't all fit in one large drawer and hardly a week goes by where I don't buy a pair or three.

Then Haron posted recently about favorite types of knickers for getting spanked in. Mine are certainly white cotton and most days just even wearing white cotton or white lacey knickers is a turn on for me. Probably because I mostly get spanked in such knickers, which then makes me associate being turned on by them all the more and then makes me want to be spanked in them. Hmmm it's all a bit of a chicken vs the egg scenario really and I've no idea which came first.

So anyway it's lovely being able to chat to girl friends about the latest knicker acquisition and to admire oneself posing in the mirror or dancing around wiggling one's bottom enjoying the thrill
of new knickerrs.

But to my dismay the toppy types I know don't seem to have the same appreciation for such things. Knickers are far too often whisked down without so much as a grudging compliment or a lingering rub of soft lace or delicate silk. Even cheeky messages on such knickers, agonisingly chosen for their needling ability are mostly ignored. And poor knickers spend most of the time around knees or even worse hanging off feet. It's really no way to treat such beautiful and sexy items. If I wasn't so busy suffering at the time I'd make my feelings on the matter known.

And to add insult to injury, one toppy friend laughed when I said I'd bought some new undies especially for our next playdate. 'What's the point, it's not like I'm going to let you wear them' he mocked. Cue much huffing and puffing from me and threats to turn up in just a fur coat and no knickers! (Except I wouldn't ever wear fur and he'd probably like that more anyway.)

So to combat this knicker vendetta from toppy types I'm suggesting a sleepover for all my kinky girly friends where we'll just sit around in our yummy knickers and bras and such and admire each other all night. We'll even try out the most suitable bending over angles that show of said knickers to best advantage. And it goes without saying there'll be unlimited changing of knickers with various hands helping in the removal and adjustment of such. There might even be an occasional gentle pat on the bottom, over knickers of course. And there'll be no toppy types allowed in to ruin the fun by making us take them off.

There, that'll teach 'em!

The kinky contradiction

So Lollipop has started reading my blog. (*waves if she's reading this*). But it was after much thought and with some trepidation that I gave her the link. Although I really wanted to know what she thought of my writing (being a professional herself), I was worried about what she might read!

I told her I was kinky when I first got into the public scene last year but had never discussed the specifics with her. She knew I liked to be told what to do and that was as much detail as I gave her! And when describing a play scene I'd use words like 'killed' or 'beaten'. I never talked about spankings or canings or paddlings, afraid of oversharing. And even though she helped me pick my outfits I guessed she didn't know what I was up to. Part of me figured she might be imagining that I was into more extreme stuff than I was (you know hanging from the ceiling by my nipples).

So we discussed it and knowing I had started the blog she admitted to being curious. So I gave her the link, letting her decide, warning her that some of it might be too weird for her. When she got round to reading it she mailed me suggesting coffee and saying the blog has raised lots of questions. Cue panic from me. Had I freaked her out? Did she no longer support my choices? Would she stop being my alibi?

But when we met her main questions were 'does it hurt' and 'do you enjoy it at the time'?

Which made me laugh cos I suddenly got a viewpoint of how we looked to vanillas. So puzzled by what we do that they rationalised it through thinking we might be immune to the pain. So the first question was easy to answer. Yes it bloody hurts. Some things more than others, but it all hurts. But the thing is (for me anyway), there's no point if it doesn't hurt. So that was easy to answer.

But the other question not so easy. Do I enjoy it at the time? Well mostly it's a roleplay scene so I'll generally be so into roleplay and headspace that there's no time to check in on the enjoyment levels. I'm usually scared, worried, apprehensive, sorry, regretful, cowed or sometimes even defiant if the scene calls for it. And I enjoy all those feelings. And I enjoy it even more when it's over, the relief of finishing it and the lovely endorphin rush that goes with it.

But the pain itself I don't actually enjoy at the time. I have asked myself this many times, but I truly don't think I'm a masochist. I don't get off on the pain. Being beaten just for the sake of it is not my thing at all. But I love the feelings created by the use of pain within a scene. I can't have the experience I crave without the headspace of the scene or an element of pain. They don't work in isolation.

And sometimes I like to play at parties or clubs where my ideal headspace is never going to be created. But on those occasions I love the very public act of submitting and surrendering that's conveyed by taking whatever pain I'm given.

So it's very contradictory and quite hard to explain to a vanilla. I don't enjoy it, but I do.

Beyond kink

This is a bit of a self-indulgent, feel good, not much kinky stuff here, type of post. But it's what's on my mind so guess I'll go with it.

As I posted earlier in the week, I took some time to take stock after a very intense play weekend and a very busy month of play full stop. I actually felt played out (although already I'm getting my spanking mojo back!). So this week my scene and kinky thoughts have been more of the reflective than fantasy type.

I couldn't help but think about how far I'd come since nervously placing my profile on Spankfinder in the hope of finding anyone at all to play with, to where I am now. Sitting on a still striped and tingly bottom practically played out. And to all that's happened in between. It's mind blowing to think of all the amazing experiences I've had, many of which I've posted about here.

But what I don't talk about enough are all the wonderful people I've met. Some of whom are becoming great friends, both at home and abroad. (You know who you are!) They only get mentioned here when we've just played a scene together (as fellow bottoms, tops or when letting me practice on them) or when we're planning some devilment! What doesn't get mentioned is the non-kinky stuff. The fun/happy/angry/sad/angsty/supportive/giggly texts or calls or emails, that trade back or forth. The non-kinky interests and conversations. The real life advice.

Even Lollipop commented the other day that I was lucky to be making such a lovely new group of friends. (Seeing as she loves to meet new people even more than I do she's probably considering turning kinky just to get in!)

And she's right, I am lucky. Cos I've realised that although I met these people through the like-mindedness of kink, I'd actually like to hang out with them even if there was no kinky stuff on the menu. If we didn't even get to talk about it, if we just had be vanillas.

Of course it just makes it all the more fun that we do get to indulge our kink to our hearts content ;)

Discipline Fetish

My post yesterday describing my first mouth soaping resulted in a few comments on the horrors vs hotness of it. I started to comment in response and then realised I needed a whole post in itself to explain.

Personally I had always been curious about it and since HH knew this, it was bound to happen in at least one of our scenes. So I figured I'd try it once and never want to do it again. But that wasn't the case. I'd certainly submit to it again.

Now don't get me wrong, the whole thing was horrible. The soap was disgusting and I had to suffer through the whole scene feeling and tasting it in my mouth. And even afterwards when I brushed my teeth I could still taste it for hours. Ugh!!

I also feel the same way about hand tawsing. I hate it so much at the time. Having to hold out your hands for each stroke. The unbearable pain and the lasting burning afterwards. Plus there are only so many strokes you can take. Your tolerance never increases, your hands don't warm up to let you take more. Each hurts more than the last one and you can't be stoic and unflinching.

So why would I willingly do both of these horrible things again?

HH and I discussed this at length and we came to the conclusion that it's because both really appeal to my discipline fetish. I want to be a good girl. A well-behaved girl. A disciplined girl. Even before I knew I was into spanking or had any spanking thoughts at all I was obsessed with rules and discipline. My earliest fantasies were of people being subjected to lots of rules. Being obedient. Being disciplined. An interest in the physical act of discipline came much later.

For me mouth soaping and hand tawsing are both very pure forms of punishment. Like writing an imposition or standing in a corner for a long time, or being sent to bed early. Yes the thought might be hot but the reality is not! For me, this is real discipline.

Then there's the sense of shame that goes with these punishments. The inability to be brave. The absolute unpleasantness of both. And for me they are non-sexual compared to other punishments on my bottom, breasts etc. During those punishments I often feel a huge endorphin rush and usually don't want the scene to end until we've played for a long time or I've been taken to my limits.

With pure punishments I want them to end as soon as they start. I don't want to extend them and I won't purposely misbehave to get such attentions. So I feel truly punished if my mouth is soaped out or if my hands are tawsed. And being truly and deservedly punished is at the heart of my discipline fetish.

A painful lesson

Another scene from my latest kinky escapade....

Anna has been sent to stay with her Uncle Henry, much to her complete horror. She begged her parents to take her with them on their month long trip to Thailand, but to no avail. Bangkok was no place for a teenager and Uncle Henry would love to have her stay.

