Thursday, January 28


I played a scene with HH on my last visit that was probably the most emotionally free I've let myself be, and yet had comparatively little physical pain.

My character was an inmate at the state penitentiary. She wasn't even worthy of a name. The wardens relish abusing their power, meting out a harsh discipline regime to all the girls. Our poor girl is reporting for her first after hours punishment at the hands of the warden. She's young and timid, wholly unprepared for prison life. The warden suspects he's going to have a lot of fun with her, and of course intends to teach her the error of her ways in the process.

When he orders her to take all her clothes off she's too scared to utter any protest. Once she's naked and cowering before him he leans in closer until she's backed against the cold hard wall. There's nowhere else to go and he delights in her terror. Threatening her with awful consequences for misbehaviour. Taking great time and care in inspecting her body. Laughing as she flinches from his touch but not daring to complain.

She seems obedient but he can't be certain she'll stay still once the whipping starts. As a precaution he ties her on her back on the narrow iron bed frame. Positioning her with her hands and legs spreadeagled, he exposes her cruelly, enjoying her humiliation.

It's cold in the punishment room and it's not long before she starts to shiver. Wincing as the bed springs dig into her back she squirms against the ropes that bind her, but to no avail, he has secured her tightly. She's never had her legs tied before and she's feeling claustrophobic.

Genuinely scared of what's going to happen she looks at him in despair, but finds no hope in his face. As the whipping starts her helplessness is complete. There is no escape, only endurance. She looks to the ceiling and finds a tiny spot of light above her; her focus for the rest of the punishment. One spot of light to block out what's happening. One spot of hope she'll get to leave this place some day.

The pain and humiliation melt into one, never-ending blur. She starts to shake, her teeth chattering loudly. From the cold? From the fear? From the abject humiliation of what she is enduring? From the realisation she is here because she deserves to be?

Then the tears start, quickly turning into body wracking sobs as she wordlessly submits to him. Crying out her misery, washing away every bad thing.

I was so deep and miserable during this scene that at one point HH came out of character to say he wasn't going to continue, as he thought I was in a bad place. Quickly reassuring him I was 'fine' we continued for another few minutes until the scene came to a more natural conclusion. The ease with which I broke off from sobbing, to speech and back to sobbing surprised even me. On reflection afterwards I thought perhaps I wasn't as deep into role as was we'd assumed.

As we cuddled and chatted afterwards, (it was a full hour before I warmed up and stopped shaking) he told me that he had never seen me so miserable before. Scared, humiliated, in pain: yes he had seen all those things, but never such deep and intense misery. Nor was he certain he was comfortable that he was controlling the scene and invoking that misery and despair.

I told him honestly that I had never given way completely to such despair before and had found it an unbelievably liberating thing to do. To cry my whole heart and self out, with no need to stop. No worry that it was inappropriate, no concern that I was upsetting someone else. Just utter selfish emotional venting for all those times I'd bottled it up.

For me it had been a pure indulgence.

Monday, January 25

Cuddles, Confusion and Catharsis

I'm just back from a lovely long weekend with my kinky friends. Although some people couldn't make it, and were very much missed, it was a great weekend of hanging out, chatting and catching up, of helping tops to buy canes and whips in antique shops (!) and sight seeing around the English countryside. Not to mention a lil bit of kinky fun thrown in for good measure.

For me I mostly enjoyed the hanging out, the high spirits between the girls, cuddles with the tops and the hysterical board games (including spankopoly where girls got spanked for ending up in jail!).

Although I ended up playing very casually on Friday evening along with most of the girls, being whacked by some top or other in the spirit of giddiness and bratiness, play really took a back seat for me.

That's mostly because I am in a strange place kink wise, not being up for anything overly hard or too deep in terms of headspace. I have no idea why my kink is so absent. There's been no bad scene or anything more stressful than usual in real life.

I've noticed it waxing and waning over the month with two things really worrying me. Firstly any play I have done has hurt beyond belief, even though I know the tops are going easy on me. My pain tolerance seems to have disappeared completely.

The other is that I'm finding it hard to get enthusiastic about roleplay. Imagining playing a scene makes me uncomfortable and planning is too much effort. For someone for whom roleplay is a huge part of the kink it's weird to think it so abhorrent.

