Saturday, December 25

Merry Christmas!

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

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

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

Thursday, December 23

Soothing the soul

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, December 14


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday, December 4

Back before the Court

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

I underestimated both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bedtime that night

Thursday, December 2

Finishing School - The Head Girl's Tale

I haven't got round to writing my follow-up post to Finishing School yet. Have been too busy having a love-in with all the other FS participants where we've been commenting on each other's blogs and tweeting round the clock at each other, holding on to the magic that was last weekend. It's so lovely to be a part of and I think I am not the only one still floating!

So I'd urge you to check out these great accounts from my fellow bloggers:

Leia's Finishing School Stories 1-3
Eliane's It gets into your head
Pandora's The First Night at Darling's Academy
Haron's Finished Off or To Be a Lady
Amy's Finishing School Introduction

And even more of a treat below is a post from our very own Head Girl, Catherine Thomas! It's quite a rarity that she talks of her scene experiences and I feel quite privileged that she's letting me post it here.

Sometimes – no, actually, quite often – I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

In September, Lucy of Northern Spanking mooted the idea of a Finishing School on Twitter.  Immediately, she received a flurry of enthusiasm from far more girls than she could accommodate – in fact, she was forced to change venue to cope with the number of responses!

Fortunately, I was among those accepted to Mrs Darling’s Academy, essentially a CP version of “Ladette to Lady”.  We were told who our classmates would be, and much plotting ensued, with Caoilfhionn at the forefront, as she often is when mischief is being planned.

On arrival in Scotland, we were met by Miss Hammond Grant, who led us to our minibus.  After a long drive, we drew up to a castle.  The stiff bolts to the imposing door were drawn back and we were greeted by Mrs Darling herself.  She led us to the drawing room where Miss H-G read us a long list of rules.  We unpacked and tidied our rooms, finding uniforms on our beds: pencil skirts, neat pink blouses, grey or pink cardigans, slips, suspender belts and two sets of seamed stockings.

Saturday started with Assembly.  Neatly attired in our new Darlings Academy uniforms, we sang the School Song “To be a lady”.  Then Mrs D announced that she had appointed me as head girl, apparently for being the Twittersphere’s “voice of reason”.  This was worrying: in most CP-based roleplay schools, the Head Girl’s punishments are automatically doubled.  And we were in trouble almost immediately, as “Pantygate” was discovered: Caoilfhionn had brought each of us a pair of Little Miss Trouble knickers, and someone had snitched.  The staff had us all bend over in a line, exposing said knickers, and then moved up and down the line briskly, hairbrushes in hand – ouch!

Next came deportment, in which we had to demonstrate the art of walking in high heels.  One of my bugbears is women who totter in heels, so I was hoping to do well, and was pleased when Mrs D complimented me on my relaxed poise.

Moving on, we were split into two groups, and my group learned baking: shortbread, chocolate brownies, and lace wafers, to be served at teatime the following day.  Happily immersed in our work, we behaved impeccably, more than could be said for the music group whose lesson was regularly punctuated by staccato noises.  Perhaps they were learning percussion?

In the afternoon, my group prepared our own offering for the evening’s entertainment, with Miss H-G.  We were to read a passage from A Child’s Christmas in Wales, and then a poem each.  Some of the poems were fairly complex and required considerable concentration: once again, there was no fooling about in class and we were smugly aware that none of us had yet earned a punishment.

Meanwhile, the other group was outside, collecting foliage with which to make centrepieces for the dinner table.  We heard afterwards that naughty Caoilfhionn had been unable to resist the lure of the snow-covered trampoline, for which she was spanked in the snow by Mrs D.

After this, Mrs D explained that we were to prepare a formal dinner for the bachelors, who were due to arrive in an hour.  Alexandra –experienced in mass catering – was in overall charge of the meal, with others taking charge of individual courses.  We also had to change into our evening dresses ready to line up in the hall to greet the bachelors, show them to their rooms and provide a guided tour of the castle.  Most of us scrambled down to the hall just in time.

Largely thanks to Alexandra’s hard work and manic pacing around the kitchen, the dinner went extremely well, a superb feat considering that there were two starters and three choices of main course.  Alexandra spent most of her time in the kitchen overseeing the girls’ efforts, but still managed to get into more trouble than anyone.  In fact, I’m not sure how she found time to eat, as she spent so much time being strapped and caned!

Dinner over, we moved to the music room for coffee, where the real trouble began.  Caoilfhionn had thoughtfully brought after-dinner mints to hand out with coffee.  Unfortunately they were willy-shaped, and having already been in trouble during the day, she was scared to hand them out alone, so asked me to support her.  And what’s a girl to do when a friend asks for support?