Anna wasn't so sure, Uncle Henry had always struck her as very old fashioned, always saying that girls should be seen and not heard and muttering about discipline. She couldn't see that they were going to get along at all or why he'd want her there in the first place.

Her fears were realised when he gave her a detailed schedule for each day. She was expected to spend the whole morning in study, completing arbitrary tasks such as copying out the botany dictionary or learning all the spellings in the Victorian spelling book that he had. Despite her protests that none of it was at all useful to her in her current schooling. Even worse he made her carry out these tasks wearing her school uniform. It was so unfair.

The afternoons were only slightly better with her either being assigned some boring task such as typing up his letters or else being dragged out on a long nature walk. She wasn't permitted to watch TV and the only books she was allowed were those deemed as suitable for improving a young lady's mind.

She didn't think it could get any worse, until it did.

Believing her uncle to be out on business all day she took advantage to stay in her room and text her boyfriend James. She'd been careful enough to keep her phone hidden from Uncle Henry and only used it when he wasn't around.

She was giggling at a particularly naughty text from James when her uncle stormed in. What a sight she made, sprawled across her bed, with her legs in the air and her uniform very untidy indeed. She sat up in shock and tried to hide her phone but Uncle Henry had seen it. Grabbing it from her he demanded to know what she had been doing and why she wasn't studying in the library as she ought.

She mumbled excuses about a nap but he didn't believe her. Going through her phone he found her latest messages to James and instructed her to read them aloud. Mortified she complied.

"I'd take my shirt off and let you look at me. So wish you were here. Hiding out from pervy Uncle H, only another week to go, thank fuck"

and another

"Oooh that's very naughty of you but think I'd like that. It would feel so nice. I'm getting excited. Kisses Anna"

Uncle Henry was disgusted with her, calling her a very dirty girl and wanting to know who James was. He threatened to tell her parents and suggest they send her to a strict convent to complete her education. Anna was so mortified by this she begged him not to tell them. She couldn't bear for them to find out and agreed to take her punishment from Uncle Henry instead.

To her horror, he first of all made her strip out of her uniform, pointing out if she couldn't wear it neatly she'd better take it off altogether. Poor Anna was so embarrassed but afraid to disobey. Blushing hotly she stood before him naked trying to cover herself with her hands until he made her stand up straight with her hands on her head. Looking her up and down he coldly told her that if she behaved like a slut he'd treat her like one.

Then he took her to the bathroom and scrubbed her all over for being such a dirty girl. Anna was so ashamed she cried. But worse was to come, she had her mouth soaped out for her bad language in the text. It was so awful. He scrubbed her mouth thoroughly and then made her hold the bar in her mouth while he scolded her about her slutty behaviour and ill-disciplined ways, warning her he was going to teach her a lesson she'd never forget. Finally, she was allowed to spit it out but the taste of the soap stayed with her for a long time after.

Back in her room he shamed her further by enquiring whether she had acted on the messages she was sending, and didn't believe her fervent assurances that she hadn't. To teach her naughty little hands to behave he strapped them hard with a tawse. The tears rolled down her face as she had to hold her hands up to him again and again until each burned with vivid red stripes.

Clutching her hands in agony Anna prayed he was finished but no, she was then bent over for the cane. Lying across a high armchair so her legs were lifted off the floor she felt so vulnerable. Trying to grip the arms of the chair with her hands still burning, she waited for the cane to descend.

Each stroke was so blindingly hard that she struggled to count as instructed. First, 12 across her bottom, delivered that hard and fast they blended into one continuous burning pain. 12 more, slower, but on her thighs, causing her to shriek in agony after each one. The final 12, across both her bottom and thighs, re-igniting previous strokes. She desperately counted down each one.

She was so relieved when he lifted her down that she didn't mind that he sat her on his lap and held her close. Brushing away her tears and consoling her. Not caring how long he held her as long as the pain stopped.

Taking stock

I'm worn out people.

Physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted. That's what 3 days of intensive play does to you. If any top turned up on my doorstep looking to beat me, I'd have to turn him away. That's not a place I've ever been before!

But apart from being exhausted I'm quietly ecstatic and very content. And also relieved that I haven't crashed yet. At this stage wondering if I will at all. Maybe because even my voracious appetite for playing was sated. Or maybe cos vanilla life has kept me too busy. Or cos the weekend didn't actually happen at all (although my rainbow striped bottom is testament to the fact it did!).

I'm finding some of it hard to process. Thinking about scenes we did and questioning myself. Did we really do that? Did it really hurt ? Did I really cry?

The biggest surprise for me with all the play was how into it I got, how much I let go and became the character I was playing. We played 7 proper scenes overall and I was fully into the role in all but the birching one.

Caoilfhionn made an appearance for detention while EmmaJane atoned for her sins at the hands of Sir Henry. Poor Anna was sent to stay with her strict Uncle, twice. While Victoria was subjected to a Minority Order, Jacqui was kidnapped and Matthews was sent to a reformatory. Most of these girls had detailed backstories that we discussed at length, and apart from the birching I was never told in advance what the punishment would be. Meaning I was always caught off guard.

Of course being able to immerse so fully into each role was obviously a lot to do with HH, a tremendously experienced roleplayer who took the lead in each scene. His energy was great to feed off. And then there was the trust that was building between us the more we played. But in some scenes I went extremely and unexpectedly deep, particularly in Jacqui's kidnap scene. I haven't posted about it yet because I'm not sure how to give it justice.

In the scene I was an innocent girl who had been kidnapped by a gangster to make my boyfriend give him what he was owed. It was being filmed for my boyfriend's benefit and I was being tortured to convince him to comply with the demands.

It was very different from the guardian/school roleplays we had been doing up to then, even if the physical punishment wasn't necessarily any harder. But it was a completely different headspace. He didn't have the right to be in control of me and abuse was to the forefront. Even his persona was very different. He didn't play nice, obviously delighting in my pain and taking all kinds of liberties with me. Enjoying my distress and laughing when I tried to free myself.

It was such an intense scene that although I shed very few tears during it, afterwards I sobbed my heart out. I had come as close as I've been to being broken and the relief when it was over was almost overpowering. At first I was shocked at my reaction and tried to contain myself, partly for HH's sake. But he was so reassuring and encouraged me to give way to it that I did. He held me as I cried, sobbing in waves until it was all out of my system. It was so liberating.

I still feel this huge sense of catharsis from the whole weekend. And I delight in thinking back to each scene: what I wore, what HH said, my reactions, the punishment I got, how I felt and the lovely hugs afterwards. All great thoughts that will keep me going for a long time.

It means that right now I'm content to just take stock. And I'm actually looking forward to some play free weeks as I regroup and process everything we did. So that when my next playdate arrives I'll be raring to go again, as I have no doubt I will be!

Under the rod

The day of my first birching dawned and we ended up playing a lot that day so it was left until the evening. At that stage we'd been playing for a few days and done some very intense scenes, including the penultimate one which was probably my most intense scene of all (more of that to come). Therefore, neither of us intended the birching scene to be intense, at least not from an emotional or head space perspective.

After dinner HH made me refer to Zille's blogpost on how to make a spray birch, feeling that was the type our switches were suited to. A new departure for him and he mused a lot about whether it would be a worthy implement. More humiliation for me as I sulkily tried to figure out how to transform the bundle of leafy switches into a birch rod. To be fair he was very patient with me and after much fussing we managed to make a decent rod that he was happy to beat me with.

I was quite nervous as we discussed the scene in advance, having no idea what to expect. Could I take it? Would the first rod I ever made break in half? Would the fact I already had a very sore bottom impede play? Would HH go too easy on me and I'd end up unsatisfied from the experience? (That of course was a really foolish thought!)

As it was not intended to be an intense scene the backstory was short and to the point. I was Matthews (we didn't even give her a first name), sentenced to the reformatory for two years for recurrent theft. As with all inmates I was to be birched on arrival.

Officer Higgins was succint in his introdcution to reformatory life, merely warning me this was the type of punishment I could expect so it would best to behave myself. I was silent and cowed, not wishing to earn extra punishment. When he told me to remove my jeans and knickers and lie over the whipping bench I silently obeyed.

