Monday, August 31

Standing in the way of control

It was an interesting weekend of play. We had some lovely scenes, and the road side spanking was probably one of my all time favourite scenes ever.

But the weekend wasn't as much fun and games as it usually was. I had worried in advance that I wouldn't be able to shake off the tiredness and work stresses. I also had to do the organising, rent a house, pick up HH, plan the route and the non-spanking activities as well as do all the driving. None of which were things I minded doing, but not very conducive to giving up control.

Our first scene was a gentle de-stressing one. Well as gentle as HH goes with me, OTK hand spanking and junior slippering followed by a tawsing. Lovely. And I thought my fears were unfounded.

But then we played later just before bed and Caoilfhionn was getting a very hard slippering from her housmaster, with the very scary, hurts so much it makes me and Kami cry slipper. I got 12 to start with. And they hurt so badly. At 2 I couldn't see how I could get to 12. And at 11 I lost it completely. I screamed and jumped up in pure rage, literally stamping my feet in anger.

HH gave me a minute then bent me back over for the 12th. And that was it, we were done. But I couldn't relax. The anger had upset me. One minute I was heading for deep headspace and the next I was out of scene throwing a tantrum. And it wasn't fair on HH.

So I asked for more. She deserved more. I deserved more. But 6 was hard to take and then I got 3 extra for not staying still, all as hard as the previous ones. And again the anger came back. And I stormed off to bed in a sulk. With my anger turning to frustration at my inability to control myself.

When chatted about it later I came to the conclusion I was angry I couldn't take the strokes. They hurt too much. And I was frustrated that I couldn't ride it out, like I usually do. That I couldn't convert it into my usual deep headspace and tears. Every time Caoilfhionn got close, Emma Jane pulled her back. Why couldn't I let go?

Was it too hard for me? I don't know. It certainly was no harder than other spankings HH has given me. And if it was so hard why didn't I plead mercy or say yellow.

The anger appeared in another scene, again when the pain got too much for me. And I came right out of character. As before HH dealt with it perfectly, neither letting me away with it or pushing me too far.

It really freaked me out, this lack of control and outright anger. But the real issue over the whole entire weekend was that I never got anywhere near the deep headspace I normally would. And it unsettled me. Was I losing my spanking mojo? Had my pain tolerance disappeared? Was I over this spanking thing? What was going on?

And as we drove to the airport HH and I chatted about it and started a gentle argument over it. He claims the lack of headspace is his fault as a top. That it's his responsibility to create the situation where I can get there. And apply the right amount of pain, discipline and intimidation to make it work.

I in turn argued that no matter how great a top is that ultimately the bottom or sub has be open to him/her. And I told him that with all due respect I thought it was patronising for him to think he had so much power over me.

Having taken a step back now I realise I was not at all open over the weekend. I wanted to play on my terms, to my specific level of play, to my script. I found myself getting irritated when a scene turned differently to how I expected, annoyed to get extras or have an unexpected implement or have to assume a position I didn't like. I wanted to be in control.

Which is completely at odds to how I normally play. I love to be a girl with a name and a background and no-more. My favourite part of playing is to completely give up control, to let myself go. And this weekend I was not capable of letting go. I wasn't in the right place. And only I can change that, poor HH didn't stand a chance.

Sunday, August 30

Backseat driver

We all know, or at least I do anyway, that HH is not a man to be trifled with. Even if a girl is driving her own car, in her own country, the rules of behaving herself and heeding warnings are best to be remembered. And even if she is being perfectly nice and an excellent hostess come tour guide come chauffeur, she is not immune from being punished. Alas for me I had to be reminded, the hard way!

I admit there were one or two instances when HH wasn't best pleased with my driving and he was possibly right. OK, OK he was right. I did take one or two corners a lil bit too fast. But it was more my attitude to his blatant back seat driving that was the problem. A gentle request to slow down a bit was met with my tongue being stuck out firmly in his direction. And his well meaning suggestion to keep my eyes on the road was answered by me poking his ribs.

But I finally noted the 'you're in trouble' vibe and wisely decided to behave. So when he suggested pulling over for a walk I had no reason to be alarmed. Walks are nice, walks on secluded lane ways are even nicer; so peaceful and quiet. But as we walked I noticed HH was preoccupied, looking for something. He confirmed my suspicions by shaking his head and muttering about the lack of suitable places to spank a girl.

I couldn't condole with him, being decidedly relieved. (OK, I recognised I was in trouble but at least he'd have to wait until we got home). Except as we returned to my car he he took me by the wrist, sat down on a nearby boulder and hauled me over his lap. The fact my bottom faced away from the road was not so much a blessing considering I had to look onto the road.

Mortified doesn't begin to describe my feelings and I prayed no cars would pass, knowing he wouldn't stop if one did. And even worse, it hurt. No gentle 'just making a point' spanking for me. No it was all proper, hard spanks that sounded so loud I was sure the people in the next town could hear. And if anyone was watching or passed by at that time (I honestly don't know between the hiding of head in arms and the sound of the smacking) I was a very sorry sight indeed. Kicking and wriggling over his lap tying unsuccessfully to keep my protests to a minimum.

When he let me up I was lightheaded with relief. Which lasted two seconds until he tugged my trousers and knickers down and over his lap I went again. Lecturing sternly, he smacked me until I was yelping and promising to behave.

On finally being let up I was quick to pull up my clothing, only to be reminded I had to ask permission before I could do so. And down they went once more and across his knee I went again, for another volley of smacks. The next time I was allowed up, I stood miserably in front of him until I was given permission to dress. And then buried my head in his shoulder wth the shame of what had just passed.

At this point he thought a photo would be appropriate, a fitting reminder of what happens to naughty girls who misbehave in the car. And I really had no wish to to be disobedient and incur another spanking.

So here I am, my very red bottom glowing.

And when this car passed us by my face turned a matching shade of scarlet. I'm still squirming thinking about it!

Friday, August 28

Chasing Rainbows

Rebecca has written a wonderful post about reaffirmation and enjoying the good things in life. As she puts it so perfectly herself, she 'wants rainbow colours right now :)'

It's such a warm and positive post that I just want to hug her tight. She's reminded me that we should all be chasing rainbows.

My own mind has been far from rainbows and happy places lately. I've allowed work stress to overwhelm me, the long hours reduce my social life to a few online emails and my normal sunny disposition to a shadow of itself.

