Wednesday, November 25

The power of fantasy

One of my concerns in advance of the Regency party was whether I could sustain the character throughout the weekend. Could I properly play a young lady in the society of that time, without resorting to my usual bratting and giddiness?

So the biggest surprise of the weekend was how much I got into it. How the roleplay itself was the main thrill for me. That the spankings and other kinky play, although lots of fun too, became a secondary amusement. The dressing up, dining formally, conversing with the other guests, walks in the garden, the dancing and being Lady Grace were the main highlights. For the first time I understood what Haron means by saying that sometimes the very roleplay is enough for her; spankings are not always necessary to fulfil a fantasy.

I absolutely adored being Lady Grace, a young Anglo Irish lady of some spirit but refined enough to be acceptable in good society. I wanted to do her proud. I wanted to be seen as respectable, with good manners and wit and easy conversation. I needed Lord Fawcett and Mrs Derby to approve of her behaviour.

I delighted in wearing such pretty clothes and wearing my hair so elegantly. In being surrounded by other charming and beautiful ladies. Easily succumbed to the the attention and courtesy of the gentlemen and quickly became accustomed to having servants to fetch and carry and help me dress. Enjoyed having no responsibility. I was bade to come and I came, bade to go and I went. Gave myself up naturally to the authority of my superiors.

While I did have my share of spankings, these were mostly of the nice variety, with much intimate caressing that any young lady would enjoy. And I truly did try to keep my bratting and acting up to be dealt with, to a minimum. My only major moment of weakness, a most fun sword fight with the equally spirited Dorothea. And indeed when my naughty cousin and some other ladies were flinging bread across the dinner table, I could not partake, it didn't feel right.

Since my return from 1809 I've spent many delightful moments reliving various parts of the weekend. Receiving Mrs Derby's seal of approval on my appearance; being formally introduced to the other guests that first evening; walking arm in arm with Francesca in the garden; dancing at the Regency ball; complimented on my appearance; receiving my private mail; being scolded by Sir Abel for some little indiscretion; descending the stairs with my skirts gathered; playing games; Kitty lacing up my corset. I could go on and on...

But apart from reliving every beautiful moment I've been reflecting on how I felt throughout the weekend. The fact that at times I felt at my most meek and submissive. This was despite the lack of heavy and intense thrashings, which are usually what are required to take me to that place.

Perhaps it was because all through the weekend I felt safe and cosseted. Taken care of, by the gentleman, the ladies and of course the wonderful servants. When I looked in the mirror I thought I was pretty, and when people complimented me I believed it. I walked with my head higher, sat happily and contentedly, felt welcomed and wanted, at ease and at home.

Is this why I crave being disciplined and controlled? Am I just really looking to be made feel special? To feel taken care of? To feel like I belong?

Tuesday, November 24

The Fecking French!

No this is not another Regency post, although we all did professe to hate the French over the weekend too, Napolean was a bit of a pain back then.

And really it's not so much the French, as one man, Thierry the fecker Henry that I'm pissed off at. Not only did he deny our brave lil soccer team from progressing to the World Cup finals through the daylight robbery of a double hand balling, the bastard. Oh no it wasn't enough to dash the hopes of a nation in the depths of recession and a climate that Jesus himself hadn't miracles enough to have improved.

No, not content with all that, the bastard then went and got me spanked. For bad language. In public. In front of young children to be precise. Abel was not pleased to hear me shout 'that fucking, asshole' in the local pub we were having lunch in. Not that Henry the fecker was actually in the pub. No he just appeared on the TV and that was enough. God knows what punishment I'd have gotten if I'd had the chance to punch the asshole.

As it was I got dragged home and led upstairs. A short lecture where I had to agree that one must mind one's language in public, especially when children are present. Even if provoked.

In resignation and with some fear watched as he removed his belt. Without fuss, quietly bent over the bed, knickers down, skirt up as instructed. Struggled through 6 fierce strokes of the belt across my bottom.

Hated that I was being disciplined. Eagerly rushed into his arms for comforting hugs and forgiveness.

Fucking French!

From the diary of Lady Grace Altamount

I have just taken a peek at Cousin Francesca's diary. (If she will leave it lying around it only serves as an invitation to read her most intimate thoughts!) I was very pleased to learn that she truly had enjoyed Lord Fawcett's party, as indeed had I.