He asked if I wanted to be restrained and I declined, finding it too claustrophobic at the best of times, even more so with a new implement. I also like the challenge of staying in position; it helps me focus.

I lay face down on the padded whipping bench, arms stretched forward with my hands on the bars underneath, feet across the edge and my bottom raised by a pillow. The seconds passed by slowly as I tried to calm my nerves. I was too conscious of the newness of the situation to get into character. It was certainly EmmaJane lying there, not really Matthews at all. 'Just another beating, just another beating', my internal mantra.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him lift the birch and tried to brace myself. A few taps across my bottom before the first stroke lashed down. I pride myself on being as quiet as possible during my beatings, only crying out when it gets too much for me, which is usually well into a punishment.

In this case I cried out from the first stroke. It landed on the seat of my bottom with the twigs splaying out over my thighs and I felt burned all over, yelping in shock. Then I felt ok until another stoke landed to a corresponding yelp and that horrid burning sensation once more. Again followed by some relief until the next stroke.

It wasn't long until the slow burn kicked in, and I felt less and less relief between strokes. There were very few I took in silence and I was frustrated at the intensity of the pain. I was undone by my screaming and how much it was hurting and at one stage I kicked my legs down on the bench in a complete tantrum. This didn't go unnoticed by Officer Higgins. He quickly lashed down 10 hard strokes in a row, giving me no time to recover in between and making me scream in agony.

For the rest pf the birching I clutched the edge of the bench and forced myself to stay down, exhaling the pain with each stroke. But I couldn't absorb it, couldn't distill the intensity. It wasn't long before I had tears in my eyes, which flowed with each nasty stroke across my thighs.

I had no idea how many he intended to give me but I was roughly counting in my head. Hoping that each milestone reached would mean he'd stop. I hung on until 24, then 50 and then howled through each subsequent set of 10. He made me count the final 10, hardest of all but easier to take knowing I'd soon be finished, crying through each one.

In the end I got roughly a 100.

When he stopped I was ordered into my reformatory uniform, wincing as I pulled on the tight white knickers. My skin felt on fire, hot and sore all over. But very soon afterwards it was bearable and on inspection my skin was barely marked. I was amazed that something could hurt so much and yet only leave little red dots to tell it's tale!

I am in awe and think it's going to an implement I'm going to love and hate in equal measures. At the time it feels like the worst pain in the world. That you couldn't possibly take another stroke, especially when delivered quickly. Yet when it's finished it dulls straight away to a soothing, tingling burn. Yummy.

Worth all the hassle and humilation of having to make the bloody thing in the first place!

A rod to beat me with

When HH and I set off to visit a nice stately home and gardens I wasn't at all worried that I'd end up being switched in public again. That was partly because there were no other brats around to get me into trouble (you know who you are!). And also because I had just been soundly thrashed and sitting was difficult enough already. So I was determined not to get into trouble again anytime soon. As it turned out the visit passed very pleasantly indeed with no corner time, spanking or molesting whatsoever.

It wasn't until the return journey that I had cause to worry. We were driving down little wooded lanes with HH scanning the hedgerows, muttering things like 'that's too mature, too young, not actually birch'.

The realisation was slowly dawning that we were on the search for a birch tree which led to the conclusion that someone was going to be birched; more than likely me. I sat very quietly in the car hoping we wouldn't find any. And when he made me get out of the car to wander down a little lane I trudged sullenly behind him, sticking my tongue out when I thought he wasn't looking. (Turned out he had noticed but I was let off as the pursuit of birch was more important!)

I felt very unhappy that I had to actually go out and physically get the birch. That just seemed inhumane, to have to go and get your own rod to be beaten with. HH reminded me that he could just send me out on my own to get it and whip me even more if I didn't come back with the right kind of birch. So I kept my complaints to myself.

And when we finally found a suitable birch tree, (neither too young or too old, or too brown or too green or too high) I had to watch as he slowly inspected each branch for its whipability. The whole process was very humiliating! And further compounded by me having to carry the bundle of switches back to the car, to the stares of local walkers.

The bundle then sat in the hall waiting to be bound into a rod. Apparently I had to do that bit too which was just a further degradation. But worst of all was having to wait. I wasn't being birched until the next day...

Subject to a Minority Order

HH, has introduced me to the Minority Order. A law introduced to help young offenders rehabilitate their lives. I was Victoria, a 25 year old girl who had led a very wayward life, having left school early, having no steady influences in her life, no job and on threat of eviction from her flat. She has come to the attention of the authorities on more than one occasion and having being found guilty of a second account of theft is sentenced to a Minority Order as follows:

"Victoria Andrews, you have been found guilty of theft. The court has enquired into your circumstances, and it is clear that you have been letting your life go to waste.
You have potential, but you have not been fulfilling it. You need a new start, and a new chance. Your case is exactly what was envisaged in the Young Offenders Act 2003, and I intend to use the new powers given me by that Act. I direct that you are henceforth subject to a Minority Order and that your legal date of birth is now May 17th, 1994."

Victoria was now 15 and put under the wardship of Mr Higgins, her new guardian. Expected to attend school, live in his house, obey his rules and be subject to discipline if she failed to meet his expectations. It was a tough adjustment for her.

But part of her was hopeful about this new turn of affairs. It was better than being turned out on the street and at least she didn't have to worry about where her next meal was coming from. There wasn't much of a life to leave behind anyway and going back to school wasn't so bad. She had always been a bright girl but lacked encouragement. And Mr Higgins was insistent that she would do well in what he termed her 'second chance'.

And although that first night he'd taken a great deal of time to explain what he expected of her, clearly telling her the household rules and the consequences of breaking them, she was an entire month in the house before she experienced the real meaning of this.

Arriving late home from school she was surprised to find him waiting for her. He had been expecting her home at 4:15, while she had gone to the shops on her way back and didn't understand what she had done wrong. He berated her for not asking permission to go to the shops and she argued that it was on her way and she was already outside the house so didn't think she needed permission.

She was then dispatched to do her homework with the promise of 'talking about this later'. After dinner she was sent up to her room to await him and the conclusion of the discussion. Sitting on her bed in the childlike nightdress they made her wear and clutching her teddy bear she felt resentful of the situation. What was the point of trying so hard to be good when you got into trouble anyway? The minutes ticked by and she alternated between anxiety and anger.

When he entered the room carrying a slipper she felt afraid but stared sullenly at her nightdress. He sat on the bed and spoke in a firm but gentle voice, about how the rules were for her own good and he had to know where she was at all times. That it wasn't proper for a 15 year-old to be wandering around on her own. That he didn't want to punish her but it was for her own good.

He stood her before him and asked her did she have anything to say. She knew what he wanted to hear but her frustration at the situation took over, she was 25 for christ's sake and she hadn't done anything wrong. All she could say was how unfair it was, that she had been good and he was punishing her for no reason.

With a sigh, he pulled her over his knee lifting up her nightdress and started to spank her with his hand. She gasped at how much it hurt but tried to stay still, not wanting him to know how much. He spanked her hard and fast making her bottom sore and hot and she held as still as she could, refusing to give in. He finally stopped and stood her up and asked her again had she anything to say. Less sure of herself she whined, 'but it's not fair, it really isn't', pleading with her eyes. Over his knee she went again, panties pulled down to bare her bottom. Now she couldn't help but wriggle as the smacks rained down even harder. But she stubbornly clung to thinking she was right and refused to say she was sorry.

When he stopped again she thought it was over, but to her shock he positioned her over the end of the bed. Panties down, nightdress pulled up high above her waist, he picked up the slipper. Paused and looked at her expectantly but she refused to tell him that she was sorry. She had survived the spanking, how hard could a slipper be?

The first strokes took her breath away, making her gasp in shock. She had never felt anything like it. He continued increasingly harder as she struggled to stay still and take them, her mind struggling to believe that someone would do this to her. Her bottom on fire with the pain. Stroke after stroke until she was yelping and pleading for him to stop. After several more he asked her was she sorry and she replied she was, that she was very sorry and wouldn't do it again. She would have done anything to make him stop.