The helpful bachelors brought “Willygate” to Mrs D’s attention immediately; to say she was shocked would be an understatement.  She quickly identified Caoilfhionn as the culprit, but I also owned up to my part, and thus discovered the down side to being head girl!

Caoilfhionn was made to bend over and each mistress took a cane, Mrs D being left-handed.  She was given twelve hard, fast strokes.  And then I was awarded twenty-four!

Now, I’m usually fairly hardy when it comes to CP, but I like thud and I like the strokes to be well-spaced out in tempo.  These canes were whippy and the strokes delivered at top speed.  It felt like a “real” punishment.  (Fortunately this is one of my kinks.)

We then had to demonstrate what we had learned in class: the “music” girls singing two songs in harmony, and the “poetry/prose” girls reading our pieces.  We were all very earnest, very well-behaved; and most of the bachelors seemed to appreciate our efforts.  I couldn’t help recognising the absurdity of the situation, though: twenty kinksters assemble in a fabulous castle for a spanking party, and they end up arranging parlour entertainment! 

Later, we were told that lights-out would be at 1.30.  At 1.15 I realised that I hadn’t yet told all the girls that we needed to get up early to wash up the dinner things and prepare a cooked breakfast, so did a quick tour of the dormitories.  Visiting Alexandra last, unfortunately we started chatting and were caught, still awake after 1.30, by Mrs D.

In the morning, we did get up early to wash up and provide a full cooked breakfast for the bachelors and girls.  As we were supposed to learn the School Song for Assembly, I made Jemima find her copy of the words and teach it to us, line by line.  As we sang, girls I had not been able to find the night before came running down, worried that they might be missing Assembly!

At Assembly, although we performed the School Song with aplomb, each of the girls was dealt with for overnight misdemeanours.  My offence - being in Alexandra’s room after lights-out - was taken very seriously, and I was awarded a massive 8 strokes of the tawse on my hands.  Mrs D’s tawse isn’t the heaviest, but my goodness she knows how to use it: another “real” punishment.  I felt as though she had removed all the skin from my palms and had numb fingers for about 10 minutes afterwards!

Miss H-G then took a very entertaining class in sexual etiquette, in which Violet neatly demonstrated the art of sheathing a banana and Caoilfhionn demonstrated table dancing to the St Trinian’s theme.  One of the bachelors taught the waltz (Sir Aden and I dutifully practised not stepping on each other’s toes) and another taught the history of CP in penal institutions.

And then the snow came down in earnest, forcing the Sunday leavers (Tombola, Caoilfhionn and Jemima) to depart sooner than expected, while the rest of us were taken individually for an evaluation interview with Mrs D, Miss H-G and the teaching bachelors.  Although complimentary about my deportment, leadership, reading and baking, they pulled no punches with regard to my faults and I was told that – in addition to having let myself down by joining in with Willygate and breaking the lights-out curfew - I needed to be less self-assured.  Ouch!  However, when the final placings were read out, I was delighted to be second overall and to win one of the two coveted Senior Girl brooches.

As I said, sometimes I think I really am the luckiest girl in the world.  This weekend was so far up my street that it could have been designed with just me in mind.  I loved every second of it and am so incredibly grateful to Mrs Darling and Miss Hammond-Grant for all their hard work, to the bachelors for being up for a laugh, and to my fellow pupils for being brilliant fun and mucking in.  A weekend in a cold, damp, draughty Scottish castle could have been a disaster, but it was an absolute triumph.

Monday, November 29

To Darlings we are sent...

There is just so much to say about Finishing School that it will take several blog posts, so this is just a teaser. The introspection and analysis comes later. For now I'm just going to give you a taster of what came to pass.

It all begins with the wonderful world of Twitter and a conversation between a few girls (one of which was me) and Lucy of Northern Spanking, on which she half joked about hosting a finishing school and we all thought it was a fantastic idea and begged to be allowed attend.

A few months later cue 10 girls heading to Scotland to Darlings Academy under the care of Mrs Darling (aka Lucy) and Miss Hammond-Grant (aka Amy Hunter.) The scene is thus set. Some of the action unfolds as follows:

I wait nervously at the airport to be picked up, along with three others until we are met by Miss Hammond-Grant, who cuts a terrifying figure in her smart clothes and her strict voice. Having never met Amy before I am shocked that we go straight into role. She announces Parker our driver and we trail about 5 metres behind them along the airport out to the bus, all shocked into silence.