Therefore Rebecca's post was very timely and I'm going to do my best to concentrate on the rainbows. So here are some of them that are making me smile right now:

My pretty new phone, hours of fun playing with it;

The lovely dinner my flatmate made me;

HH coming to visit this weekend and all the lovely play, chatting and hanging out in store;

The mischievous plotting for the next Lowewood;

My first Regency dinner with Lord Fawcett and Mrs Derby;

Meeting up with some great friends I haven't seen in a while;

The thrill and excitement of getting to know new playmates;


the certainly of having a very warm bottom the next time I write a post!

So it's a much more positive EmmaJane heading off for a weekend of play and frolics. Thanks Rebecca!

Wednesday, August 26

Naughty daydreams

My naughty daydreams in the office are always inspired by what I'm wearing and usually go like this. I have a major presentation thingy so I dress appropriately. Usually in a short (but still acceptable) dress, or skirt with a very fitted blouse. Outwardly I look like a modest young professional, dressed to impress. And if I've got my glasses on I mean to be very serious indeed.

But underneath I'll be wearing a black lace bra, lacey black panties and stockings with high heels to round the outfit off. And I delight in knowing that in one fluid movement I could be revealed as the naughty girl I am.

This feeling is even further exacerbated if it's after a recent playdate. I know that if I bend over too far or reach too high, not only will the tops of my stockings show but also the blatant stripes on my thighs and bottom!

And feeling so naughty means my mind easily wanders off into lovely daydreams. You know the ones; about being spanked in the boss's* office, strapped by the quality standards team or being caned by the chairman of the board.

Such delicious day dreams keep me well entertained during the often tedious hours of boring meetings. Although I know there are some who would feel that not paying attention in important meetings is a spankable offence all by itself...

*Except of course I'm substituting my real boss, and colleagues for infinitely more desirable types!

Tuesday, August 25

Not forcing it

In response to Mec and Master Retep's comments, it's true, I will not be blogging daily anymore. At the start I blogged every day partly because I had a lot to say. Back then I was sometimes tempted to blog twice or three times a day!

But also because I needed the discipline of daily posting to keep me blogging. I set myself a deadline of 6am posting, written the night before. And if missed the 6am time I could always post later in the day. And as I got into this blogging thing and realised the time and effort involved I was afraid to stop in case I'd give up blogging altogether.

For a few weeks now I have been planning to stop daily posting as soon as I hit 100. I felt it was a respectful number of blog posts to have before easing off. The main thing is I really don't want to throw up a post for the sake of it, or if life gets in the way have to stay up til stupid o'clock to write something. Or even worse force a post that doesn't want to be written, the processing part of blogging is to important.

At this point I trust myself to stop, miss a day here and there but not to lose the run of myself completely. I'm in too deep to stop, too addicted. So don't worry I still have a lot to say and I'll be posting very regularly. Stay with me!

Monday, August 24


Nope not 100 strokes, 100 posts! And therefore my 100th consecutive day of posting. (Don't believe me, look at the archive counter on the right!)

I'm quite chuffed with myself. When I began this blogging lark I wasn't quite sure if I'd get past 10 such posts! While veterans of the spanking scene like The Spanking Writers, Bonnie and Todd&Suzy always seemed to blog so effortlessly, I figured it probably wasn't as easy as they made it seem.

I had so little confidence in what I was doing it took me a week to tell people I had a blog at all! I was worried I didn't write well enough or that I didn't have anything interesting to say. Or even worse that I'd only blog for a wet week before I lost the discipline to continue.

My motivations were purely to record all my new experiences. I wanted to set down what I did, who with, how I felt at the time and how I felt afterwards.

I also thought it would be a good way to track my kinky development. And even after three months I can see changes in me as a kinky person as well as what I talk about on here. I began talking of trying group play, school scenes and maybe something as adventurous as a reformatory scene. It was very much CP based. Now I'm talking of playing with Dommes and the more submissive side of BDSM play.

So I set out my blogging stall with a get out jail free card, declaring the blog was just for me and I wouldn't be posting every day and I didn't care what anyone thought of what I was doing. That was you told.

Well that lasted all of a week. I quickly came to love blogging. It's addictive and you can't shut me up. But moreover I love comments, yes my name is Emma Jane and I am a comment slut! And the more comments I get the more I want to ensure what I write is worthwhile and interesting.

I continue to spend ages writing posts, editing them over and over. Trying to get the tone right, trying to express myself properly, trying to connect with you. And although it has gotten easier, I'm still obsessive about what I write. At least for me personally though it's been worthwhile and I get a little thrill of satisfaction reading back over what I've written.

But what I wasn't at all prepared for were all the added bonuses that blogging brings. I've met lots of new people through it and it's a great way for potential play partners to get a sense of me and and understanding of where I'm coming from.

Even more importantly though, is the emotional outlet blogging provides. This thing we do can be very powerful and at times I have been thrown by the intensity of my reactions and feelings. I often use the blog to process: scenes, situations, relationships. Just the act of marshaling and describing my thoughts is so therapeutic in itself. Allowing me to analyse, rationalise, accept and move on.

So thanks to all of you who have commented and encouraged so far, and to those of you who read but don't comment go on say hi someday, I dare ya!

Sunday, August 23

Just one look

So far in my kinky career I've mostly played with men. And they've had to work hard(ish) to earn my trust enough to play. By working hard I mean lots of email conversation, actively getting to know me and my likes and dislikes. Or being recommended by another top or bottom type. It's very rarely that I'll meet a guy, take one look and want to play.

Even with Zytex last weekend I have watched him play often enough and read his comments online enough to trust him. And our pre-play conversation confirmed my instincts that he was worth playing with.

The few women I've played with however, have only needed to exist. I find myself meeting them and instantly wanting to play. Becoming shy even, finding it hard to verbalise my desire to play with them. Something I have no problem with when it comes to kinky men!

And last weekend at Nimhneach I caught the eye of a Domme and if she had ordered me to come to her I would have. The attraction on my part was that intense and all through just one look.

I'm wondering about the different affects of men vs women and the only solution I can come up with is the greater power exchange involved. I'm not sexually attracted to women, but I am to men. In my life long kinky fantasies I have always thought of the authoritative male in charge: teacher, garda, guardian, priest.

Submission to such a male authority figure is natural for me. But submission to a woman is not. It requires more from me. I have to allow her to have authority over me. Permit her power, that to me as a confident and competitive young woman feels inherently wrong. Therefore submitting to a woman is more powerful and more intense.

I'm so looking forward to exploring it more and figuring out if it's just the unknown that is the attraction or is it really a female thing and my own gender issues. Either way I've been delightfully thinking about that look and what might have passed...

Saturday, August 22


As humans we are all flawed, tis the way the world works, we none of us are perfect.