Standing her before him he told her that he was sorry that they had to go through all that before she had admitted what she had done and apologised. That it would have been much easier for both of them if she'd done so straight away. Then asked her was she ready to take her punishment. Her cries that she has just been punished were met with a frown and she quickly changed tact, mumbling that yes she was ready.

He ordered her back over the bed and pronounced 10 with the slipper. Tapping her already sore bottom he then took aim and smashed the slipper down. She knelt on the floor from the pain struggling to breathe and count 'one, thank you sir' as requested. And so on for the remaining strokes. Some she managed to stay in position for but many had her standing upright howling in pain. The last one, hardest of all and she collapsed on the bed clutching her bottom.

He gave her a comforting hug and reassured her that all was forgiven before tucking her into bed with her teddy. As he switched off the light and left the room she turned over on her tummy, gently touching her bottom with her hands. It was still hot and very sore and she winced as she found a particularly sore spot.

The reality of the Minority Order had just hit home. Firmly.

The embarrassment of kink

This kinky business has landed me in more than a few embarrassing situations lately. Usually when I have to interact with vanillas when either preparing for a kinky adventure or having just returned from one.

There was the trip to Marks&Spencers a while back to buy school shirts and socks. I definitely don't look old enough to have a daughter aged 16, and as young as I may sometimes look, I certainly don't pass for 16 myself. The embarrassment I felt was heightened by having to go back to the shop and return the shirts for a size 13 instead. I felt like such a pervert!

Or my wax appointments. I go to the same girl every time. I like her a lot cos she causes me as little pain as possible. As much as I can handle a great deal of pain in a scene, in vanilla situations I turn into a wimp!

The first time I got caught out was just after my first Nimhneach. I hadn't even thought about the fact my bottom was completely black and blue until she gave a horrified gasp and asked what happened to me. Going bright red I mumbled rugby and she oohed and ahhed at me for the rest of the appointment. Now I have to remember to pretend I still play rugby when she asks, even though I haven't played for years.

So after that I got much better at scheduling appointments before play scenes. But sometimes, like lately, there's too much play going on for that. Hence I found myself stripping off earlier this week hoping that a) she wouldn't notice the cane marks on my bottom or b) that if she did she wouldn't say anything. In the end she didn't say anything but I don't know if that was cos of the former or the latter!

And as for the saga of shortening the school skirt for Lowewood; it was probably the most mortifying of all. I'm blushing just thinking of it. I had pinned it up to the desired length. And yes that turned out to be quite a short length indeed, just barely covering my bottom. But I wanted a school uniform that was more grown up to contrast with my very proper knee length skirts and pinafores.

So off to the dressmakers with me. The one I usually go to is in a very lively part of Dublin and the people working there are your typical down to earth Dubs who have no problem saying what they think. They were horrified by the proposed length and asked several painful questions.

'Are you sure you want it this short? Is it for you? But it'll only go to here (demonstrating by putting it against me). That'll barely cover your arse'. I had to utter several assurances that it was indeed what I wanted before making my escape.

Only to have to go through it all again when collecting it. 'Oh you're the one with the skirt, very short it is, very short' said one, holding it up so the rest of the staff could see. Cue much nodding of heads and tutting all round. Finally, I was allowed to take my skirt and my leave, but not before I was warned I'd be sure to get pregnant if I went outside dressed like that!

Effectively gagging

No this is not a post about me gagging for sex or kinky play, or even about gagging during sex or kinky play. So sorry if I've misled you into reading! I'm actually talking about the restriction of conversation type gag that I must force upon myself to prevent unplanned disclosure of my kink.

For a chatterbox, speak before thinking type like me, gagging myself is no mean feat. Especially when returning from a fantastic kinky weekend such as the one just gone. And you come back from it flying. And your best kinky friend is still over there having even more kinky fun. And you're worried that Lollipop (the vanilla who knows) has had her kinky news quota for the week. So all that's left is to shut up and save it for the blog!

The inevitable what you get up to at the weekend on Monday morning was answered by me with a grumpy silence. That worked, no further questions. Although lots of meaningful looks that said she's probably been dumped by the boy (fictional boy interest as discussed here).

Later nearly bit tongue off when started to moan about how painful it was to sit down on the hard chairs in the canteen. But didn't quite manage to stop myself saying my arms were killing me from netball. Follow-up with story of random netball game in the park to much shaking of heads and muttering of 'you crazy lady'.

At coffee break, pregnant colleague just returned from baby scan knowing sex of baby. Fight urge to show off newly acquired knowledge on foetal gender development during biology at Lowewood (ontogeny repeats phylogeny!).

Seriously, it's way too exhausting to have to censor everything I say. And I'm getting caught out more and more. Like telling a friend I had put pics on Fetlife before hurriedly saying Facebook.

Or being caught off guard and answering a question truthfully, 'What you buy in town?' enquires flatmate looking at large M&S bag. 'Oh just some shirts and socks for school'. Cue puzzled look from said flatmate, 'you mean work, right? Me blushing, 'yeah work, right!'

Sometimes wish I was the shy, nothing to say type!

Thinking of what's to come

I'm off again on another kinky adventure and feeling just a little bit apprehensive. This time I set out knowing exactly what's in store for me. Because he's told me. In detail.

I'm going to be punished for any slight transgression, whether in public or private.

I'm going to be disciplined for my recent bad behaviour.

I'm going to be made to regret the cheeky things I say.

I'm going to have my mouth washed out with soap for using foul language.

I'm going to have my face scrubbed for wearing make-up.

I'm going to be spanked soundly before being put to bed.

I'm going to be slippered for not doing my chores.

I'm going to be stood in a corner to think about my behaviour.

I'm going to have my hands strapped and then have to write an imposition.

I'm going to be tawsed for lying.

I'm going to be caned for leaving the house without permission.

I'm going to be birched for the first time.

I'm going to cry.

I'm going to sob my apologies.

I'm going to promise to behave.

No wonder I'm apprehensive...

Topping hazards

Master Retep's latest post made me laugh. He was complaining about a spanking that he administered that left his hand swollen and sore the next day. Not sure about the rest of you bottom types but I take delight in toppy types getting injured when dishing out the spankings!

Like when my good friend Frank hand spanked 3 of us so hard at one Nimhneach that he had a massive blister the next day (and posted the pics to prove it!). In fairness it was some feat to administer 3 sounds spankings in a row (to the beat of some techno music) but none of us were at all sympathetic to his injury!

Or when Aegean from Sound Punishment came to visit and his hand started to bleed as he spanked me. He stopped mid spanking to complain and then switched to a cane. I really don't see how it was my fault but I did enjoy telling everyone afterwards that I had broken his spanking hand.

And that time another toppy friend was flicking a bull whip and caught himself on the nose with the backlash (my offer to lend him by girl's guide to whipcraft didn't go down well at this juncture!).

Then there's the injuries that I am actually responsible for causing to the tops myself. Like kicking Frank in the head while struggling over his knee one time. He was so impressed I didn't even get any extra! Or kicking Abel so hard I left bruises. Although seriously if you are silly enough to hold my legs down when someone else is beating me with a nasty bath brush you deserve everything you get.

And doesn't it usually seem that toppy types are quite wimpy when it comes to pain? They can give it out but they can't take it. Like screaming if you give the tiniest of pinches or the gentlest of nips with your teeth. And how come one little pinch or nip can result in 6 cane strokes? That seems slightly over the top, which to be fair most tops are!

Living for all these highs and lows

Lately I've been having some pretty amazing experiences kink wise. From spanking parties, to kinky days out to full-on school role-plays. And within all those experiences I've met and played with new people and tried new things. It's been fantastic!

Many of these experiences have involved role-play, an important part of what what we do. Allowing us to fully immerse into the scene and react naturally to what is happening. It also ensures there's variety to what we do. It's not just another beating. From schoolgirls to maids to teenagers to reformatory girls, all with different backgrounds. The list is endless and therefore the play opportunities are endless. And playing with different people and using different scenarios means you can never predict how a scene will turn out, which is the best part of all.

And great play means you achieve that state where you want to stay in role and play forever. You've reached a 'high', created by both the endorphin rush from the physical punishment and all the emotions released in the scene. Your spirits are rampant and you feed on the energy around you from both the tops and bottoms you play with.

The only downside to so much fun and roleplaying, is the inevitable crash when it's over. Especially when doing group scenes or playing for an extended period of time.