More experienced people than me have reassured me that kink and degrees of kinkiness will always come and go, that it's not unusual to feel like this, that I should stop worrying and go with the flow.

But I can't help but be frustrated at the wasted opportunities. Like the weekend gone by when Juliet was spanking Caoilfhionn and being deliciously evil. I gave her no chance to go further or to extend the scene, just grateful to get through the punishment at all.

Or the school scene we did on the last night. Eliane, Haron, Caroline and I all caught having a party by a surprise visit from our housemasters. It started off with raucous laughter and cheekiness, fuelled in no small part by a large stash of candy.The finding of a banned sugary substance was the final nail in the coffin. Each of us was strapped and caned in turn. As a prefect I had to go last for the first punishment.

Usually I thrive on these scenes; my nerves stretched to breaking point having to listen to the others go before me and then taking my own hard strokes. This time I was worried and upset for the other girls, not in character at all. And when my own turn came I was equally relieved and angry at how easy the masters went on me. My body language screamed defiance but I muddled through to the end, confused and frustrated.

HH knowing me as well as he does, understood my anger and frustration. Sitting beside me he looked at me long and hard. A look that spoke volumes: 'I know you're in a strange place right now, I understand you can't let go, I know you're frustrated.' Just looking at him the tears started to fall and when he told me gently, but firmly, I needed a spanking I could only nod in agreement.

I knew he was only going to give me a handspanking but I needed more than that. Wordlessly I fetched the hairbrush and handed it to him. As it rained down hard over my bottom I kicked and yelped and struggled for the first two minutes. But he kept the pace up, hard and fast, until I gave in and started to cry. Another minute and I was sobbing. He then switched to his hand and gently spanked me until I was calm and needing hugs.

It didn't restore my kinky self, but I was relieved that at least I could still achieve catharsis. I guess I'll just have to be patient and be happy that my kinky friends still love me and I still love them, even when I'm not on kinky form.

Wednesday, January 20

Who's in charge around here?

The short answer to the above question is obviously me: I am certainly in charge of my own life. I take responsibility for my actions and my own happiness. I also take responsibility for my failures and I am usually much harder on myself than anyone else.

I've blogged at length about this thing we do and how despite the fact I'm independent and strong willed and stubborn and have been looking after myself for a long time now etc. etc., I like giving up control to trusted people for defined periods of time. To that end, I mostly play with like-minded, same interests type people.

My most amazing and mind blowing scenes have been those where I have let go completely. From pain induced submission as in a work house flogging, to the cleansing of guilt at hurting a friend by careless words, to a humbling spanking in the snow and to feeling like a proper schoolgirl at Lowewood.

So I really want to be able to get to that headspace and to let go. But the thing is when you're used to being the one in charge it's not always easy to give up control and submit, even for a scene. Especially when you're on home ground. It's one thing to go visit people and stay in their houses. How much easier it is to let go in a 'your house, your rules' kinda way.

But when people come visit me here I find it much harder. It was bad enough when HH came to visit and we stayed in a cottage down the country. Having to do all the organising and driving made submission harder and me a lil more stressed, but we managed it in the end.

Despite having that experience to go on, it was so much worse when Abel stayed in my house last weekend.

I was in complete bossy 'let's go here, see this, see that, eat seat this and watch that la la la' mode. To be fair he was mostly patient and appreciative and somewhat amused at this side of me. Even when I woke him in the middle of the night to remake the bed to my satisfaction. (The slippering he gave me for this was more in amusement at my craziness than anything else!)

And it was a very lovely weekend even if I was becoming increasingly territorial and stressed with this invasion of my personal space. Getting to the point of comments that bordered dangerously on the side of sharp. Unsurprisingly it was not the most conducive atmosphere for playing scenes, even if on a non-kinky level we were having a perfectly lovely time.

However things came to a head when we attempted to play a school girl scene. I was dressed in one of my several uniforms and being caned and tawsed for sneaking out to a local nightclub. All was going well until a cane stroke landed a smidgen lower that I felt was acceptable. And I commented to that affect, coming right out of character. When the next landed, by sheer luck on the same spot, I made an even more scathing comment to Abel.