And we spankos can find even more flaws than the average Josephine soap. We're not cute enough, or short enough or tall enough. We're not good at roleplay, we overact, we over-react. We're too stoic in a scene or not stoic enough. We don't play hard enough or play too hard for some people.

The list is endless and we could competitive flaw until the cows come home. But they are just normal, run of the mill flaws and I give you no sympathy for them. For I have discovered a major flaw in my spanking genetic makeup. One I'm struggling to come to terms with. I cannot understand how Mother Nature made such a deeply kinky specimen as I but left me so flexibly challenged.

I cannot bend over and touch my toes!

Yes that classic caning position where one bends over so gracefully, legs straight, knees locked, fingertips lightly resting on toes, presenting a high bottom to the cane. That oh so pure and defining picture of corporal punishment alludes me. And such a terrible failing troubles me deeply and causes me many sleepless nights.

So can anyone help me? Is there a way to make my arms longer or even my legs shorter? Am I doomed to never hear the order of 'bend over and touch your toes' and be able to comply?

Friday, August 21

Fantasy. Reality.

Young girl caught drinking underage, arrested and faces a conviction. Instead is sentenced to 6 cane strokes, administered by the prison govenor. Fantasy.

32 year old Muslim woman arrested for drinking alcohol. Fined €1,000, sentenced to 6 cane strokes and publicly disgraced. Reality.

Teenager sneaks out wearing an inappropriately short skirt. Her Uncle catches her and is very displeased. Gives her a sound whipping with his belt as a reminder to dress more modestly. Fantasy.

Sudanese journalist faces 40 lashes for wearing trousers in public. Reality.

Thursday, August 20

A close one

As I've posted before I have mixed feelings about public play. The thought of being reprimanded and punished in public appeals to my discipline fetish no end. But the reality is a scary prospect. Mostly it's just enough to know it could happen. As in getting the look or a firm command to behave. And then I do, cos I don't want to suffer the consequences.

But I ran very close the last time I visited HH! There was a whole 10 seconds of agony where I thought he was going to take me by the ear and position me in the corner of the nice Chinese restaurant we were in. Because HH and I have simple rules. I misbehave, I get a warning. Continue to do so and I'll be punished. End of.

We'd had a very nice meal and were relaxing with our drinks when trouble started brewing. Getting restless, Kami and I started to sword fight with our unused chopsticks (having eaten with forks). HH duly warned us to behave and leave the chopsticks for the next people to use. And then started musing about which was the most suitable corner for naughty girls to stand in!

So we were relatively good until an argument over whether the chopsticks were recyclable or not started. Again the order to behave was given. But in that tone, with the look. OK, time to stop pushing. I was already squirming on my seat.

And that's when I managed to break the chopsticks, completely by accident. Kami and Nikki laughed out loud but I couldn't join in. I was reduced to babbling apologies and promising I hadn't meant to do it. As HH stared at me my face flushed a deep red and I gave him my most pitiful look (think Puss in Boots in Shrek!). Finally he told me I was on my final warning. The relief. I really didn't want to have to go stand in that corner.

I spent the rest of the time with my head in my hands praying that the bloody waiter would hurry up and bring the bill so we could leave before my luck ran out completely!

Although looking back at it now I can enjoy the squirmy feelings. All the embarrassment of a public punishment, but without anything actually happening. Except I don't think I want to come so close again, not sure the Puss in Boots look would work twice!

Wednesday, August 19

Introducing Mr Hurty

Ok so now all the angsty, processing posts are done I can tell you about Nimhneach properly! It was so lovely to be back and catch up with old friends. And I got to watch some great scenes; DommyDarco and Submissive Star's bondage play on the pony and Dick Dastardly and Chalk's very hot A Frame scene being two of the most enjoyable ones!

And of course the night was enhanced by the presence of the wonderful Eliane, even if her uniform was a DISGRACE. I could barely look at her tie!

Overall it was a fun and interesting night and I had a couple of new experiences, not just my intense submission to Zytex. I actually played four times in total and all with new people. Very cool!

Although one of these scenes was totally Elianes' fault. As I stood beside the door waiting her return from the bathroom, Calvin decided I needed to be spanked for idling. Over I went for a short and sweet paddling, but still, totally her fault.

Then later I got to do a lovely scene with Master Retep. Over his knee I went for a strapping with his short leather strap. Lovely, slow burn that I quite enjoyed. Then face down on the couch for a tawsing. This was not so enjoyable, being a very stiff implement and Master Retep confidently whacking it down. For someone who calls himself a novice he can sure swing a tawse. I was soon squirming across the couch!

But the first scene of the night was the one that left the most marks. PaulF had long promised me a beating. Ever since we first met actually, many months ago. So my hour of reckoning had come. And then he produced Mr Hurty much to the amusement of the rest of the gang. A dressage riding crop, very aptly named by Chalk as I was to soon find out.

Given that I was only in the club 5 minutes and had no warm up whatsoever, I knew this was going to hurt. And oh my I'm not sure I can even describe how it was. Burning, intense pain that tingled long after each stroke. It bit into the skin and left bright, vivid welts on my thighs and bottom that are still clearly visible and still stings as I write this. It certainly hurt and not sure I shall be lining up to play with it again anytime soon. But I think PaulF was pleased with himself!

So all in all a fun night. Although some friends were absent and certainly missed, but I'm sure I'll catch up with them next month :)

Tuesday, August 18


I'm out of sorts and I can't figure out if it's cos I'm tired, stressed to high heaven at work and recently been sick.

Or is it because I played mentally too far on Saturday? Was that scene too intense? Did I push myself too far?

To be absolutely clear there was nothing wrong with the actual scene or Zytex. A hugely experienced player and one of the Nimhneach Dungeon Masters I was in very safe hands. We chatted frankly up front about my limits, my experience, what I'd done previously, my need to have my mind dominated, what I wanted to do. Safe words and safe symbols.

Then I sat and waited. Until he came to me, blindfolded me and led me away. And for the next hour I was his. At the time I was certainly enjoying it, totally immersed in the sub space, reveling in his dominance, proud of my obedience.

Both my mind and body reacted eagerly to him. And at all times I felt safe and comfortable, in control of myself, in control of my lack of control. I challenged myself to obey. To see if I could do it. And I was exhilarated by it. Afterwards I was happily in sub space. I glowed with it.

But the next day I crashed. Hard. And I'm still down. Still struggling with my thoughts. I've tried to write up the scene and can't. The words won't come out. I don't want to share the details. Is this more than sub drop?