Although we were nervous on our arrival, the charming company and luxurious surroundings put us both immediately at ease. We were grateful that both our fathers had been generous in our clothing allowance and we were dressed as finely as the other young ladies. Although it was noted that Miss Dorothea Latimer, a delightful and handsome young lady, wore dresses of the finest silks and most modern styles. It appeared that the rumours of her vast wealth were indeed true.

Mrs Derby, as our chaperone was very particular to oversee our preparations and seemed very pleased with our appearance. With a parting reminder on posture and manners she dismissed us to go down and meet the other guests.

However, I was very quickly to learn some news that did not sit well with me at all. Dearest Papa in some fit of lunacy had engaged Sir Abel Cadogan, newly appointed Chief Punishment Officer of England, to act as my disciplinarian. To my absolute horror Sir Abel felt the need to demonstrate his discipline techniques both first thing in the morning and last thing at night and nothing less than a painful dose of the cane would do. Although I must confess it the only cloud on an otherwise wonderful weekend.

As we mingled with the other guests before dinner on the first evening, I was to learn more fortunate news. Mrs Derby had found me a suitor that she felt would both please me and make me a most fortuitous match. Although the young man himself was not in attendance, I had the pleasure of meeting his father, Mr Conningsby. To my astonishment I discovered he was an American.

It was so very exciting hear his tales form the New World and he seemed quite taken with me. He felt my spirit would serve me well in the New World and I eagerly told him of my pirate connections which amused him more than it had Lord Fawcett.

With this lovely prospect of escaping the clutches of Sir Abel, I happily was escorted into dinner by the charming Lord Plymouth. A quite accomplished man he was recently engaged to Lady Charlotte Carlise and they were due to be married that very week. If we were surprised at their haste it was not talked of, much.

At dinner I had the honour of seating to the left of Lord Fawcett and felt the compliment exceedingly. The delightful Lady Cecily De Burgh was seated across from me and dinner passed most pleasantly. Of course all of society was aware of her recent incarceration in the Lowewood Reformatory. However, apart form some slight remarks, not much was talked of this.. Lady Cecily being so pretty and rich was enough to overcome such a scandal.

Dinner was a truly sumptuous affair and I tasted the delights of finely prepared fish, hare soup and exquisite quail. After dinner the Ladies retired to the drawing room and enjoyed a small glass of port as we awaited the gentlemen. I was delighted to make the further acquaintance of Lady Emma Cavendish, a lady of such beauty she is renowned in three countries.

And such was the order of the weekend, fine company, delightful amusements and exquisite food. When not in the company of the gentlemen we ladies spent our time in the quiet pursuits of needlework, letter writing and reading. I had been fortunate to receive a folio of an unknown writer by the name of Jane Austen, simply titled Persuasion. I was enthralleed by the utter romance of the novel and dearly hoped she would publish some day.

To our interest we learned that each lady present was assigned one of the gentlemen to act as her champion and defend her honour. My heartfelt sympathies went out to Francesca as Sir Abel was named as hers and my fears were confirmed as he spanked her at dinner on the second night! Although in a strange reversal of behaviour it was I who confiscated her wine and urged her to behave herself. Perhaps Sir Abel was having an effect afterall.

I myself was under the protection of Lord Dorchester, a wonderful, charming young man with an eye for Miss Latimer. However, I was startled to learn he played fast and loose with my honour and at the card tables had indebted himself to the sum of 87 guineas to Mr Conninsgby. For which I was fofeited to make the repayment.

It was with great fortune that Mr Conningsby had by now made up his mind that I was suitable marriage material for his son Fenwick Conninsby II, and was therefore as interested in my honour as I was myself. He did however subject me to a thorough inspection to ascertain my breeding qualities. And also gave a firm display of the discipline that he and his son were in agreement upon.

The festivities finally concluded with a ball, my absolute favorite pastime in the world. I happily was engaged for several dances with the dashing Viscount Fitzwarren. It was quite a thrill to learn a new dance from the Americas called a waltz. To our shock the gentlemen put their hands on out person as we danced, how racy indeed.

The Viscount proved an accomplished dancer and at first a seemingly mellow man . But when I was put over his knee and firmly spanked for trying to lead him in the waltz, I had to hastily revise my early judgement of him.

So it was with very heavy hearts we departed in our carriage, our weekend of fun and frolics at an end. What a wrench to depart from such charming and wonderful company. I was even sorry to bade farewell to Sir Abel, even if we did give me 18 hard cane strokes to remind me of him. Still despite the sorrow we were overflowing with joy at been invited and Cousin Francesca and I both felt very lucky indeed and forever indebted to Lord Fawcett and Mrs Derby.