Once safely on the bus Caoilfhionn and Jemima find their voice and keep up a  monologue of questions, singing and giggling the whole hour long journey to the academy, torturing both their escort and Parker as we go. It's not until after dinner that night when we relax out of role briefly that Amy finally tells us Parker wasn't a kinkster at all, but a regular hired bus driver. Eliane and I don't quite get over the mortification of this the entire weekend!

Admittance to the Academy (a spectacular castle) is dramatic. We wait in the cold night as the bolts are slowly and noisily drawn back and then Mrs Darling herself bades us enter. Once shown into the Drawing room to be inducted to the school rules we collapse into nervous giggles. We are, as was the desired effect, completely unnerved.

The only lesson of the evening is Grooming and all 10 girls listen in raptures as Mrs Darling and Miss Hammond Grant demonstrate make-up and hair techniques, genuinely wanting to learn. The next morning I try to bouff my hair and although some unkind girl (Tombola) says I look like Elvis, it makes my day when Miss Hammond-Grant compliments me on my efforts.

The day starts with Assembly and we are taught the school song and sing it with enthusiasm! My room mate Catherine Thomas is pronounced as head girl, a role she carries out perfectly, leading all the way, and very much a girl to be looked up to. She was also very capable of mischief, although generally of the more subtle variety.

Caoilfhionn genuinely tries hard to be good, but mischief is never too far away! And along with Alexandra, Tombola and Jemima is soon vying for the worst placed pupil award!

Her first prank pantygate as it is christened in discovered in the first assembly. All dressed in our matching uniforms we are meant to be wearing suitable ladylike underwear. However, some advanced plotting (aided by Abel no less!) means we are all wearing matching Little Miss Trouble knickers. A scheme of which our teachers have already found out about! We are all bent over and soundly lectured and spanked for breaking the rules. However it's just the warm up to the day that's needed and we all visibly relax.

Lessons are devoted to preparing for a Gala evening of entertainment for our bachelors. My class prepare songs to sing as well as flower arrangements to decorate the rooms. We also learn to prepare cocktails for cocktail hour. Whilst there was much spanking and mischief in our first music lesson, we are concentrating too hard in the second for anyone to get spanked at all!

Flower arranging also passes by, almost without incident. On a trip outside to collect foliage, Caoilfhionn is egged on by Cate to jump on the snow covered trampoline. It's tremendous fun until Mrs Darling catches her and spanks her in the snow. She is also given a stern lecture about fool hardiness that evening which reduces her to tears (more on this later).

That evening the girls have 15 mins to dress for the visiting gentlemen, in their prettiest dress. Each is assigned to escort a gentleman to his rooms and show him around the castle. Mrs Darling has impressed on us the seriousness of not letting her down and every girl tries hard to be the perfect hostess whilst we also prepare and serve dinner. Only Tombola can't contain herself and is the first to be in trouble at the dinner table.

Caoilfhionn conspires again, this time with the Head Girl no less, to serve the gentlemen their after dinner coffees with 'willy' shaped mints on the side. Our heads are not impressed, and poor Tombola is at first accused. I soon own up and my protests that I thought they were plain after eights are ignored, with a scathing put down from Mrs Darling.

I'm sentenced to a caning in front of all assembled and to my horror both heads stand either side of me with a cane each. What follows is the most painful of the punishments meted out to me, a double caning form either side, 12 agonising strokes delivered at a blistering pace. I still have the 12 clear lines on my bottom.

If they were angry at my part in this prank, the involvement of our Head Girl is an outrage and she is given twice the punishment, 24 hard strokes delivered at the same speed.

The next day as we washed up over breakfast the thought struck me that we might be expected to know the school song off by heart. The head girl suggests we learn it off and one of my best memories of the weekend is singing it over and over with the other girls as we attended to our duties, delighted that we'd escape that punishment at least

Morning assembly, however brings punishments for nearly all girls for various misdeeds of the night before. (Mine is for tweeting after lights out!) Although Caoilfhioon is very sore, courtesy of the canings and several spankings by the gentleman the night before, and resolves to stay out of trouble it's a short lived hope.

The sexual etiquette lesson is a fountain of knowledge for the girls and several of us take detailed notes. I carefully noted, as instructed by Mrs Darling that I should not monopolise conversations during dates. However my real shame comes when I am ordered to demonstrate the furniture top dancing that I listed as a special skill on my application form! In front of the school and the gentlemen I have to dance on a stool, aided by Jemina and the girls singing the Trinian's theme. As I topple off my stool I am caught by Miss Hammond Grant and neatly out across her knee for a very sound spanking.