Is it because the recollection of what I did, allowed to be done to me, asked to be done to me, is too much? Tied up naked, probed intimately, as others watched. Suffered willingly, gave control away. Maybe because it was public? Or was it because I went unexpectedly deep? Was it cos I didn't want it to end? Or cos I didn't have enough coming down time.

Or was it because I'm scared of my reaction. How easily he controlled me. How willingly I obeyed. I'm not submissive. I don't want to be anyone's slave. It's not a play or lifestyle choice for me. And I'm worried about where it will go and what I will become.

But it thrilled me at the time. I didn't want it to end. I loved the simplicity of giving up control. The idea of blind trust and following orders. And how wonderful it felt. And I'm scared because consciously I don't want to be like that.

But maybe unconsciously I do.

Monday, August 17

A very dirty girl

The girls at St. Mary's Catholic School were well accustomed to corporal punishment, receiving it regularly from their class teachers. The ruler or strap across their hands being the usual punishment.

It was very rare for a girl to be sent to the Headmaster, and when they were, punishment usually took place after supper in his study. The miserable girl would then be seen slipping into her dorm at bedtime, with tears of pain and shame on her face, refusing to talk of her punishment.

Other girls wondered what he used; the cane, a strap, a switch? What was so terribly unspeakable?

Maria's summons came as no surprise to anyone. Having been being caught outside with a boy at the annual local schools' social, it was inevitable. They had only been talking, not even holding hands, but the school curate Fr. Martin was enraged that a St. Mary's girl could be found unchaperoned with a boy.

She was almost glad the summons came so quickly, arriving the next day from her class teacher.

At the appointed hour she arrived at the Headmaster's door. She had taken extra care with her uniform, immaculately turned out in her grey shirt, modest green pinafore that fell well below her knees, long grey socks, green and yellow striped tie and grey jumper. A St. Mary's girl must look and act like a paragon of virtue at all times, how many times had she been told that?

On granting her permission to enter he stood her before him and lectured her on her disgraceful conduct. His disgust at her behaviour, her lack of respect for herself and her school. He spoke of Fr Martin's outrage and the need to reinforce the moral code. He spoke of her parents and their disappointment and anger at how she flaunted herself to that boy like a common tramp.

His words were harsh and at every utterance her self-belief and confidence wore away. Beginning to believe him, starting to agree she was a tramp, a disgrace to her family. Her cheeks burned in shame. She was too scared to argue back, to protest they were only talking, that she wasn't the dirty girl he was implying. She hung her head, succumbing to his lecture, starting to hate herself.

Finally his words ended and he signalled her punishment would start. She fearfully glanced around, was it a cane, a strap, a birch?

But no, he placed himself on a high backed chair and ordered her to come to his side. She stood where he indicated, completely confused. And before she could register what was happening, he pulled her over his knee.

Dropping her head in mortification her mind whirled: What was he doing? She'd never been put across anyone's knee in her life. Had never been so close to a man. Her face flushed deeper with shame, her feet barely touching the floor, feeling very small.

And he hadn't even started anything yet. Worse was to come. She couldn't help putting her hand back as he started to slowly lift her skirt, but he was having none of that, firmly ordering her to keep her hands on the floor and to stay in position.

Her humiliation intensified as he inched her skirt up, past the backs of her knees, past her thighs and up over her bottom. For the first time in her school life she was thankful for the thick cotton knickers that covered her bottom entirely.

The relief was short-lived however, and she whimpered as he hooked his fingers into the thick elastic at the waist and drew her knickers down. No man had every seen her bottom naked, it was too much, she tried to get up but he held her down, warning her it would be much worse if she didn't stay still and take her punishment. Threatening to bring Fr Martin in to witness it. This dreadful thought immobilised her.

With her knickers down to her knees, he rested his right hand on her bottom, his left holding her firmly by the waist. Seconds past like minutes as she waited for it to start, but he was in no hurry. The silence was unbearable and she was mortifying conscious of her position, imagining what she must look like, pinafore up, knickers down, bare bottom over this man's knee, any man's knee. It was too much for her and she began to cry softly.

As if in response to her crying he stroked her bottom slowly, rubbing each cheek in circles to the tops of her thighs. He seemed in no hurry to start the spanking. His rubbing embarrassed her more, his touch making her feel sick inside. What was he doing? Why was he touching her? And all the time not a word from him. Her tears continued to fall and she prayed it would be over soon.

Eventually he lifted his right hand, tightening his grip with his left hand pushing her down firmly onto his knees. She braced herself for the first smack, but the gentle pat that followed was unexpected. For several minutes he spanked her gently all over her bottom, moving in a circle, pat, pat, pat. It didn't hurt at all.

But still he held her firmly, stopping occasionally to rub her bottom. Then resuming his patting, all the time not saying a word. This continued for some time. Until finally the smacks got harder, and she was really starting to feel it, struggling to stay still. After making her bottom hot and sore all over, he moved to her thighs and the sharp smacks made her kick and squirm across his lap

In response he swung his right leg behind her knees, effectively pinning her in place. And resumed his gentle patting. She decided this was worse, at least when he was hurting her she could forget the humiliation of her position. And being trapped between his legs was even more mortifying. She was also becoming uncomfortably aware of a definite hardness pressing into her tummy.

As her confused brain tried to process the sensation, he once again increased the tempo of the spanking, harder now; much harder. It was impossible to stay still and she squirmed and wriggled against him. Her cries growing more frantic as the pain intensified. There was no respite, no more rubbing, no more gentle patting: no sound except his laboured breathing from his exertions.

As her cries turned to sobs she began to plead with him to stop, it hurt so much, she couldn't take it anymore. For the first time her spoke to her, telling her over and over that she was a 'very naughty girl', a 'very, very naughty girl', spanking her harder and harder, until he gave a strangled gasp and stopped suddenly.

She felt him shake beneath her and didn't know what to do. Was he ill? Had he taken a turn? In terror she lay there, afraid to move or talk.

'Get up and get out' he finally told her, pushing her off his knee. 'And don't ever let me see you in here again or you won't get off so lightly'. In total bewilderment she fixed her clothing, not daring to look at him, as she crept out of the office.

And returned to her dorm in tears, feeling sick at what just happened. Knowing that is was all her fault. She was a very, dirty girl.

Sunday, August 16


Tonight I was truly submissive and all in public. Stripped, molested, bound and beaten. He started with my mind and then took my body. I'm still trying to process it, understand it, overcome it? I'm still dazed. Need to lie down and let it wash over me. Breathe.

For that precise period of time, how long was it, 10 minutes, half an hour, an hour? Time had no meaning. I felt owned. He ordered and I obeyed. 'Kneel - spread your legs - hands behind your back - open your mouth'. Led and I followed.