Wednesday, November 18

Keep on 'hitting' me!

Over night when I was fast asleep my blog reached 100,000 hits! And I'm incredibly excited about that.

When I started this blog back in May I was so worried that no-one would read it, let alone comment on it. And I was a lil afraid I'd give up this blogging lark after just a few days!

But back then I didn't realise how addicted I'd get to writing. And certainly never considered how good it would be for me to have an outlet to order and process my thoughts. I have to admit that I really love my lil blog and so thrilled so many of you like it too.

So thanks for all your comments and support and I hope you stay with me, I'm not blogged out yet!

Here's a lil pic of one of my latest canings to enjoy. Want to guess who painted those lovely lines across my bottom?

Tuesday, November 17

The truth shall set you free

So I bit the bullet and told another 'nilla about my secret life. Lets call her Morena. I'd been thinking of telling her for a long time. I've known her almost ten years and she's a very chilled and easy going person and one of my closest friends. Deep down I knew she'd probably be fine with it, but the doubt was always there. That fear of a negative reaction. Of being ridiculed.

Funnily it was so often on the tip of my tongue to tell her, but I couldn't get the words out. It didn't help that very early on I tried to suss her out by saying I'd met some new friends online. The friends at the time being Frank and Caroline. When she reacted by asking me was I swinging I was very much put off, believing my fears proven, she wouldn't understand.

When we met last week I hadn't planned on telling her. There wasn't even any wine involved either! But as she asked about my weekends away, both past and upcoming I was suddenly weary of all the lying. Lately I've been feeling very overwhelmed by living this secret life. As much as I try to keep the details to a minimum and share only the activities that are non-kinky, it still involves some lying on my part. (Expert lying I might add but that's another day's post.) So in this mood of wanting to be honest I told her and nervously awaited her response.

It was not what I expected. Not only was she perfectly fine with it, she was actually interested! Delighted almost. Curious certainly. And she admitted to some skeletons in her own closest that we giggled over too.

Her only issue was how I could have kept it from her for so long. It was difficult to explain the fear behind my secrecy, especially in the face of her own openness and understanding. And when I told her of my early attempts to tell her, she admitted she had suspected something kinky but not in a negative way at all.

I haven't told her many details, just that I'm into a lot of kinky stuff, some sexual and some not so sexual. That I play with different people, in roleplay and re-enactments. She urged me to go for it and do whatever made me happy, assuring me it wasn't weird at all. And was positively envious of the upcoming Regency House Party. We discussed my blog and she asked for the link but I told her I wasn't ready for that yet. Mostly because I'm not sure she understands how honest I am on here, how much I tell and whether she'd be comfortable with reading some of my more intense scenes. That most of my play is not sexual, that it's the deep emotional reaction that I crave and that I can suffer a lot of pain in the process.

Telling her made me feel wonderful, not only to have told her but to see her react so positively. I felt the two sides of me fused a lil bit more and gave me hope that one day I won't have any secrets from my close friends. Something I dearly wish.

So now I think I may tell another one, but not just yet. Carefully does it and all that. Still I'm emboldened by Morena's reaction, even if she did get slightly upset when I called her vanilla. Oooops!

Monday, November 16

All in the preparation

Lord Fawcett's annual Regency House Party is merely days away and I am very excited! I'm also a little hassled as I finish my preparations for attending. Of course I only have to sort myself out so can only imagine what Jessica's stress levels are like as she sorts everything and everybody out, I am in awe!

My hassles are mainly cos I either can't find the stuff I did have or realising I don't have everything I should have. That's despite Bex and Jessica lending me all my dresses and the fact I've been shopping for months! I still had to run around town on Saturday buying last minute bits and pieces. Making my luggage even heavier, and my purse much, much lighter. But I couldn't resist one more pair of stockings, and two more hairpieces, and just another pair of gloves and a third pashmina...

Then there was the great shoe debacle where I couldn't find my shoes for my green ballgown. Two days, a trip home to raid the sister's wardrobe, an unsuccessful shopping trip and much cursing later I finally discovered them hidden in the back of my wardrobe. (Although Lord knows who put them there???!) Today's drama was over not having a big enough suitcase for all of the above. *SIGH*

Now, I only have a few outstanding chores to do. Some light sewing, just a few minor alterations to my dresses. Then there's deciding which of my hundred pairs of underwear I need to bring with me.