The snow interrupts my last lesson and I miss final assembly but am told on the way out that Caoilfhionn came bottom. Considering the antics of Alexandra, Tombola and Jemima this is quite a feat and although Caoilfhionn has the decency to be a bit ashamed I am almost proud!

There is so much more I could say, however the other girls must tell their own stories. I will be posting again about how deeply I went in role, and why I think the weekend worked so well for me.

But massive thanks go to Lucy and Amy for their ambitions and attention to detail that resulted in such a fabulous weekend. Having never met either of them before we easily fell into role with each other and  they both embraced, and let Caoilfhionn flourish.

All the other girls and tutors were also wonderful and added so much to the weekend too. And although, as with all incredible roleplay weekends like this and the Regency House Party, I and several of the other girls have been crashing terribly today, but it's certainly been worth it!

Thursday, November 25

The beauty of roleplay

Caoilfhionn is preparing to set off for finishing school. Actually that's a lie, she's doing nothing and Emma Jane is procrastinating! A last minute shopping trip where a small fortune was spent on lovely grown up knickers and stockings is all that's been achieved so far.

Still at least Caoilfhionn's not nervous. It's just another of life's adventures. Her biggest concern is if she can put her stockings on without laddering them.

But Emma Jane is a little more worried. Not that it'll show over the weekend, but she is a bit nervous meeting so many new people at once. Even if they all have lovely reputations, and she knows she loves meeting new people. Not to mention the last time she met so many people at once it opened up a whole new and wonderful world for her.

Still it's a whole weekend of putting her best side forward, the nice side. She wants all the other girls to like her, and all the teachers, and all the visiting bachelors. It's a long list of people she wants to like her. That will still like her after a whole weekend of her company.

Then there's what's expected of her in Finishing School. Caoilfhionn can be mischievous and giddy, but Emma Jane wants to do well all the same. She wants to be good at being a a lady. (And misbehave on her own terms!)

But still she'll be OK, cos she'll hide behind Caoilfhionn. She's brave and confident and has several of her Lowewood friends to keep her company (as well as the delightful scallywag Tombolla). That's the beauty of roleplay. If you don't like who you are you can just be somebody else.

Tuesday, November 16


I've been to the first ever Shamrock Spanking Society party and am still buzzing from it. A fantastic venue, an excellent group of people, including so many of my close friends, and a great weekend of fun. Huge thanks must go to Ian, Frank, Caroline and Sarah for putting on the most awesome kinky event Ireland has ever seen.

I have lots to say about this party, not least the emotional rollercoaster it turned out to be where I went from beyond myself with excitement to getting overwhelmed by it all, dropping at the goodbyes to the pleasant happy state I am now in, two days later!

For those of you not familar with the term, Shamrocking is the state of having an amazing time in Ireland with a bunch of fabulous, not to mention perverted, people who may or may not be Irish.

More specifically if you are an Emma Jane it involves:
Inability to sit still or focus on anything for more than 5 minutes. There are just too many people to meet and greet with and so many hugs on offer it's heaven. (A particular pleasure to meet Ian's two imaginary partners!)

Delight that the kinky family (Ablel, Haron and Cath) have all come across the water to visit together and brought the much loved Sarah and Ella with them too.

Permanent grin plastered on face, related to the point above.

Needing a bedtime spanking to calm one down and set one to sleep, followed by a morning tawsing to remind a girl to behave.

Having the pleasure of introducing friends from both sides of the water to each other and giggling at Chalk's reaction to meeting the 'bad man from the blog'!

Dressing in the first of the 3 party outfits - Regency Lady, complete with fan and gloves and the compliments that I looked so demure until the grin re-appeared.

Enjoying the sight of everyone so smartly dressed at pre-dinner drinks and glowing in  the obvious pride Abel had on escortng his 3 girls.

Laughing at both Ian and Frank making speeches and feeling touched when Frank reminded us parties have so many possibilities and that he had met his darling girl at just such an event

Feeling discombobulated at being the only Irish person at a table full of Brits (apologies Irelynn but for these purposes that is what you are!), whilst the next table was full of all my Irish friends (I sneaked over during dessert).

Traipsing upstairs after dinner to change into outfit number 2, corset and heels

Returning to the party to discover the scavenger hunt is in full flow and joining in with gusto, giving and receiving spanks for trading answers to the questions (I came third!)

Being briefly overcome with madness and asking the Meanest Man on the Internet to give out the spanking due for said scavenger hunt.

Dashing off with Caroline Grey and another lovely new friend to change into outfit number 3, matching school girls - with burgundy pinafores and cross ties.