Blindfolded me. Stripped me. Flogged me, all over. His fingers probed and pinched and I whimpered in pain. Bound me tight, hands high above my head, legs stretched apart, writhing in vain to escape the torture.

Took the blindfold off. Made me watch the knife scraping my skin. Looked into his eyes as he caused me pain. Looked into the faces of the onlookers witnessing my shame.

Gave him control. Forced myself to let go, to relax, to submit. Wanted to see if I could do it. Wanted to know what would it achieve.

A state of nothingness, of existing but not existing. Exquisite sense of being.

Sensations of pain. Heightened awareness, smell and touch. Underlying fear. Blind, but complete, trust. Deep subspace. Radical ecstasy. Warm feelings. More please. More.

Saturday, August 15


I've been having a lot of fun over the past 3 months, as detailed on here! Nearly all of that fun has been across the water as I've been getting to know my new friends and attending the great parties and events they've so kindly been inviting me to. And it's been great.

But unfortunately some seriously bad planning and timing of events has meant that I've missed out on our local BDSM club night, Nimhneach, 3 months in a row! It's usually held once a month and since I started going last year, I had never missed a night up until the May one.

So I'm really looking forward to catching up with some old friends as well as some new ones I've been chatting to online. And even though more than one toppy type has warned me I'll be beaten for my absences, I reckon I'll still have a fab time.

Not least because all my visits across the water are paying off and this weekend I have one of my own. The fabulous Eliane is here and shall be in attendance. The two of us manage to get into enough trouble in London so goodness knows what will happen when she's under my entire influence for the weekend!

I'm sure we'll give her a very warm Irish welcome! And my lovely friend Chalk has promised cake. It should be a visit to remember..

So I'm thrilled to be going to Nimhneach. It holds a very special place in my heart for many reasons. The first being the fact that it actually exists. I lived in this city for years, thinking I was the only kinky girl here. Little did I know that just across the river was a whole group of my kind of people. Intelligent like-minded kinksters, up for a chat, kinky fun and of course the famous Irish craic.

It's also the first place I did any public play and have done some amazingly intense scenes there, as well as played with some great friends. But my favourite part of Nimhneach is when DJ Paddy puts on MGMT's 'Kids' and I dance away in my school uniform, completely and blissfully free. There really is nothing like it, so let the Nimh-citement continue!

Friday, August 14

Thou shalt not give rise to anger

I experienced a new emotion over the weekend. Anger came a knocking. I'm still not sure where it came from or who it was directed at, but it was there, in vibrant force. Nor do I know if feeling such intense anger was a good or bad thing. But in at least two scenes I got inexplicably angry. I'm still trying to figure out who was angry, me or my character. And who was I angry at? Myself? HH in his role? Kami for witnessing it?

I'm not usually prone to anger in scenes. Usually bratty or giggly or mischievous or sorry or scared but never angry. Or at least not angry for long. When the pain is truly getting to me I kick my legs or beat my fists in frustration.

Was there something particular about that weekend? Was it because of a long, stressful week? Not having played in a while? Being tired? Not being able to get into the right headspace or getting too far into headspace?

The first scene leant itself to anger I guess Two schoolgirls sent to the newly appointed Headmaster for fighting in public.

He made special mention of me as the senior girl needing to set a better example to younger girls, i.e. Kami. His patronising attitude, the fact he was new to the school, was intent in introducing corporal punishment and 'changing' us really got to me. We were just bothersome little girls to be severely punished.

He then produced a hairbrush and ordered us to lower our knickers, lift our skirts and get over his knee in turn. The humiliation was intense. I had to watch Kami get it first and feel guilty I got her into this. Which is funny because in advance the premise of the scene was that we hated each other and would keep blaming each other for what happened. But Kami, like playing with Eliane or Caroline drew my empathy and protective instincts.

By the time the hairbrush was acquainting itself with my own bottom, I was seething. Gripping the chair in pure stubbornness I barely drew breath during the scene. I channelled all my energy into not feeling it. Into not reacting. Into not letting HIM win.

By the time he let me up I was sweating from pain and effort and his taunts that surely I was too old to be be spanked over his knee stung. And it just made me more angry. He then strapped us extremely hard and I couldn't take the pain without moving. I couldn't help but react and yelp. And that made me more angry.

The last part was a final OTK spanking where we both had to ask him to 'please smack my naughty little bottom', which I muttered through gritted teeth. It was a relief to finish the scene. To breathe again. To relax.

Afterwards HH asked what was I so angry about and I honestly didn't know. Of course my character was angry with the Headmaster, (I certainly wasn't angry with HH) but was that all? And I do hate the hairbrush, not my favorite implement at all, because I can't be brave for it. But when the same anger surfaced after a very intense scene where I was raw and open and overreacted to something silly, it made me think twice.

I'm not overly worried about it yet. We did a lot of scenes over the weekend and I didn't feel the same anger in or after all of them. And it's never happened before. But if it continues to rear it's head, I'll have to think about it a bit more. At least figure out if it's a good release or not. Cos inherently it feels wrong for me, for Emma Jane.

Thursday, August 13

But I didn't mean to say it!

Ever been in the middle of a scene and done something you didn't mean to? Now it's not like I plan my scenes in detail or think in advance what I might say. Generally I'm a girl with a name and a background and I have no idea what the top is going to give me. That's the way I like it. But usually I have some form of self preservation, especially when playing with HH. I honestly don't try to make it worse for myself, cos it's usually pretty bad already.

So we were in the middle of a scene over the weekend. Kami and I had been applying moisturiser and helping each other out to get to those hard to reach places. Of course it was only natural we were in our underwear. All would have been fine except we got a bit carried away and the moisturiser ended up in our hair, on the bed, everywhere really! And I guess our giggles were a bit loud. Well so Uncle Henry thought anyway.

He thundered into the room and before we knew it, each of us was lying across the bed, knickers down to our knees and fearfully awaiting retribution. (Neither of us were foolish enough to think he wanted to help with the moisturising!)

Hearing Uncle Henry take off his belt confirmed our fears and we huddled close on the bed, anticipating the horridness to descend. And we weren't disappointed. He was really very upset that his quiet afternoon of peace was ruined and made his annoyance clear in searing strokes across our bottoms. Very soon we were both howling and wriggling across the bed. Poor Kami got one whole set of 6 repeated because she moved out of position on the last one.