And as Eliane discussed yesterday, this drop is further enhanced by others around you dropping at the same time, all reluctantly letting go of the scene and mentally preparing for real life again.

For me the drop is further compounded by having to leave all the people I've just been playing with, not quite sure when I'll see them again. In the last few months I've made some great new friends and the more I see them and spend time with them, the harder it is to say goodbye.

In our quest for such great 'highs' we are setting ourselves up for this drop. And the bigger the 'high', the bigger the drop. But sub drop or top drop as it's known, is an accepted hazard of what we do and I for one wouldn't have it any other way. I'd rather have serious 'highs' and 'lows' than mediocre experiences that don't even register when they're over.

And fortunately, for me anyway, the drop doesn't last long. Once I process the event in my head and get some much needed sleep, I turn to looking forward to my next adventure. I'm living for all these highs and lows!

Learning by doing

I've always been a fan of learning by doing, being the impatient type who likes to jump into things. Sometimes this works in my favour and at other times I should really wait to be taught, like when I was 17, got into the family car and promptly drove it into a gate.

But at least in my kinky endeavours as a bottom, learning by doing is exactly the right approach for me. I'll never know unless I try and as I grow more confident in myself and my ability to decide what I want, I'm being much more experimental and pushing my boundaries. Fortunately for me I'm experimenting with very experienced bottoms and tops and so far haven't done anything that's unduly traumatised me!

And in my brief topping career so far, it's certainly been a learning by doing exercise. As I posted previously I first topped a few months back with spanking and hairbrushing my friend C. The first minute he was over my lap was mostly me trying to find a rhythm and making my hand effective as an implement. It took me a while but I did manage to impart a spanking that counted and when I moved onto the hairbrush he really felt it. A good start to topping. He was brave and I was grateful he trusted me.

But I think the other night playing with Eliane, she pushed the boundaries of bravery and trust, offering up her bottom to a first time caner. (You can read her version of events here). Learning by doing may work for me but it could have gone horribly wrong for her. We had no toppy supervision and I was certainly feeling my way!

It ended up being an interesting experiment in many ways. I was very conscious of the burden of control being on me. I was in charge and although we both knew she could safe word at any time, the onus was on me to not push her to that point.

For the first strokes I concentrated on keeping the cane flat and tapping it down in a continuous rhythm, no one stroke was particularly hard but it was building as I kept going. It served as a nice warm up and Eliane was taking it well. I was getting a feel for the cane, how it would bounce, the angle it would land, trying to be accurate in the landing.

When I lifted the cane for the first proper stroke I flicked it down relatively gently. Accuracy was more important at this stage than a stroke that counted. The first 5 gradually built on each other, getting slightly harder, but nothing that disturbed Elaine too much until number 6 where she gasped as it flicked down. I liked that reaction.

That was the first 6. But as they were just a warm up for both of us, I bent her over for 12 more and these were much more serious. Feeling slightly more confident in my accuracy I flicked the cane harder and asked Eliane to count them out.

Again I started off slowly and got increasingly harder, with lots of time in between strokes for me to check both my accuracy and how Elaine was doing. The first 3 were warm ups, but the following 6 were certainly much harder, I wanted her to feel it now.

By counting she helped me to keep the caning to her pace, only counting when she was ready to continue and her gasps let me know how I was doing strength wise. Unfortunately for Eliane one or two of the strokes went astray but she continued to present her bottom to me. Wasn't she brave? But I also think we both wanted to finish what we started.

The last 3 were the hardest yet and I was fascinated by the cane's affect on her skin. How the flesh flattened on impact, went white and then a lovely red line appeared. Certainly a view I'm not familiar with. Once I'd finished I kept her bent over the sofa as I admired my handi-work then gave her a big hug and sincerely thanked her for offering her bottom to me for a self-taught caning class. I was quite proud of myself!

But apart from obviously learning how to use the cane (where to place it, how hard to go) and reading her reactions, I also was learning my own feelings on topping. I very much enjoyed wielding the cane, but more from the point of acquiring a new skill and making a half decent job of it than anything else. I loved the way she submitted so prettily for me and I was slightly awed and humbled by her trust and confidence to let me do this.

However, compared to when I'm bottoming, the feelings were very different. As much as I enjoyed the whole experience it wasn't a turn on for me. So for now topping is still just a nice interlude when there's nothing else on the menu. Fun, but ultimately not something I'll fantasise about.

That said if another pretty bottom presents itself to me, I'd have difficulty passing up another opportunity to play, not least for the kinky skill development ;)

End of Term Report

Well Caoilfhionn had quite the first term at Lowewood. Despite her resolve to be very well behaved she ended up being the naughtiest girl in the school with the least amount of housepoints at the end of term. How did that happen?

On the plus side she felt comfortable at Lowewood from the start. Despite Mr S's concerns that her convent education might have left her ill prepared for life at Lowewood, she found kindred spirits in the other girls, who were all so much fun and really made her first term an excellent one.

Although her name proved to be a severe trial with much abuse of it ensuing. Teachers refused to acknowledge how it was pronounced and some of her fellow pupils made up their own versions of it. Cellophane being the least palatable of these! She therefore spent much of the term wearily correcting the various pronunciations, with the plaintive cry of 'It's KEEL-IN' becoming a recurring phrase.

An inability to shut up when in trouble was Caoilfhionn's main problem and certainly something she was encouraged to improve on. It all started going wrong in Assembly during the uniform inspection. To her outrage she lost house points due to what was deemed inappropriate ear rings (despite having the neatest uniform in the whole school). 5 points wasn't too terrible really but vocalising said outrage led to her losing 15 more points. Not a good start.

Throwing apples at other pupils during lunch-time led to the loss of more points. Even though she was merely just trying to get some netball practice in!

So by the time classes started properly she was determined to stop the slide. And her pink slipping (being sent to see one of the housemasters for punishment) was due to an out of term incident that unluckily Mr S came to hear of. A sound spanking, slippering, tawsing and caning certainly made her think twice about participating in any future drunken wrestling activities. And really she was lucky she didn't get extra for trying to tell Mr B it was a new form of pilates that she was trying out.

She was therefore quite well behaved in all the other classes finding them both interesting and challenging. And due to her prior convent education excelled at PSE, knowing exactly what urges boys were likely to have and how a good girl should deal with them.

But art was her undoing. Never a subject she was going to like or be good at she wasn't inclined to focus on the task at hand. Meaning her repeated drawing of phallic objects earned her a strapping in front of the class and more losing of points.

At netball she came into her own, with her team thrashing the opposition in the first game and a respectable draw in the second. Even if her own team mates were afraid of her, she was pleased with her performance.

Unfortunately the loss of so many points so early on proved irredeemable and at -25 she found herself the worst girl in the school, much to her fellow Byron housemate Natalie's disgust, having managed a record breaking +85!

So dispatched to detention with Mr S she comforted herself with the fact she was in good company joined by both the Deputy Head Girl and Games Captain. Another spanking and hard tawsing (24) followed by 13 with the cane firmly impressed on her the need to keep her mouth shut and out of trouble.

However, she really felt she'd settled at Lowewood when as one the school corrected Mr S's pronunciation of her name in final assembly:

'It's KEE-LIN sir!'

(I) You know you're a pervert when...

You know you're a pervert when you're sorry the school year is over cos you're losing a perving opportunity. No, I'm not perving on the girls themselves, but what they're wearing. The pleasure of enjoying all the different uniforms...

Kilts, skirts or pinafores (or God forbid trousers), whether pleated, straight, long or short. Jumpers or blazers. Uniforms in blue, navy, green, grey, maroon; so many colours. Plain, plaid or stripey ties. Tights, knee high socks or ankle socks.

It's like a continuous fashion parade!

'Yes I'll have that maroon pleated shirt with the white short-sleeved blouse and the white knee socks, but I'll swap the maroon jumper for a maroon blazer and the brown shoes for black Mary Janes.'

The day I saw a a pink uniform I had to resist the urge to grab the girl and ask for her uniform stockist. (Dark pink skirt, pink and white striped blouse and a pale pink jumper!!)