Being severelly caned by Mr Allen at one end of the hall whilst the vanilla staff looked on (in horror, amusement, bored disdain??).

Having  Caroline hold hands and look into my eyes during above caning, reminding me how often we used to do this and how powerful it is.

Experiencing a scene with HH that started out in fun but became an outlet for pent up emotion and energy and resulted in intense tears and tight hugs, quite extraordinary for a public event.

Delighting in joining forces with Haron and giving a naughty young man a well deserved spanking. (He would go on to get an even more deserved caning from me the next day, but that's another story!)

Realising I was done for one party and curling up with Abel for a cuddle that lasted all night.

Having a very sore and bruised bottom from excessive play.

Orchestrating a school scene with Cath, Bandree and Sarah and being punished by Retep, Abel and HH for running amok at a debating contest. (Our arguementative skills were not appreciated by any of the teachers)

Having a mini-meltdown that the weekend was drawing to a close and the thought of the kinky family leaving me.

Crying goodbyes but being restored by the lovely Retep and Bandree, and a highly recommended nap.

Ending the weekend with a great chat with Mr Allen, Cate Stoker and Simon Jenkins, a rousing rendition of Any dream Will Do in homage to a certain top who shall remain nameless, the realisation bastinado is not for me and an excellent caning lesson.

Driving home in the dead of night and falling into the deepest of sleeps, to wake up the next day feeling reinvigorated and sated.
These are just a few top of mind highlights, there are so many other people and moments that also made the weekend special and thank you to everyone who made it what it was.

So I'm well and truly Shamrocked peeps and it feels just great!

Thursday, November 11

1810 - The way we were

Protected. Beautiful. Wanted. Loved. Understood. Worthy. Special.
That's how I felt this weekend. No other roleplay makes me feel this way like the Regency House Party does. Last year wasn't just a once off, a new experience blown out of proportion. At the second tasting it was just as profound. Many times I looked at the people around me and felt humbled to be part of this. To be included.

For men to ask me to dance, stand when I entered a room, seat me at dinner, fetch my napkin, give me an arm when walking, compliment me in ways that I heard.

For beautiful ladies to tell me that I too had beauty, to share a whispered secret, to giggle behind a fan, to help me dress, praise my choice of clothes, shoes, jewellery, to enjoy the other's company.

The swish of my dress as I flounced into a room, the pure girlyness of my own laughter sounding strange to my ears, the blush of an unladylike thought, the gentle beating of my own happy heart.

The indulgence of exquisite food, the carefree abandonment of eating and drinking at leisure, the joy of servants on hand.

The frisson of excitement on entering the Hellfire club masked and cloaked, the thrill of being won to Lord Fawcett, the submission of being leashed and led, and the fear of the look that promised retribution.

The anticipation of being blindfolded and dealt with by each gentleman in turn, the surrealness of hearing all the ladies endure as I endured, and the certainty with which I went to my own man.

The laughter at some joke or trick, the sudden realisation it has gone too far and punishment quick to follow.

The pleasure of writing and receiving  letters, the promise of fun and delights to come, the thrill of new experiences, and the pleasure of old ones revisited.

The ritual of the dance, partners barely touching, chemistry at its most potent, catching an eye across the room, and finally coming together for the waltz, dancing all of us in harmony.

The shameless posing and flirting with the camera, and the girl with the camera, in the hope there might be a photo that captures the essence of love and life and togetherness of this wonderful weekend.

The wonderment that one person could have such vision and ambitions to create this uptopic fantasy and bring it to fruition, the frustration that mere words would never be enough to convey our thanks to the Arch-Duchess.

The tears welling up as it all came to an end, the drop crashing around my head like the bells of doom.

And the acceptance that 1810 is no more, but happy memories, photos and friendship endure in the real world too.
Protected. Beautiful. Wanted. Loved. Understood. Worthy. Special.

Wednesday, November 3

With love from me to me...

I came across a wonderful book last weekend: With Love from Me to Me, letters to my sixteen-year-old self.

Written by some very well known Irish people it’s a collection of letters they were asked to write to their younger selves, from the perspective of where they were now. The proceeds from the sale will go to the Irish Youth Foundation.

It’s a really beautiful book and most the of letters are very touching, as the older selves recognise the confused young people they had been and try to advise and reassure them.

It really struck a chord with me and at the end of the book they suggest the reader should write their own letter. I couldn’t resist. 16 is such a turbulent time as you change over into adulthood. You’re doing your final exams and preparing to leave home, your hormones are going wild, your body is changing and you start to experiment. Add in kink to that mix and it’s a minefield.