On my last set of 6, the hardest yet, I manged to stay down for 4, but they were so hard I couldn't stay still either. As I got my extras I couldnt't deal with the pain and as the 8th one landed I hissed (ever so quietly) 'fuck'. Unfortunately for me Uncle Henry has very sharp hearing and another half dozen quickly landed on my already sore bum.

But when he told me to kneel up and disappeared to the bathroom, my heart sank. I knew exactly what was coming. And I really didn't want it to. Part of me was thinking 'it's not fair I didn't meant to say it, this isn't part of the scene', but the other part of me, the half with the discipline fetish was sick with apprehension and too scared to ire Uncle Henry further.

Kami watched in horror as he scrubbed my mouth out with the icky soap. Around my tongue and in between my teeth, lecturing me the whole time. I gasped and grimaced and tried not to swallow any of it. It was so vile and all so avoidable I was almost crying from the shame of it. Luckily he allowed me to rinse my mouth out before returning to Kami and giving her another half dozen.

Afterwards as I processed the scene I was still thrilled that my natural reaction was integrated so neatly into the scene. That my naughty behaviour, whether planned or not was properly dealt with. Not that I had any other choice. 'I didn't mean to' (even if I actually didn't) is never a valid excuse in these situations!

Wednesday, August 12

I told you I wasn't Fiona Locke!

Well I said it before and I'll say it again, I'm not Fiona Locke!

But I do know who is. None other than Niki Flynn, who's just come out on her blog and fessed up. As she explains herself she had lots of reasons for writing under both names.

I will admit though that I did know Niki was Fiona all along. And this idea to create mischief with guessing her identity was inspired by me telling her about some of the theories out there! I hope no-one minded the fun and I'm glad to be able to reassure you that I'm not in the habit of conducting witch hunts and trying to reveal people's identities!

Although I am an Internet stalker. Well at least I used to be before I started writing my own blog and that's mostly kept me too occupied to stalk anyone! But being the stalker I was, meant I worked out who Niki was before I met her, or HH or any of her friends.

It all began when I read Over the Knee and was surprised that Fiona didn't have an online presence. No blog and no commenting anywhere. But she was surely someone in the spanking scene. She wrote too realistically not too be. And her acknowledgements referred to people who I knew of in the scene.

Then when I went online to buy On the Bare, Fiona's second book, Amazon suggested Niki Flynn's Dances with Wolves so I ended up buying both at the same time. And reading both at the same time. In fact I read each a chapter at a time, alternating between the two books. I'm greedy like that and didn't have the patience to finish one over the other!

And my mind whirled. Similar writing styles. Almost the same acknowledgements. Then I went to Niki's blog and Fiona's webpage and started to write a 'I liked your book' email before stopping. All the pieces fell together and suddenly the thought hit me that I was writing to the same person twice. So I didn't send either mail.

I pondered the issue for a while before eventually asking a scene friend that knew Niki, if she was also Fiona. Of course they didn't confirm it for me. Friends don't do that. But they passed on my suspicions and HH (who'd just started corresponding with me!) mailed and confirmed that my stalkerness had indeed guessed Niki's secret. And I was mortified. Acutely embarrassed of having been so obsessed to spot it, worried they would think I was nuts! But Niki and HH were both very forgiving and laughed that I'd worked it out.

So now we all know who is and isn't Fiona Locke!

Tuesday, August 11

If you can't do the time...

Kami, HH and I were relaxing in the hot tub. The warm water was soothing very sore bottoms, And although Kami and I may have been a little over playful and maybe flapped around a bit too much or splashed HH once too often, we were quite well behaved, for us anyway!

When we were done Kami and I got out first, put on our robes and returned to the house. Then I got an impish idea. 'Wouldn't it be funny if we took his robe' I giggled to Kami, nodding at HH who was lying back with his eyes closed, enjoying 5 minutes peace. Giggling in return she agreed and we crept out and snatched his robe before racing back into the house.

Pausing to shut the door and hang the robe on the back of, we scampered upstairs and peered out the window. We watched HH slowly get out and shut up the hot tub. Hmmm we'd forgotten that part. He must have been a good 5 mins outside. And it was cold.

When he disappeared from view we waited in anxious silence until his familiar step could be heard on the stairs. Darting round the room but finding nowhere suitable to hide, we gave up and stood against the wall with our towels over our heads. (He did laugh on finding us like that, but not enough to let us off).

Kami was first. He likes to make me wait knowing it kills me. As he positioned her face down over the whipping bench he loftily asked me had I ever had a wet bottom strapping, to which I shook my head in terror. It suddenly wasn't funny anymore!

Wetting Kami's bottom he then aimed the tawse. A few practice strokes before it cracked down properly. I jumped at the noise and Kami's resulting scream. Again and again I watched it fall, feeling sick. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. HH meant business.

But as he finished with Kami he informed her that we'd have been caned too if we'd actually locked the door, and brat that I am, all I could think was 'damm, we should have locked the door'.

I was quickly distracted from such thoughts by his order to get over the bench. Feeling the water on my bottom I flinched. As he raised the tawse he softly told me that it was true, wet bottom strappings did hurt a lot more. When the first stroke branded my poor bottom I had to agree. Yelping in shock I immediately sat up and clutched the hot welt. Before resignedly lying back down. I have no idea how many he gave me. All I can remember is a band of pain. It really, really hurt. And I did regret the joke. Why were we angering him?

At one point I felt like safewording and realised I couldn't, this wasn't a scene. I couldn't just end it. I believe in playing fair and HH is always clear on the rules. If you can't do the time, don't do the crime. (Of course I could really if it was too much for me, but if seemed like I couldn't).

Comparing notes with Kami later she admitted to having the same thoughts. Whether we were consciously doing this or not is hard to know. But it truly felt like a punishment spanking. And the hugs and forgiveness afterwards were even more gratifying.

Monday, August 10

Leave me alone

An important part of winding down after a scene is the HUG. It's a way for the top and bottom to reassure each other. To clearly end the scene and get back to reality. Sometimes a brief hug is all that's needed and other times it may be a long hug while both process what's just taken place. Usually there's a chat about the scene too. The great parts, things that maybe didn't go so well, giggling over things that were said etc.

The previous time I played with HH we did such an intense scene that I cried for 20 minutes afterwards. I couldn't talk, I just needed to cry it out. Thankfully he was ok with that and held me until I was ready to chat and do a final hug.

But not every top is comfortable with this. Tops need reassurance too. They need to know that they haven't gone too far, that the scene worked, that the tears are ok, that the tears will stop. So I need to communicate this to new play partners.

I don't cry after every scene and I rarely cry in the scene. But if you push me to an emotional place then I need to work through it. I need time afterwards to deal with what just happened and this does not mean you have done anything wrong. Please be patient with me. Of course it's easier if this is talked about up front and you understand me.