It pretty much killed the scene and deservedly so. Still wound up I berated Abel for letting me away with such behaviour. On calming down I repeated the sentiment in politer terms. Thinking out loud I didn't think it was fair on any top to run a passing commentary on what he or she is doing. That I have no right to interrupt the scene unless the top was being unsafe or I needed to safeword - neither of which was the case at all here.

I was very annoyed with myself. Abel is a very experienced and careful top and I had chosen to play with him, in an agreed scene. And I was taking my frustration at not being capable of letting to let go, out on him. The guilt was killing me.

After a few minutes of thought, Abel told me he agreed that my behaviour was inappropriate. In his scariest voice he ordered me to bend over the bed and gave me 12 searing strokes of the dragon cane in quick succession. I jumped and kicked after each one but he was unrelenting in his pace and severeness. All the while he scolded me on my behaviour and lack of respect for him. By the end of it I was sobbing, guilty at how I'd behaved, mortified I'd upset Abel and in real pain from the cane strokes.

But we weren't done yet. Made to lie face down on the bed I had to endure 12 lashes with my new XH tawse. Given that it was a present from Abel and Haron, I cried even more thinking how nice they'd been to gift it to me and how ungrateful I was.

After I had sobbed my apologies Abel held me tight and forgave me. The catharsis was blissful. We cuddled for a long time and for the first time over the weekend I was properly relaxed and happy to just be. Not anxious about the hourly itinerary, not double guessing whether Abel was enjoying himself, not berating myself for a snide comment and most of all, not struggling to hide my kinky/submissive side.

And that feeling that I don't have to carry the world on my shoulders all the time is exactly why I do this thing we do, why I can't always be the one in charge around here.

Monday, January 11

Getting my mojo back!

As I blogged last week, I felt my kinky mojo to be AWOL and hoped a weekend with HH would restore it. Although I carefully eased myself into it, making sure I was on my best behaviour on the trip home from the airport. (Being acutely aware of the ebony haribrush on the back seat!)

And the next morning I was allowed to sleep in for a nice long time and once I was up and awake, (without the aid of a tawse thankfully!) we decided to play a gentle scene. A morning spanking to start the day and ease me back into playing.

So over his knee I went and out came a selection of implements. HH, being very aware of my current lack of mojo, was careful enough not to use anything too horrid (like a hairbrush) and nor did he administer anything too hard. But even so I couldn't get into it. I lay there as still as a stone barely breathing with very anti-kinky thoughts swirling around in my head: 'This isn't fun...I don't like this at really hurts...why am I doing this?'

HH being the observant kind soon realised it wasn't working for me and and pulled me up for a big hug. That's when the tears started. Tears of worry that I wasn't kinky anymore. Frustration at not feeling like me and at wasting such precious play time. After all the battles of sleep and snow to get there in the first place!

We chatted for a while and agreed not push it. Although I did ask him to discipline me if I needed it. This felt like a very safe compromise and about as much kink as I could handle. Behave in a civilised grown-up manner and there'd be no punishment. Act like a brat or be horrid and rude then take the consequences. At least the threat of punishment hanging over me was bearable, a good sign in itself, helped no doubt by my ability to be in complete control.

Out we went for a walk in a nearby park. It was a glorious day, bright and clear with powdery snow everywhere. Kids were out on their sledges and I wished I'd brought a tray to play with myself. It was lovely big park with nice trees and hills and a river almost completely frozen. We enjoyed a leisurely walk and chatted about this and that. It was nice and relaxed and so peaceful.

Well EJ the brat just couldn't cope with all this properness. She just had to have her voice heard. The snow was too plentiful, the opportunities for mischief too great. How could she not come out to play?

At first it was just a snowball on his coat and then another on his head. A few warning swats across her trousers reminded her, despite the fact they were in a public park, she wouldn't get let off.

But it was not until later, as they stood under a great big tree discussing the possibilities of the stump as a spanking bench, that EJ really struck. Reaching up on her tiptoes she shook the branch above them as hard as she could and delivered a shower of snow all over HH!