So below is the letter I would write to my 16 year-old self. I would really love to hear what you would have written too, so please share either in the comments or on your own blogs.

Dear Me

First off you really need to figure out a decent wardrobe. Your younger sisters will put you to shame at that age. You have the best figure you’ll ever have in your life, make the most if it! Bright blue flares and orange shirts are not a good look on anybody.

Also EJ please stop worrying so much. Things will never get better between your parents, you can’t fix them and you can’t protect your brothers and sisters forever. The lying awake at night worrying and listening for the rows will ruin your ability to sleep for years to come. They are the adults here, leave them to it. They’ll eventually sort themselves out. OK yes, the worst will happen but then it will all get better, I promise. No amount of worrying will sort it though, so stop.

But here’s what I really want to talk about. The secret; those feelings inside that you can’t even put a name on. The reason why you still love reading Chalet School and Road Dahl and Enid Blython. Of course all in secret. And how you feel funny when you see spankings and canings on TV. Not to mention the things you do in bed on your own when you have those thoughts. And then feel bad about it, cos you’re weird and it’s wrong.

Well EJ you’re not weird, you’re just a kinky girl. And you’re not the only one either. There are loads of us kinksters. You probably won’t believe this but when you get to college you’ll discover the internet and find sites like the Treehouse, and read about people that will make you feel so much better about yourself and what you’re feeling.

And it gets better EJ. You’ll also actually get spanked for real! Someone (actually several someones, you’re a total spanko tart) will take your knickers down and spank you. And cane you. And tawse you and so and so on. You’ll be able to act out all those fantasies you’ve ever had. You even get to go to a proper school, just like the one you’ve made up, with a proper uniform and strict teachers and canings in detention.

And best of all you’ll met a fantastic group of friends along the way. Who not only indulge your inner brat and desire to play out your fantasies, they’ll actively encourage it ;-)

And one day you’ll tell your best friends about this and they will be OK about it and not think you’re weird at all. But the bossy older sister won’t go anywhere either. You’ll still be determined and in control of your life. That’s good, but you’ll be happier, less at war with yourself and others.

I wish life could be like this for you right now, but afraid you still have a lot of growing up to do and you won’t believe what I tell you now anyway. I know you, you have to experience it all yourself. But please EJ, stop worrying and thinking so far ahead, live in the moment.

Oh and just one more thing – you know how people tell you to calm down, and relax and complain you have too much energy? How they say you’ll grow out of it? Well you won’t and don’t be ashamed of it! Your energy and enthusiasm will stand to you in life, your career and your friendships.

Love and hugs

An older, wiser, brattier EJ xx

Ps Life will work out much better for you if you quickly develop an allergy to the touch of a rubber gymshoe on your skin!

Monday, November 1

A Social Experiment - Outcome

Dear Blog, I promise I still love you. I'm sorry I've been neglecting you lately and even sorrier I missed Love our Lurkers day. It caught me unawares and I was away. But I do love all my reader and my lurkers especially. So if you've been waiting for the right post to comment for the first time, here it is!

Now back to the matter at hand. So I did my social experiment, detention at Abel's house for a full day whilst I was also working at my day job. As I wrote in my last post I was a little bit worried as to how it would turn out, with me in controlling, focused work mode.

Well first off I'm glad to report that Abel survived the experience intact. I dare say he actually enjoyed the day. And Haron didn't have to intervene in a full on row. But best of all, I ended up with a very sore bottom! (See Exhibit A below, 30 very painful strokes)

There are a couple of things that made detention scene work well. Firstly, Abel warned me well in advance when punishments were due and clearly scheduled the day. I was to get 5 sets of 6 strokes - first thing in the morning, morning break, lunch, afternoon break and end of the day.

We started out well. I wore a school uniform and reported for punishment after breakfast. A blue tartan skirt, white knee socks, white shirt and navy jumper. My work laptop was set up on the school desk, we were set.

But to keep it light I didn't wear one crucial aspect of uniform. Those who know  me well can probably guess; I purposely didn't wear the tie. For me a proper tie is crucial to being a school girl and without it, the scene was never going to be intense or head spacey. Instead I was aiming for fun.

Before each caning Able gave me 5 minutes notice to finish what I was doing work wise. The first two sets were with a regular cane, stinging but not unbearable. But I wanted to feel the strokes as I sat down, so requested the dragon for the rest.

I wasn't disappointed. And whatever qualms I had about working and playing went out the window from the pain of the dragon cane slicing into my bottom. Sitting down after each set was a further delight with my bottom burning very satisfyingly!