Alas now all this perving will end for three months. However, I shall console myself with the exciting thought that the shops will soon be full of uniforms that I can go in and buy. It'll be feast time, not just having to rely on ebay to bring me shirts and skirts in the wrong sizes! Oh how much fun I'll have stocking up.

And of course I'll truly feel like a pervert when I go in to buy them!

Caoilfhionn's First Day

So tomorrow is Caoilfhionn's first day at Lowewood. I'm thinking of her heading into morning assembly and what might be going through her head.

She'll be dressed ever so neatly in her new uniform: short black skirt, white blouse, black blazer, striped tie, white knee socks and black Mary Janes. Her hair will be neatly pinned back, her tie exactingly straight.

She'll be a little bit nervous but carefully hiding it. Sitting back, taking it all in and looking round at the other girls. Old girls greeting each other and introducing themselves to the new ones; a loud chorus of excited chattering.

Trying not to get annoyed at the atrocious pronunciation of her name. 'For feck's sake it's Caoilfhionn (KEE-LIN). How come the American girls can say it but the English girls can't?'

Admiring everyone in their smart uniforms. Although. 'What is with that Jemima girls hair? That must have take her ages to do. Obviously an early riser, glad I'm not sharing with her'.

Wonders which of the girls will be her particular friends. There's two other new girls as well but they already know each other. And while Natalie Taylor-Meade is in her house she seems a bit...strange. 'Hmmm, but still maybe she'll be nice.'

And the rest of her fellow netball team mates. 'Such a shame that none of them turned up for the early training session I organised. But I'm sure they'll pull together on the day and we'll still win. Beth Somerton our captain seems very capable.'

Notices the Headgirl berating someone. 'Feck she looks scary. Best keep out of her way, power mad prefects are not to be messed with.'

Spies Sylvie Barnable interrogating the other new girl, Cassady Lord. 'Probably doing a write up for the school paper, isn't she the editor? If she writes about me she better get my name right: Caoilfhionn Ni Brádaigh. For girls who study the classics they're having serious trouble with it. Hope the teachers manage better!'

And thinking of the teachers, she appraises them carefully, wondering who'll be easy going. She's heard Mr Shaftbotham doesn't tolerate any misbehaviour and is a firm believer in corporal punishment. She's no stranger to such punishment herself but wouldn't want to get into trouble her first day. What had Beth said, 'make sure not to get pink slipped', She's not sure what that means but from Beth's tone sounded liked a punishment of sorts.

But she doesn't know much about the other teachers. Apparently Rev Jenkins or Unstable Abel (??) as she heard one girl call him, is a psycho to be avoided at all costs. But he's away at a seminar this week. 'Anyway I won't have much to do with him, not being one of his flock. Maybe I can keep off his radar.'

She thinks of the lessons ahead, hopes she'll do well at them, that she'll be up to standard without too much effort. Most of today's classes seem interesting, except for art of course. 'Bugger, can't believe after all these years of avoiding it I have to do it here.' Despite her pleas her parents wouldn't get her excused from it, wanting her to become more refined. Which means she'll have to do etiquette as well. She hates having to do things she's rubbish at.

Glances at Natalie, 'Bet she's good at art' *SIGH*. Wonders should she tell Natalie her tie is crooked and offer to fix it for her. Except Natalie seems to be in a world of her own, maybe interrupting her is not a good idea. 'But she really should fix her tie, it's a disgrace!'

Still at least it's not all boring classes. There's the interhouse netball match this afternoon, definitely something to look forward to. Even if her brothers howled with laughter at her doing such a girly sport. It was better than no sport at all. 'Oh and I must talk to Mr Tough about setting up a girls rugby team. That'll be such fun!'

With that comforting thought she stands with the rest of the school as they sing the school song, Tell Out My Soul. 'Oh this is nice, a proper school song and sung so lovely'

At that moment she feels an enormous sense of pride; she's a Lowewood girl now.

Kinky coincidences

So I posted yesterday wondering if my friends were trying to tell me something with their various presents, but really I know that they were just coincidences. Funny kinky coincidences, of which I seem to have had a few.

Like when I was in the coffee shop across the road and overheard two people talking about Nimhneach. A kinky club that I was planning to go to, for the very first time that night!

Or when a work colleague sent me the link to all those kinky hotels I posted about previously. He certainly has no idea I'm kinky. And my cousin trying to convince me to go to a Burlesque Ball; I didn't need any convincing!

But the biggest kinky coincidence of them all still freaks me out a bit. I discovered that I had a kinky neighbour, just living upstairs from me! Mr T, a toppy type, very experienced in disciplining those who need it.

It's even more of a coincidence about how I came to know him.

My friend Mec used to live in Dublin but unfortunately moved away before we got to know each other. When he came to visit he wanted to introduce me to his friend (Mr T), so we set up a playdate.

The day before the proposed playdate, I checked with Mec about where we were going; I'm organised like that! And then ensued the following IM conversation

Me: Where's Mr T's apartment?

Mec: Such a street

Me: You SERIOUS?

Mec: Yes, why?

Me: What's the name of the apartment block?

Mec: Some tree something, let me check, it's across from a Tescos

Me: Is it Oak Manor ?

Mec: Yes, why what else is there?

Me: I live in Oak Manor

Mec: No way

Me: Yep

Mec: That's fuckin spooky

Me: Very!!!!

I was torn between being freaked out and also feeling a bit sad. All those years when I didn't know anyone else kinky, he was just upstairs.

Following the initial shock, the paranoia then set in. Did I already know Mr T or not? Had we met on the stairs? Was he the neighbour that had that wild party I complained about or maybe that neighbour who shouted at me for parking in his car space?

Luckily he was neither of these people and we clicked when we met. So now when we meet on the stairs it's nice, two perverts making small talk!

Except for that time when I was doing the walk of shame. You know, coming in early one morning clearly having been out all night and wearing the clothes to prove it. I met Mr T, putting out his bins and as we made small talk, all I could think was this would be a hot roleplay but in the cold light of reality it was just embarrassing!

What are they trying to tell me?

I wonder about my vanilla friends sometimes. As I've discussed, apart from Lollipop, they don't know about my kinky interests. But over the past few months they've been buying me quite kinky presents. So do they intend them to be kinky or is it just that I'm perverting reality?

Take Christmas for example, I got a gorgeous little handbag from a friend I only know a year. It's small and black, with corset type lacing on the sides, and a tassle on the clasp. Oh and lots of little dominatrices all over it (high heels and corsets, holding whips). And to top it all off the bag is from a range called Dirty Girl???

My flatmate recently gave me two tubes of prescription medication for use on severe bruising and my best friend brought me back a wooden ruler as a souvenir from her holiday!!! What would any normal grown-up need a ruler for?

Then for my birthday I got a really funny book called 211 Things a Bright Girl Can Do, and in it there is a whole section on How to be bad, all you need to know to be a very naughty girl! Including how to perform a striptease, strangle a man with your bare thighs and how to use a whip.

I'm seriously beginning to wonder are they trying to tell something, do they know and want to reassure me? Are all my worries over not telling them so easily dissolved, or as usual is my imagination running away from me?

Although thinking of the book, I suppose if they had sussed out my kink, they'd know I'm already well capable of being a very, naughty girl :)

The call of Twitter

Twitter is calling me but I must resist. I'm already addicted to my phone and my laptop. So much so that I check my email when I wake up in the middle of the night. I also became addicted to blogging very quickly, to the point of noting down my dreams as soon as I wake up (no matter what the time) so I can blog about them.

An obsessive and addictive personality such as mine can only lead to disaster on Twitter. I'd be updating 24/7, probably along the lines of:

'Am awake, it's 3 am. Had a dream of some sort'

'Alarm gone off, ugh'

'Skipped breakfast....again'

'Running out of the house, late!'

'I've just had a kinky thought'

'Just had another kinky thought'

There's a good chance I'd get banned for over-use. Yes, must resist the urge to tweet. I can be strong, can't I?

Vanilla Flavours Continued

A few days ago I posted a very light hearted note about a recent vanilla date I went on. It was very tongue in cheek, but all joking aside I have come to the conclusion that I'm not interested in a relationship with a vanilla anymore.