She laughed so hard, even though she was covered in as much snow as he. And despite her pleas she had suffered just as much as he, a proper spanking was promised.

Taking her by her wrist he led her to a suitable bench. Over his knee she went, trousers and panties down to her knees and endured a very sharp spanking on her cold bottom. Made even colder by HH scooping up the snow and letting it melt over her. She yelped and pleaded and said she was sorry over and over. And it hurt, so bad. But at least the thoughts in her head were more familiar: 'oh please let him stop, why was I so silly? I wish I hadn't done it!'

She was very sore and sorry by the time he was done and very eager to pull up her panties although she knew better and waited for permission. But no, he wasn't done with her yet. He led her over to a snow covered stone...

...and made her sit down on it!

Her poor bottom soon went from very hot and sore, to very cold and sore! She wriggled and pleaded to be let up as the snow started to burn. Finally permission was granted...

A very subdued and sorry brat she was indeed, but a very happy and relieved Emma Jane ;)

Sunday, January 10


'Sophie Adams report to my study after morning classes'

The Headmaster's request delivered after a long and boring assembly barely registered with Sophie. She was tired, worn out from too many nights of little sleep. Her friends turned to her in dismay, 'Oh Sophie what an earth have you done?'

She blinked in surprise, a vague feeling of unease starting to settle over her. The Headmaster wasn't known for friendly chats beside the fire: this wasn't likely to be a social visit.

As she filed out of the hall with the rest of her class she quickly cast her mind back over the past week. She hadn't been caught doing anything too bad, well no worse than usual. Mr Matthews, her housemaster, had seemed pretty annoyed to catch her out of bed twice last night. So annoyed he'd just shouted at her to get into bed and 'bloody well stay there!'

Still at least he'd spared her the fake concern lecture he usually wheeled out. 'Was there anything the matter? Did she want to talk about it? So strange to see a good girl starting to slip up. We just want to help you.'

Did he really expect her to pour her heart out, just like that? About the continuous nightmares, being afraid to sleep because she couldn't block out the horrible images. How she was scared of what they meant. Dreams so awful yet so real, like something that had happened to her but she couldn't remember.

Maybe if she thought he could actually help she might have told him. Or any of her friends, who really were quite worried. She couldn't see light at the end of the tunnel. There was none. And at this stage she was too tired to care about good grades, or getting onto the lacrosse team or going on the annual ski trip.

Sophie muddled through the morning classes, the hour of her appointment becoming ever closer. Her friends were sympathetic and comforting. Whilst the others in the class whispered about what she may have done, speculating whether she would get caned and how many strokes.

Despite herself she trembled as she stood outside the Headmaster's door. Checked her uniform one more time: navy skirt to the appropriate length; white shirt closed to the top button; green and navy tie knotted neatly; navy jumper, white socks pulled up to her knees and even the proper regulation white underwear. She knocked before she was considered late.

The Headmaster had never looked so imposing. The frown on his face accentuating the severeness of his gown. Nervously she looked around the study as he finished reading the papers before him; her files, it later transpired.

When he finally addressed her, he was mercifully brief in his lecture. 'Her recent underperformance had come to his attention....couldn't let it continue...standards...grades...achievement...'

She jumped as he picked up the senior cane, dark brown and so thick, and flexed it in her direction. Ordered her to bed over the arm of the sofa, with her skirt raised above her waist. Positioned her so her body rested on the sofa, her bottom high and vulnerable in the air, her toes straining on the carpet.

Now she was genuinely afraid. Clutching the sofa beneath her she prayed she wouldn't disgrace herself by crying. Hoped she could be brave.

Another few words: 'lesson...timely...better not happen again...brace yourself'

The whistle as the cane flew through the air, then the awful crack as it landed. A brief moment of blessed nothingness, then shock as the pain burned through her. She couldn't help crying out, her legs kicking up in protest. Quickly resumed the positioned and waited for the next and the next. Despaired as the pain became too much but could not stop it. After six she wholeheartedly assured him her behaviour would improve.

Tried nor to cry as another six were pronounced. Counted each painful stroke and swore she wouldn't get into this position again. Promised to go to bed early, to do her homework, to take pride in herself. And with every stroke the demons that plagued her were beaten back a little more.