It's a bigger problem when I need to be alone after a scene. As in don't touch me or come near me until I'm ready. It happens very rarely but can be difficult for play partners to deal with. I understand that but don't know how to get over it.

As happened over the weekend with HH. After a long day of play I got a bed time strapping and then a paddling. The strap was thin but wide and it HURT so badly. I cried from the first stroke. Not silent tears either, but noisy gulping cries. I don't know how many I got but enough to be truly sobbing by the time he switched to the wooden paddle.

I couldn't believe anything could be as bad as that strap, but the paddle was 10 times worse. And I gave way to gut wrenching sobs the whole way through it. But it was all good pain. A truly emotional release as he stripped me away. I trusted HH. We both knew this is what I wanted, what I needed.

When he gave me the last stroke, the relief of finishing overwhelmed me. I was hyperventilating, struggling to control my breathing. All I could do was lie on the bench and cry it out.

He knows me well enough not to hurry me. Gently telling me to call him when I needed him he sat on the bed, watching me until I was ready. It's a tough place for a top to be. I know that. He wants to comfort me. He needs to be reassured. But I couldn't go to him until I calmed down, until I could breathe again, until I started to process it.

I would never end the scene without that HUG though. Even if it comes 20 minutes or an hour afterwards. It's too important to forgo. But sometimes directly afterwards, I just need to be left alone.

Sunday, August 9

Love your bum

I got scolded by HH for neglecting my bottom. Ironic really coming from he who enjoys turning it to various shades of red and purple. A scolding that came just after he had hairbrushed me until my bottom was a deep scarlet and then strapped me til it was mottled all over. So after inflicting all that damage it was almost incredulous that he would give me a lecture on looking after it!

Except he's right of course. I haven't been looking after it properly. Not enough moisturising or tender care. I let it get burnt on holidays and have barely put any lotion on it after a shower. Let alone intensively caring for it every day, like every spanko should.

The lack of such attentions results in very dry skin that flakes and breaks easily when playing. Most toppy types don't like to break the skin. And I don't particularly like it either. But even more so I don't like the possibility of a scene being cut short because while I and my bottom can handle the pain, my skin can't.

So HH was right to pull me up on it. And by that of course I mean pulling me over his knee and spanking me for it!

Saturday, August 8

Here I go again!

I'm off again people for another weekend of play. The kinky suitcase is packed. I'm suitably apprehensive and more than a lil bit excited. Playing with HH so far has been a wonderful and usually intense experience. The scenes flow as we play against each other and I simply have no idea how I'll react. That's what makes playing with him so great. He surprises me and derails me at every turn.

But I'm extra excited this time cos I shall not be facing HH alone. I will have back up. The incorrigible Kami Robertson will also be there. I'm thrilled to think of how much trouble we'll get into. Cos Kami brings out the brat in even the most well-behaved girl. The last time we hung out we got strapped by Juliet for fighting, caned by Abel for having a water fight and severely tawsed by HH for misbehaving while out to dinner!

Still I wonder if a whole weekend of us is too much for even HH. One of us brats on her own is bad enough, but two of us plotting together can be ten times the trouble!

Anyone care to bet on the outcome? Emma Jane in tears? Kami in tears? Or HH having a nervous breakdown?!

And no, I'm not going to ask any of you to contribute to the scenes or the number of strokes. I learned that lesson the hard way!

Friday, August 7

Poor little Piglet

This picture was sent to me as an example of swine flu getting out of hand. Of course the vanilla who sent it to me didn't really understand what he was looking at. This is clearly a representation of submission and domination, cleverly illustrated through Winnie the Poo and friends.

Note how piglet is effectively restrained in the way of shibari. An expert was obviously at work here. He's also backed into a corner, right at the edge of the table. When the animals finally advance on him he'll have no place to go, no where to hide.

I can also guess what the rest of the animals are discussing. No doubt a forced medical is about to take place and Mr Bird seems to be preparing his feathers for the very act. And surely this will be followed by a whipping of some sorts. They certainly look very purposeful, and Piglet looks very scared.

As well he should be cos Christopher Robin ain't going to save him this time!

Thursday, August 6

Spank her here, spank her there, spank her everywhere

You'll be glad to hear that the big move is over, I'm all done. You won't have to listen to me go on about it anymore (thank fecks says you!).

Anyway I'm sitting here in my new house and seeing it through kinky eyes for the first time.

The sofa is perfect for getting strapped on. I can imagine being placed over the wide arm of it with my bottom high in the air and my head buried deep in the cushions. Or lying across the front of it over some toppy types knee. Or tipped across the back of it for a paddling. I could go on; it's a very versatile piece of furniture!

I can also see myself stretched across the dining room table for a caning. Or maybe I'd have to get up on my tiptoes to lean across the high backed chair. That would really pull my skin tight. Then there's the counter in the kitchen, the one with all the wooden utensils so handily placed atop.

The bath is also nice and wide. Lots of space for a girl to have a forced shower (cold no doubt) and inspection.

And then there's my new bedroom and its endless possibilities. Including the ottoman I bought with the exact intention of using is as a whipping bench. Its soft cushioned top will provide some comfort when I'm lying on it being thrashed. Or I could be made to kneel on it with my hands on the floor to present myself for whatever else the toppy type might do to me...

Yes a new house is full of so many opportunities for spankings!

Wednesday, August 5

A place for everything and everything in its place

I'm fed up of moving things! Not just packing them up and transporting them but this whole business of finding new places to put everything. At the moment most of my toys, e.g. the canes etc are under my bed, which is really no way to treat them. But they'll have to stay there until I decide where to home them.

The smaller toys aren't so much of a problem. They go in my beside drawer and any idiot silly enough to look in a girl's beside drawer deserves to be shocked by what they find!

I'm thinking of hiding my kinky books on my bookshelf amongst all my boring academicy titles. Once they'd see 'Fundamentals of Project Management' or '7 habits of highly effective people' they'd get bored and stop browsing.

And I've also decided to sod it and hang my uniforms up in the wardrobe (albeit at the back). Rolling them up in a ball in a drawer just leaves far too much ironing to be done before school. (Caoilfhionn is fussy about her uniform!!).

Although some items were a pleasure to sort and put away. Like my large collection of knickers, which I still haven't counted. But I spent a good half hour arranging them in the drawers. Firstly I folded them neatly and then divided them into the following bundles:

cute and/or frilly day knickers (coloured);

cute and/or slightly frilly day knickers (white, I have lots of these cos I love white knickers!);

cosy night knickers (used to be either of the above but have been downgraded);

sexy night knickers (when I have someone to entertain, if he'll let me wear knickers that is);

functionals (no line, flesh coloured yokes for wearing with a posh frock);

thongs (when I can't get away with wearing any of the above).