All in all it was a fun day. I enjoyed the chance to hang out with Abel and Haron for a whole day. As well as the naughty thrill of talking to my colleagues with a nicely stripped behind. And I actually got an awful of work done, whether that was cos there were less distractions out of the office, or because I was extra motivated, who knows?

Tuesday, October 19

A Social Experiment - Set-up

I'm visiting Abel and Haron this weekend and really looking forward to it, my last visit was a rushed affair so the chance to just hang out will lovely. I'll also get to see Eliane whom I haven't seen in forever so that's doubly exciting (especially as we're going to a show where we can sing the fake Lowewood hymn to our hearts content!).

In an interesting first, I will be working from home, i.e. Abel and Haron's house on Friday. Abel never one to miss an opportunity, has requested I bring my school uniform with me and decreed that I shall be in detention all day, that he'll be checking my work at regular intervals with painful consequences if I'm found lacking.

And, in a funny coincidence and totally without knowing of Abel's request,  Haron blogged earlier in the week about how she's been wearing her uniform and pondering whether she'll find any miscreants to deal with. So no doubt prefect Haron will also be checking my work with similar outcomes!

I have to admit it's a terrific fantasy and a lovely idea. But I have my doubts as to well it will turn out. When I'm working I'm in control, focused and determined.  It's not the right headspace to be/pretend to be submissive. I'm also less likely to be hyper and playful and bratty. None of which bodes well for this type of scene!

So will I be capable of submitting to punishment on whatever trumped up charges they present? Will I be able to relax and enjoy it? Or am I likely to make rude gestures at Abel and pay for my sins at the conclusion of the working day?

Who knows but I guess there's only one way to find out!

Saturday, October 16

A cane for me!

My last trip to London was quite a rushed affair. I arrived late on Friday night to a lovely dinner and much needed fussing and hugs from Abel and Haron. Then Saturday we had a lovey afternoon at Jessica and HWMBO's house with a fab lunch and time to get to know our fellow Regency party friends. Before we tore ourselves away to dash into London to go to the London Alternative Market and dinner with Catherine. By the time I flew out relatively early on Sunday I was a happy if somewhat dizzy girl!

It didn't leave much time for play except for a brief period on Sunday morning. Abel (surprise, surprise) had picked up a few new implements at the LAM and was keen to try them out. I'm sure you can picture him as he purveyed all the implements, before selecting the choicest of canes and then making first me, then Catherine bend over to try them out. In the end he bought a beautiful dragon cane (for me) and a Singapore cane (for Cath) as well as a rattan cane (for everybody!). All from Jack's Floggers. We were all very impressed with the range and quality of the implements and Abel has since bought more online!

So just before I left it was time to try out the dragon cane properly, and I have to admit I liked it very much. It's quite thin and whippy for a dragon, but still has that proper burn afterwards. It's beautifully made and finished with a lovely handle. Abel and Haron both took turns in administering and I'm sure you'll agree they striped me beautifully.

I liked the cane so much so that I decided I wanted to keep it and it will be making its way over to me in Dublin very soon. My first ever cane!

Tuesday, September 28

The battle for sleep

Each time I visit HH there is a battle of wills over how much sleep I can have. Over the course of all my visits I have been tawsed or hairbrushed out of bed more times than I care to remember! 

Now to be fair to him, my getting up time is generally negotiated the night before and he does make allowances for the type of week I’ve had in the run-up to the visit. And in theory I don’t want to spend the entire weekend asleep and ignoring him. 

The problem is we both have different ideas as to what a decent lie-in is. (On Saturday I told him to wake me if I slept into a ridiculous hour, i.e. 1 or 2, whereas he had 10 or 11 in his head!) But even when we agree on a time when the morning comes I just don’t want to get up.  

My trick this weekend was to get up on time, present myself to him announcing I was up and then diving back into the nearest bed.  So on Sunday morning when I had come down to his room and he was checking his work emails while I happily dozed away in his bed, a short little scene came into my head that I quite fancied playing. Even better it was one that would allow me to get an extra hour in bed as he prepared for it!

I quickly mailed him this short scenario.

Sarah is still in bed, when she should have been up and gone to college an hour ago. When her Uncle comes to wake her she pleads that she's sick. He suspects she's actually hungover. This isn't the first 9AM lecture she's missed after being out the evening before. (She lives with him at college, it's her first term and he suspects she's getting led astray).

And then fell back to sleep to awake as Sarah.