It's a big decision for me to make and probably sounds a bit strange to the seasoned people out there who are already in kinky relationships or who haven't considered vanillas for a long time anyway. But all my adult life I've been open to and actively exploring relationships with anyone who took my fancy, regardless of their sexual deviations (or lack thereof).

I don't mean to be anti-vanilla, in fact I consider myself to be very vanilla. Yes I'm kinky. Yes I love to meet other kinky people. Yes I love to play and explore. But I also enjoy my vanilla life too: my job, my hobbies, my family, my friends, who I am. Which in some ways is almost the direct opposite to my kinky self: in control, domineering and seriously bossy.

So I want someone I can share both sides of me with, who will love all of me. And that person has to have an interest in our lifestyle. Maybe not yet an active player, but one who has a desire and a need to live this life none the less.

And converting a vanilla is not a path I want to go down again. I've been there and done that. To be fair we made it work for a few years but even then I still felt very frustrated much of the time. It's not an experience I'd want to repeat. As a bottom/sub there is nothing worse than having to tell someone how to control you, when and how to punish you or that it's supposed to hurt.

Now having made this decision I'm naturally afraid. What if I don't meet anyone I connect with on both levels: vanilla and kinky? It's hard enough connecting on a vanilla level alone without the whole other complication of a kink. Things I've wanted my whole life are in jeopardy. I may never find that life partner. I may have to be content with casual relationships and playdates with friends.

But having tried a vanilla relationship without kink and being completely unsatisfied I'd rather take my chances with a kinky life and have no relationship at all. At least for the foreseeable future.

Retail Kink

I went to the shops yesterday to buy a skirt. A black skirt for my Lowewood school day to be precise. After 3 hours, 15 shops and an amount of money I don't want to admit to spending, I came back with:

1 black skirt (almost impossible to find!);

1 black blazer (matches the skirt, couldn't resist);

1 pair of black Mary Jane shoes (a girl must have shoes);

1 pair of the cutest PJs ever (little shorts with Minnie Mouse on them);

1 white polo shirt (for netball);

5 pairs of white knee-high socks (can never have enough socks!!);

6 school blouses (3 white, 3 blue);

8 glitter pens (multi-coloured and scented!)...

....and 10 pairs of knickers (3 white, 3 pink, 3 turquoise and 1 red).

Did I mention I'm obsessive?

Consensual Non-Consent

A couple of blog posts by others have got me thinking about 'non-consent'.

Eliane writing about the power of the word 'no'. She likes being told it; I like saying it. And Kami's description about a very intense rape scene she did recently.

For me 'non-consent' is a powerful turn on. At the most basic level it's the underlying parameter to every spanking and punishment scene I do. Partly it's my get out of jail free card, allowing me to pretend I don't want (need) to be punished. Being forced to endure the punishment is half of the thrill in it. But mostly it makes it all the more realistic to be punished against your will. Real school girls, naughty little girls, reformatory inmates and so on, don't want to be punished; they just have to suffer what they're given.

And 'no' is a great word to reinforce the helplessness and impotency in a scene. I can say it, shout it, scream it, plead it; but to no avail. And that's extremely hot, especially if it's in a sex scene.

But the most important thing is we wouldn't enjoy any of these scenes if we had not previously given our consent. If we hadn't agreed to be punished, if we hadn't agreed to submit to sex, if we hadn't agree to be used. Otherwise it's just the other type of abuse that I certainly don't find hot.

Giving consent in advance to a trusted play partner allows the 'non-consent' in the scene to take place safely and enjoyably, for both parties. The fantasy is then created by the top/dom controlling how and when it happens and the bottom/sub screaming, crying, begging "no, please, stop, no, I don't want this", but the top continuing as he pleases.

His sense of power is heightened as equally as her despair is, making the scene work even better for both of them.

As this was on all my mind last night it's no wonder then that I had the following dream:

'I was held by a Domme that I knew, but had never played with. Limits had not been discussed. I was afraid and didn't want to play. I told her no over and over again but she ignored me, beating and violating me unmercifully. But I wasn't enjoying it. The only feelings I felt were fear. Then other people joined the scene, people I have played with before and trusted. I tried to to tell them I didn't want this, begged them to help me. But they just thought my pleas were part of the scene. They merely watched the Domme abuse me, enjoying my distress, not realising it was real, not knowing I wasn't at all turned on'

I'm still trying to figure out if the dream meant I really want to be abused, completely non-consensually. Or whether it was to remind me of safewording. Not once in the dream did I say it. Would she have stopped if I had? I'll never know.

But I do know for all my talk of non-consent and being controlled in a scene, I'll always have my safeword to stop if it becomes too intense or I can't handle it. And for the top's sake he must be able to trust me to use it. We're both equally responsible for the scene going wrong or going too far. Most of all we can't forget that 'non-consent' is just a carefully crafted illusion.

Not Catching the Modeling Bug

I've been thinking about spanking modeling a lot lately. When I first started my Internet searches the spanking porn I came across did not interest me in the slightest. Being overly sexual, no real story behind them, unrealistic scenarios and girls enjoying it?!

But in the last year I have found much better sites, or really I should say sites that better suit my interests. Ones that use real spanking fetishists, both tops and bottoms. Story lines that make sense, real reactions, proper spankings and canings, with the right details and build up. And over the last few months I've met a few of the models that I've been watching. Note to everyone else: when meeting two well-known (and really lovely) models for the first time, try think of a better opening line than, "Oh you look exactly like you should".

Then there's my good friend Caroline Grey who has just begun her modelling career. Before she made the momentous decision to go for it we chatted about it at length. What would it mean? Could she stay anonymous? Would her parents find out? Would she be good at it? Would anyone want to watch her? (With me making vigorous yes noises to the latter) She wrote an excellent post about how she came to her decision.

Since then I've modeled vicariously through her, getting such detailed reviews of the shoots she's done so far that I could almost have been there. When her first film debuted on Sound Punishment we watched it together, both of us squealing throughout it. I felt really proud of her for going for it and making such a great film.

I felt the same today when I looked at her first photo shoot on Northern Spanking (check it out!). She's a natural brat but also a talented actress; a great combination in spanking films . And she has so many ideas and brings so much more to a shoot than just a bottom to spank, that she's a perfect spanking model.

So the other day Caroline and I were having our regular 'when is EmmaJane going to model?' conversation. We have it every so often. The short answer is never. Not my thing , I wouldn't be any good at it, I'm not an actress etc., etc. Then that night I had a dream that completely summed up my real feelings on modeling.

I was in a spanking film, as an extra. Caroline was the leading spanko star and was being spanked in a school scene. I was one of several school girls witnessing it. To the director's annoyance I kept covering my face with my hands. Eventually after yelling at me to uncover it, he came over and asked what was I doing.

"I don't want anyone to see me" I mumbled, to which he replied "Well why are you in the film then?"

As I've posted recently almost none of my friends and none of my family know about my kink. So I would hate for them to find out through seeing me in action in a film. I love being kinky but I'm not 'loud and proud'. It's one part of my life, one part of me. I'm finally recognising that side of me and revelling in it but it's still not the be all and end all of me or my life. Vanilla EmmaJane still exists, the one with a career, family responsibilities and a great circle of friends. My challenge is in finding the right balance between the two, but that's a whole other post!

Another strike against modeling, and this is kind of vital for a model, I'd hate to think of people watching me. People that I didn't know and would never meet. In roleplay scenes I always feel the added embarrassment of being punished in front of others; it really adds to the scene. But thinking of being watched by strangers, on a TV or laptop freaks me out.

Then add to that all the usual insecurities a girl has 'Who'd want to watch me, I wouldn't be any good at it, I'm not thin/pretty/curvy/tall/small/tanned enough..' and the answer is definitely no. EmmaJane will not be coming to a screen near you (and is perfectly happy about it!).

All in the detail

I'm a girl and I like clothes (most of us do). Now, I may not be the most glamorous or stylish of girls but I do like to wear the correct clothes for whatever occasion I'm attending. Dressing appropriately for that job interview, or night out or meeting a boy's parents for the first time. Whatever it is, the right clothes give me confidence.

Well being kinky throws up a whole new set of occasions to dress for: club nights, schooldays, reformatories, historical re-enactments. The list is endless and I find it almost as much fun to plan and find the perfect outfit as actually wearing it and playing in it!