Hmmmm obsessive, me???

Tuesday, August 4

Out of the closet

Ugh, I'm packing up my house and moving into a new one. Not the funnest of ways to spend a bank hol weekend!

Several lovely friends offered to help but I had to decline. (Although Lollipop did pop round with doughnuts bless her). I thought it was much safer if the vanillas don't see what exactly is hidden in my room.

The rulers and wooden spoons I could just about explain away. Possibly my whips and handcuffs and blindfolds as well. And I guess my suspenders and corsets. And probably my buzzy toys too. (Even vanilla girls have some of these, don't they?)

But the canes, paddle and tawse are much harder to justify. As is my collection of school uniforms. One for a school disco maybe; 5 different skirts/pinafores, 8 school shirts and 6 ties is a lot harder to explain.

And then there's my small (but growing) kinky library. Titles like 'Over the Knee', 'The Spanking Writers', 'Dark desires' and 'Journey of a submissive' are sure to attract attention.

So yes best that the vanillas don't help with the packing and unpacking!

Monday, August 3

The great outdoors

This is The Pinnacles, a natural rock formation in Western Australia that thousands visit every year. It's also the scene of my most memorable outdoor spanking. My semi-kinky boyfriend hauled me across his knee, tugged my panties and shorts down and spanked me.

I have no idea if it was hard or how long it lasted, but I do know that I was terrified of being caught and when he eventually let me up my face was as red as my bottom!

The jury is still out on spankings in public. I hate them, but still deciding if that's hate them in a 'it's so mortifying and therefore appeals to my kink' or if I 'just hate them'. The fact I don't list it as a limit and don't safeword when tops spank me in pubic probably hints at the former. And I definitely count it as part of my discipline fetish.

But one thing I absolutely stress is the need for a warning. If I'm warned to stop x behaviour or get such a punishment and I push it then I deserve to get the spanking or whatever. It wouldn't be fair otherwise. However, if I behave then I'm clearly showing I don't want it, it's not worth it.

And sometimes whether I push it or not depends on the situation. Like the trip to a nice park with several kinky friends earlier in the summer. Continuous bratting earned me public corner time from Abel and a switching outdoors from HH. But I felt brave around so many other kinksters. Fast forward to my next visit. It was just HH and me wandering around and I was impeccably well-behaved!

I'm curious as to how do the rest of you feel about being spanked in public? Is it an absolute hard limit or does it depend on the situation?

Sunday, August 2


She hovered outside the door of his study. Trying to get up the courage to knock. She could hear him tapping away at his computer. Could imagine him concentrating hard on his task. He was always so focused in everything that he did. She wished she could be so determined. So disciplined. But then that's why she was here. He had promised her he would help her with her studies. Promised to give her the encouragement and motivation she needed to succeed. To retain her scholarship and to graduate with honours. Make her parents proud. Be the big brother she never had.

She wished she was here to share good news. She loved when he was happy with her. Like last month when she got the highest mark in her class for her history essay. He was so pleased with her and treated her to a nice dinner out. Or when she got elected captain of the debating team. Again so generous with his praise, although also reminding her not to take on too many extra curricular activities. That had almost been her downfall in her first year of college. So many distractions proved overwhelming, making her lose sight of her studies. But he had been there. Focusing her. Helping her maintain her scholarship. Keeping her grades up. Pushing her.

They had made a deal. She had to tell him when she was struggling and he would be lenient. Had to tell him when she missed classes or when she was close to missing a deadline. He couldn't help her otherwise.

She painfully recalled that first time she had missed a deadline. Not only the agony of the 12 strokes of his senior cane on her bare bottom, but the force of his disappointment. She had wept bitterly afterwards and swore to make amends. He had comforted her, promising to give her the discipline she lacked. Warning her to ask for help before it was too late or face the harsh consequences.

Of course she'd felt that cane many times since but never as hard as that first time. She learned to trust him, confide in him, and hadn't missed a deadline again. Had come close of course but always asking him for help in time and taking her punishments bravely. He was always proud of her for being brave.

His disappointment was always the worst thing. He had such high expectations of her, she hated let him down. frustrated at her own short comings. And here she was again. Going to that party at the weekend and drinking too much. A whole day of study wasted on Sunday as she recovered. And he had cautioned her to take it easy. Told her she could go, as long as she put in a full day of work afterwards. How could she tell him she'd done nothing but feel sorry for herself. That her essay due on Friday wasn't even started.

The door opened, startling her. He looked at her ruefully and invited her in, letting her know he had been expecting her. She didn't ask how, just relieved she didn't have to tell him herself. He shook his head sadly and reached for the senior cane. '18' he pronounced quietly. 'A serious reminder as you head into your final semester. I will not allow you to lose your focus now.'

He pointed to his desk and she slowly assumed the familiar position. Stretched across the top, skirt flipped up and knickers pulled down to her knees. Her heart beat faster as she anticipated the awful pain to come. She'd never had so many before, it would be impossible to be brave, to show him how sorry she was. She turned her head to look at him, fear in her eyes, pleading silently. In response he placed his hand on her back, a reassuring touch, calming her. And she knew it would be ok. He was just keeping his promise.

Saturday, August 1

Hangover Cure

I was a lil bit naughty the other night. Actually I was a lot naughty. Went out on a school night, didn't get home until near 3am, drank an indecent amount of alcohol and was terribly hungover all day at work. That would have been ok (ish).

Except silly me decided to check and respond to a few emails before I finally closed my eyes. It certainly wasn't clever to include Abel in that correspondence and therefore alert him to the lateness of the hour or even worse, the extent of my inebriation!

And thus the next morning, through bleary eyes, I read the following note from him:
Young lady, it is evident that you stayed out far beyond your bedtime last night, and that you were drinking alcohol.

As your guardian, I have a duty to make sure you behave properly. I have to say that your conduct is quite unacceptable and cannot go unpunished.

You will go to school as usual today. When you return, you will go straight to your bedroom and wait until I am ready to deal with you.
Despite the fact I was alone, and knowing that Abel was at a very safe distance, I still blushed furiously. And I squirmed all day long. Feeling alternatively naughty, repentant and slightly defiant.

Although really I was enjoying the delicious squirmy feeling and happily let my mind wander over the various punishments I might have received...

It certainly helped distract me from the woeful hangover!