I was woken by Uncle Henry bursting into my room. “Sarah what are you doing in bed at this time of day?” Bleary eyed I gazed up at him before giving up and retreating back to the lovely darkness of my duvet. I was feeling decidedly unwell. My head hurt and my tummy was churning. So when he pulled my duvet down I told him truthfully that I was too sick to go to lectures. 

Unfortunately Uncle was sharp enough to suspect my sickness might have been self-induced, enquiring at just what time did I get home last night. I didn’t think it wise to admit I had no idea what time it was or I exactly how I had got there. So I mumbled a reasonable 2AM. The explosion this was met with hurt my ears. Why was he shouting at me? And why wasn’t he at work at this time? Bothersome man, sometimes free rent is not worth it.

Still I insisted I was ill, describing my fever and my aches and pains. When he put his hand on my forehead it felt lovely and cool, until he said there were no signs of a fever that he could feel. I pouted and whined that I really was sick and thought I had convinced him when he disappeared out of the room. But all too soon he was back and to my horror was dragging me out of bed as I complained loudly.

Before I knew it I was over his knee with my shorts and knickers pulled down and he was checking my temperature in the most absence way. I almost died in horror. Despite my protesting he wouldn’t let me up until he pronounced that I wasn’t sick at all and I needed to be taught a lesson.

He ordered me to bring him my hairbrush and then actually spanked me with it! Me, at 19 getting spanked, it was too horrendous to believe. And all time he was lecturing about missing classes and going out too much whilst I tried in vain to pretend the spanking wasn’t hurting. Cos it was, really, really, badly.  My bottom was all hot and I couldn’t help kicking and wriggling. In the end I begged him to stop and promised I’d be good. And I actually meant it to. 

To make it even worse he threatened that if missed any more lectures he’d ground me and tell my friends I couldn’t go out as he didn’t want to have to spank me the next day. This made me howl all the more.Horrid beastly, unfair man. 

When he finally let me up I practically ran into the shower nad spent a long time looking at my red bottom in the mirror. I'd have to be more careful around Uncle H, he wasn't as senile as I'd thought. 

Monday, September 27

A small, small girl in a big, big world

Check out Pandora’s blog for a great post on whether play makes us feel small and young, or bolder and grown-up. The post and the twitter conversation that inspired it, came from me tweeting that a caning from HH had made me realise that despite my dress and heels I wasn't quite a grown-up.

Below is my comment on Pandora's blog:

“For me most of my play is about surrendering control and responsibility. My real grown-up world ceases to exist for that brief period.

And in order to do that I retreat to feelings of smallness. Even when I play dark and abusive scenes that I inevitably come out of stronger and bolder, I still play them to feel small, diminished, less than I am.

The only grown-up scenes I play are those BDSMy scenes where it’s about both pain and pleasure, where I submit for sexual release and an adult mind fuck and where I actually want to please the other person.

But that’s very rare for me. My core kink is where I am choosing not to be grown-up. I.e. to be in positions where I am vulnerable in the face of someone else’s power and that makes me feel small.”

But I think the comment might make more sense in the context of the scene that prompted my original tweet. It had been a lovely weekend with HH, playing a variety of scenes, from real life discipline to abusive dark scenes to lighter caring scenes. I felt looked after and very relaxed. Completely removed from the worries of my day-to-day life. Free from the worries of being me.

As I prepared to leave this morning my mind was already turning to work that coming afternoon and a presentation I was due to give to some of our senior staff. I had thought about this in advance and brought along suitable clothes. A smart grey dress that came demurely to the knee, black ankle boots and nude stockings underneath completed the picture. I wore my favourite white and lacy underwear, just for added confidence. I put my hair up and looked in the mirror. A confident woman stared back at me, one who looked like she could take on the world. Gone was the teary girl, gone the girl who was spanked out of bed, gone she who lowered her panties and put herself over his knee when ordered.

That image is the essence of who I am. An outwardly strong and confident woman, with a little girl hiding inside who sometimes just wants to be looked after. The vast majority of my play lends itself to that little girlish, small, being controlled, vulnerable feeling. And when I say little girl I mean the feelings that come with it, I can feel small at all ages. And yet I also have the other side of me that exists too. The bossy, almost domineering person who rules her world. And even though my main play partners control me to some extent, that is only at my request, with my explicit permission, Just ask them what I’m like when driving, or making plans or cooking dinner. (Both Abel and HH have slunk out of my kitchen or more than one occasion!)

And today I asked HH to cane me in my grown-up clothes so I could acknowledge that little person inside me. So I could sit at work and feel cane marks burn under my smart dress and feel that somehow my two words are co-existing just as I want them to.

And for him too it was nice to think of me dispatched back to work with something to think about!