Of course my kindred spirit in the 'props and costumes department', as she calls it, is Caroline Grey. She probably out does me in the obsessiveness stakes and really comes into her own when organising 'school' club nights out, where a group of us attend in matching uniforms. Woe betide any member of the school not wearing the appropriate outfit (and that includes the teachers!). The only point I have to pull her up on is to fix her tie properly, which I'm fanatical about!

Unfortunately Caroline and I live on different sides of this island so we rarely get to shop together. Unless it's online and we're good at that. But luckily my vanilla friend who knows I'm kinky, (let's call her Lollipop from now on) comes in very useful here.

She's not just good at being my alibi and holding the details of where I am at various times, but just as importantly very helpful with finding outfits for my various kinky events. Many a Saturday morning we can be found wandering around our favorite shopping haunts. I never realised that shops in Dublin sold so many pervertible clothes. Sometimes they're a real treasure trove of kinky delights and I'm not talking about the over-priced sex shops.

So Lollipop, God bless her, always indulges my obssessiveness. Usually along the lines of me going 'I need a ribbon for my school hat, no that's not thick enough, no that's not blue enough' etc, etc. She doesn't even bat an eyelid when I muse over hot pants or a see-through skirt or no skirt at all. And when I try the whole outfit on for her she manages to say all the right things.

"Yes you do look very slutty in that outfit...no those hot pants aren't too long...yes I can definitely see your bum...mmmmm I agree those heels are very hookerish.."

Thus knowing I have the right outfit I set out to play, already half way there to having a great scene. It's equally important the other players are also dressed appropriately, no headmaster in black leather please and don't attempt to do a school scene with me if you're holding a whip or other such non-authentic implement.

And when we do school scenes at Nimhneach, they always seem to work out well even though we're in a club surrounded by all sorts of kinksters. I guess it's because when the headmaster, cane in hand, orders you to bend over, lower your knickers and raise your skirt, that everything else fades out. It's all in the detail.

Vanilla Flavours

I know there's much debate over the term vanilla and how it's used to describe non-kinky folk, but I for one quite like it and find it very fit for purpose.

Over time I've gone from a 'take it or leave it' attitude to vanilla flavours, to a complete dislike. Why choose vanilla when you can have yummy chocolate or tangy raspberry or bitter lemon or sweet orange? Vanilla just seems so bland and unsatisfying when you've experimented.

Similarly my kink has developed along the same lines too. From tolerating vanilla sex and partners, to being less and less interested, to where I am now: totally allergic!

So on my last vanilla date, with another of those eligible types my friends set me up with, I thought it only fair to at least test his level of vanillaness before I waved him bye.

Unfortunately he failed the first test spectacularly when I pointed out a group of hot girls in school girl uniform and his only comment was "oh, not another hen night". The second test didn't go much better when I ordered a cocktail, grinning that I felt like being naughty. He merely smiled and told me "sure why not". And it was all over when he ordered his dessert: ice-cream, vanilla flavored.

PS if you're reading this Mr Dateman and you're actually a complete pervert do let me know!

Park Life

It's been uncommonly sunny and warm around here lately so I've been spending a lot of time outside in the sunshine, taking advantage.

As I lay in the park the other day with a group of vanillas, I couldn't help but think it was nice to be in their company. Made all the nicer by not having to be on one's best behaviour all the time lest any toppy type thought you needed punishing. Like being made to stand in a corner with hands on one's head in full view of everyone else.

It was also a nice change not having to keep one's bottom out of the way of swatting hands, only too eager to make a point. Or worse, get nervous when anywhere near a tree. And indeed it was a great relief not having to worry about being ordered to bend over, with trousers down and get switched with so many unintentional voyeurs wandering by. Or for that matter, to be able to relax on the grass without suddenly being pinned down, stripped and molested by many hands.

Yes there's certainly a difference when you go to a park with your kinky friends instead of the vanillas. But of course I wouldn't have it any other way ;-)

Ireland: Land of Great Writers and Perverts

You learn something new every day. Guess what I learned today? James Joyce, one of Ireland's greatest literary sons (and we have many) was a total pervert. I say that with pride by the way and a certain satisfaction in knowing that while he wrote such complex tomes as Ulysses, he obviously knew how to entertain himself!

His predilections ranged from anal sex and spanking to water sports and scat play and are described in the letters he wrote in 1909, to his then lover (and eventual wife) Nora Barnacle.

One such excerpt from his letters to her is as follows:

"I wish you would smack me or flog me even. Not in play, dear, in earnest and on my naked flesh.... I would love to be whipped by you, Nora love!...to hear you call me into your room and then to find you sitting in an armchair with your fat thighs apart and your face deep red with anger and a cane in your hand.”

For a more detailed review of his letters check out Chelsea Summer's article, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Pervert on my new favorite site Filthy Gorgeous Things!

(Thanks to SpankBoss for for pointing me there in the first place)

Stepping Stones

Like most other kinksters, the Internet has played a huge role in my kinky development. For many the journey starts at typing your fetish into Google and then sifting through the wealth of information that comes back.

There then comes a point when you have to take that huge step and move offline if you want fulfillment. I consider myself very fortunate to have made that leap to where I am today; having the kinky time of my life.

Over the years certain websites have really helped to shape me kink wise. Reassuring me that I'm not 'weird'. Informing me. Helping me to explore and define what my kink is. Aiding me in accepting what I need and deciding the life I want. And most importantly, enabling me to make connections and friends that make that life possible.

This is not intended as a definitive list of the best spanking sites or blogs out there, but an acknowledgment of the part they played in bringing me to where I am today.

Pablo and Mija's Treehouse

I still remember the day I stumbled across this site back in 2002. I had only recently started my furtive searches for 'spanking' and most of what I came across was porn or stories unrelated to my kink which put me off .

The Treehouse was a ray of light: the first site I ever read that made me feel good about my kink. Reading Pablo and Mija's stories I felt such a connection with what they were doing. What they were describing was exactly what I wanted for myself, spanking in the context of a loving relationship. Equal partners with mutual respect, agreed rules and discipline.

At the time I was seeing a vanilla boyfriend who was open to spanking me even though it wasn't really his thing. I sent him links to their stories to help explain what I wanted when I couldn't articulate it properly myself. And they helped us to make it work.

Even though they don't update the site anymore, I continually return to it and read the stories over and over. It's still one of my favorite sites and a very happy place to hang out.

Spanking Writers

This site needs no introduction! It was the first blog I ever read, in fact when I came across it, I probably didn't even know what a blog was! Not only was I enthralled by the subject matter, but the opportunity to peep into a kinky couple's life.

I quickly realised they had lots of friends who connected through the site. Sometimes reading the comments was just as much fun as the posts themselves. It all pointed to a wonderfuly kinky life. One led by intelligent, regular people able to discuss all sides of their kink, from roleplay to real life to literary and historical references. It was comforting to think they were just normal people who were into spanking; just like me.

Spanking Blog

SpankBoss posts about all sorts of spanking related activities, not just CP and roleplay, so it helped me understand what else was out there. Once I discovered this site it became my gateway to so many other great sites. I still check in every so often to see what's new in the spanking world: so much easier than looking myself.

Spankfinder

So for years I lurked on spanking sites, watching from a safe distance. Sometimes obsessively reading for days on end and then being offline for weeks or months. But eventually the kinky call got stronger and reading was not enough: I needed more.

Then I discovered Spankfinder. Set up by Bethy (Dan's partner from the Spanking Blog) it's a personals site for meeting spanking friends and potential play partners. Having read Dan's blog for years I felt brave enough to put up a profile.

To my amazement there were already Irish people on the site, not that many but enough to confirm I wasn't the only spanking fetishist in Ireland! And there I met Frank and then Caroline. They were my first proper kinky friends and introduced me to the Irish scene. Since meeting them I haven't looked back :)

Fetlife

Finally to a site that I'm a huge fan of. Without it I wouldn't have made many friends outside of the Irish BDSM scene. While I've always been shy of posting on blogs or heaven forbid emailing the writers directly, I have no problem connecting on Fetlife.

So it's quite fitting that because of Fetlife I finally said hi to Abel and Mija. In a way I like to think it all came full circle; a full kinky circle.