And lastly, but very importantly I have to brush up on the history and manners of the period. Lady Grace is not a blue stocking by any means but she must have some idea of the politics of her day. She did live in Ireland in very interesting times with the Act of Union and all that. Then there's the manners of the day to swot up on.

To this end I'll be studying a Brief Guide to the Regency that Jessica helpfully supplied. As well as watching Pride and Prejudice. The BBC drama version. You know, six hours of Colin Firth being all domly, mmmm. The lengths one must go to in the name of being prepared...

Saturday, November 14

Under the influence

I'm a very excitable girl, both in real life and kinky life. If you've met me you'll probably confirm that. Most of the time I'm all energy and sometimes that energy converts to mischief, either at work or out with vanilla friends or with my kinky friends. And if I'm playing I'll be even more hyper and energetic. But mostly this is all good. People invite me back to things so obviously they like me either for or in spite of this!

One thing I've very conscious of, after 10 years of being me, that my natural energy or hyperness can be seriously compounded by alcohol. After only a few glasses of wine I'll be dancing on the tables, doing an eight-hand reel, challenging everyone else to a shot drinking game, setting up an impromptu game of rugby etc. etc. And again, my vanilla friends mostly indulge me in these lapses of good behaviour. Some go as far to even encourage me, but that's another discussion.

Getting into to all the kinky parties and events I've been very careful not to consume too much alcohol at them. For a start it's not safe when playing with people you can't trust to be careful, like playing with strangers or clubs, or people you've never played with before.

But really I don't need the alcohol. I'm generally buzzing off the people and atmosphere around me and getting high on the play. I was always a little afraid of what might happen if I did have a lot of alcohol and was around this high energy group and then played as well. Would it be explosive?

Eliane's party last weekend for Graham the Girl (TM) was the test for me. As has been noted on other blogs it was a very fun and merry party and I was one of the most merry there (although Eliane was not far behind me!). In our defence, a weak one at that, we did start drinking ages before anyone else, and champagne goes straight to our heads!

Actually I was horrendously drunk at the party, to the point of not remembering much the next day. I know I had a great time. I know I danced in my underwear, I also know that I was not the only one and suspect I was the ringleader in this. I know I had lots of long and rambling conversations with the girls, that there was lots of girly cuddling and such and I know that I played a few scenes.

The scary thing was having to be reminded what those scenes were. Conversations with Eliane and Graham went something like this:

'I spilled your vintage champagne Elaine? Oh well, if you will leave it in my way.'

'I had 35 cane strokes? Really? From who? Oh Jessica and Abel? Together, one for each cheek? That must have been a great scene? Oh it was...'

'I was counting out the strokes very disrespectfully to Abel ? One your highness, one your ladyship? Ha that must have been hilarious. Oh, it was? Hmmm wish I'd been there...'

'Jessica broke the 14 euro (actually 17!) kitchen implement while whacking someone?' Oh wow, poor bottom, who's was it? Oh mine? Right, that must have hurt!'

'Someone tried to whack another girl with the broken implement? And had to be ordered to put it down before she hurt someone? Silly girl, who was that? Oh me, again...'

'I spilled your vintage champagne Elaine? Another glass? Oh still going on about it, get over it, accidents will happen!'
And the more that these incidences that were recounted to me, the more my shame grew. Oh whatever about being drunk and making everyone else dance in their undies, or not remembering plans that were made for the next day, or giving senseless advice to a poor darling that hardly needed it or even having a little weep cos I was too drunk, sure I can live with all of that. But not remembering some amazing and hot scenes, that's unforgivable.

Monday, November 9

Suffering for their art

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


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

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

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

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

1. The essay shall cover one side of one sheet of paper.
2. You will rule a left margin, in green, of exactly one inch..
3. The title shall be doubly underlined in blue.
4. The rest of the essay shall be written in pencil.
5. Your name shall be written in the top right hand corner and the bottom left hand corner.
6. There shall be no mistakes in spelling, grammar or layout, no crossings out or corrections.
Immediately Charlotte was in trouble for writing her title before ruling her margin. A swift spanking over the knee ensued. Then it was unlucky Lucy who wrote her title in blue instead of underlining it in blue. She too got spanked.

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

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

Then Charlotte, as the elder, who should really have set an example to her wayward little sister, got a lengthily and hard caning. Such a red and sore bottom she had, 85 strokes later....

Saturday, November 7

Method writing

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, November 5

Having the last word

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, November 2

Getting what I need

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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