Although a very sore and sorry girl left the Headmaster's office, inside she was more confident, more determined. An ordeal she never wanted to repeat, but yet for all its terror she had survived. She could survive anything. Finally, light at the end of the tunnel.

In response to Casey's Secret Saturday challenge and recounting a scene played with HH an hour ago! (My wildcard was tunnel)

Wednesday, January 6

Where for art thou kink?

It hasn't been the best start of the year kink wise. A realisation brought into focus by reading Jessica's post today, where the poor sweetie was talking of how she hasn't been well enough to play or even have orgasms over the past fortnight. And while I empathised with her plight, I couldn't help thinking I was having the opposite problem.

I'm not at all in the mood to play. My kink mojo is scarily absent. Too much time amongst the vanillas over the holiday period? The fear that 2010 surely cannot beat 2009 for kinky wonderfulness? Being nervous of the gorgeous but terrifying tawse Abel and Haron got me for Christmas?

Of course not that I've had any opportunities to actually play in the past few weeks. But there's nothing unusual about that and I normally spend the in-between periods thinking of scenes I'd like to play, fantasising about the particular kinky mood I'm in and engaging in prolonged conversations with upcoming playmates about what we'll do. And despite my, ahem, collection of personal toys, none of them have been used lately.

Nor have I been enjoying my kinky reading habit in the same way. I've been reading alright, but not having my normal reactions. Like Adele's 12 Days of Christmas Spanking saga made me feel sorry for her! Eliane's tweets about her new canes had me thinking why on earth did she buy them if she thinks they're so brutal. Then there's Kami and HH's descriptions of a caning in the snow that made me think they were both crazy (despite what HH made me do in the snow not two weeks previously!) Or worst of all reading Abel's wonderful story today and thinking 'oh no, a birching just for throwing a snowball, poor girl!'

Even my own writing is affected. The Secret Saturday 'Secret Places' story came from the mindset I happen to be in right now. The fact it's a dark, almost anti-spanking story, is no coincidence.

All leading me to look ahead to my weekend with HH and think of hugs and nice chats and long walks and not any spanking at all. Obviously he will completely respect how I'm feeling and won't push me to play. But I really hope Emma Jane the brat will shout down moany, whingy Emma Jane and lead to the spanking which just might fix this strange start to the kinky year!

Sunday, January 3

Secret places

'It'll just be our little secret.'

How often she had heard those words. How they reduced to her cold sweats and stomach churning sickness.

Always followed by the tugging down of her trousers, then her panties. A long minute of having to stand there while he looked at her. Making her blush deep red with the shame of being bared and on display like this.

'Our little secret.'
Slowly pulled across his knee until in a suitable position. Small and defenseless, her arms and legs not quite reaching the floor, her head dropping in resignation. The awful anticipation. Enduring his soft caresses of her bottom while waiting for the pain to explode.

Jumps as his hand crashes down on her bottom, followed by several more in quick succession. Tells her what a naughty little girl she is. Smacks her harder and harder until she is squirming across his knee, her trousers and panties pooling at her ankles, her t-shirt riding up her back.

Soon the tears begin to fall and her pleas for mercy become louder and more plaintive. She knows he won't stop until she is properly sobbing, until the spanking becomes unbearable.

Tries to block out what is happening to her, to go to a happy place in her mind. If she could get on an airplane and go anywhere in the world, where would it be? Disneyland? An African Safari? To Grandma's house? Anywhere away from here.

'Our little secret.'

Her bottom is hot and bright red when he finally stops, breathless from his exertions. Pleased with the limp and sobbing state he has reduced her to. Another lesson learned. No need for a hairbrush this time.

Leaves her across his knee for several minutes, before gently lifting her up and setting her clothes to rights. She cannot look him at him. Says the words he expects to hear but hates him, and hates herself more. Leaves quickly once dismissed. The familiar words ringing in her ear. 'Our little secret.'


In response to Casey Morgan's Secret Saturday Challenge. My wildcard was 'airplane'. This is the first of her challenges I've responded to and it's great motivation to fulfill my New Year's Resolution to write more fiction!