Sunday, February 28

In the Professor's Office

Mary Catherine stood nervously outside Professor Higgins' office. She had never spoken to him before. Her only encounter with him had been at the welcoming speech he'd given her year. As head of their programme she would only expect to have contact with him as she progressed through her course. That she was told to report to him and not her year head did not bode well for her.

She had knocked and been told to wait until he was ready. The waiting made it all the worse. For the fifth time she smoothed her skirt down. Hoping to show she was taking this seriously she had chosen a neatly pleated skirt with a smart shirt and jumper and black stockings and shoes, looking every bit the part of a studious university fresher.

Jumping as the door suddenly opened, she turned to face him. On his invitation she silently entered his office and stood in front of his desk. Professor Higgins sat back comfortably in his desk chair, giving her a long, hard look as she fidgeted in front of him.

'Mary Catherine, I assume?' he enquired. She nodded wordlessly. Silence hung heavy in the air and she looked at the floor, around the office, at the many books and papers lying around; everywhere except at him.

Finally he spoke again. 'It's very rare I have the opportunity to meet freshers. And when I do it's usually for one of two reason: excellent achievements or matters of discipline.' She flinched at the latter; how awful it sounded. 'I think you know which one you're here for?' he looked at her sternly.

'Yes sir' she said quietly.

'I dealt with your friend Elizabeth this morning. Cheating and plagiarism are very serious offences, are you aware of that Mary Catherine?'

'Yes of course' she stammered 'but I didn't do either. It was my work she copied. I did the work.'

Another pause as he considered her argument. Then quietly and firmly explained just how dim a view the university took of such matters. That allowing Elizabeth to copy her essay had amounted to cheating too. How they had both tried to cheat the system.

'I'm sorry' she cried. 'I really didn't think of it like that. I just wanted to help her.'

Tears started to fall as he informed her that she had indeed helped Elizabeth, helped her to fail the first semester. Then he moved on to talk of her. The disciplinary procedure: an automatic failing of the paper and therefore the subject. Awarded a bare pass for the semester even though all her grades had been As.

She was suddenly distraught as the consequences hit home. Her career ambitions disappearing for the folly of trying to help a friend.

But there was an alternative. He was prepared to spare her the formal procedures and mark her paper on its merits.

She looked at him in hope. He continued to lecture her and she had to agree that she couldn't be let off scot free either. Then listened in fear as he proposed a different course of action: corporal punishment.

In disbelief she eyed the thick dark cane he held in his hands. Asked and was assured it would hurt. 'It wouldn't do you any good if it didn't,' he explained calmly.

More silence as she weighed up the options, but the outcome was inevitable. She nodded and agreed to take the punishment. He cleared his desk and positioned her over it: arms stretched ahead of her, her bottom jutting out to face the cane. To her mortification she had to lift her skirt up and lower her knickers. He hadn't even started and she was regretting getting into this mess.

'12 should be sufficient' he stated. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him raise his arm and then bring it down quickly. She gasped as the cane landed on her bottom, but then yelped and jumped up as the full force of the dragon cane burned through her. With tears in her eyes she begged him to stop, that it hurt too much.

Gently he instructed her to bend back over. Asked her to be a brave girl and take the punishment she deserved. Resuming her position she clutched the table in fear. How much harder it was now, knowing what was coming.

'Count each aloud and thank me' he ordered and she mumbled the required response.

The next stroke descended. Another squeal and a kick of her legs. A miserable 'two, thank you sir'.

How could she take ten more. It wasn't possible. How could she have gotten into this position. He took his time between strokes, allowing her to feel the full impact of each and to catch her breath before the next. She was struggling to take them, clearly feeling the pain but trying not to make a fuss.

After six he allowed her stand and take a brief respite. Told her she taking it very well and that she would benefit from his ministrations. That it would be all over and the slate would be clean. Her bottom throbbed and tears prickled her eyes but she bent over again when ordered.

The next six were applied just as carefully. Each stroke burned like fire across her bottom and she mumbled her count as best she could. Telling herself to hold on, just a few more, just one more. Tears of pain and relief when it was all over. He left her in position to compose herself. Took a minute to admire the 12 perfect stripes across her bottom.

When she was finally permitted to stand, she adjusted her clothing in considerable pain and embarrassment. Her bottom was hot and felt swollen to the touch, marked with ridges from the cane. Fervently she promised to never do such a thing again and he smiled at her as he warned her he'd be keeping a very close eye on her.

Finally she was dismissed and fled back to the halls to cry quietly in her room.

Saturday, February 27

It's not how good you are...

I had a great day hanging out with my girlies. There was shopping and drinks over the rugby game (we beat England, woohoo!) and then a lovely dinner out.

During the course of the shopping I bought a book. This book to be precise:

I'm hoping to learn valuable excuses to get me out of situations where toppy types are trying to punish me for some little thing or other as is their want to do. I particularly love the title: "It's not how good you are, it's how good you want to be". That will be my first line of defence: 'I didn't mean to be naughty Sir, I honestly wanted to be good.'

As you go through the book it gets even better though. A key philosophy is that "it's wrong to be right". That being right is indicative of closed-mindedness and arrogance. So the book promotes being wrong as in "it's right to be wrong".

I shall enjoy trying that one out next time a toppy type is telling me I'm wrong and must be punished. 'No, it is right to be wrong and wrong to be right and therefore it is you toppy type who must be punished, so there'

The idea "the person who doesn't make mistakes is unlikely to make anything" is perhaps more subtle and might be even more useful, and certianly less confusing, than the right/wrong argument. 'We learn by our mistakes, and one cannot be beaten for acquiring knowledge right?'

But I think my favourite is: "You can achieve the unachievable" It gives me hope that someday I'll be able to have a lie-in at HH's without getting tawsed out of bed!

Yes, I like my new book very much. Hope the toppy types in my life appreciate the efforts I go to to keep them on their toes...

Monday, February 22

Crisis of faith

It's almost the end of February and this is the last week for a while that I'll be travelling; which is no bad thing, a little rest will do me good. These past few weeks have been hectic kink wise with only one weekend of 2010 so far being kink free. Not a bad complaint I hear you say, and of course it's not. I honestly wouldn't want it any other way.

Another weekend of play has come to an end and I'm just home and keen to write and reflect before normal life pressures take over. But for now I'm in that lovely bubble of being sated and warm and floaty and want to share cos it nearly didn't work out that way at all!

I turned up at HH's house with very little enthusiasm to play scenes. Lazy in thinking of scenes I wanted to do, feeling a little played out; not hungry for it. And yet still wanting to do and be kinky and take advantage of the return of my pain tolerance.

So we played our first scene: a lazy maid being punished for sloppy work. She had a bad attitude to boot as did Emma Jane. I was in 'don't care mode', projecting through my character that it didn't matter how hard he beat me that it wouldn't get through. That pain was bearable, repentance unnecessary. It was a somewhat odd scene that had little emotional meaning for me but yet was good in other ways.

We talked for a long time afterwards of what had and hadn't worked for us. And me being in somewhat contrary form, I declared I wasn't interested in role play, that it didn't work for me anymore. That 'I' wanted to be beaten, as in 'me' not some role. That I couldn't care less about making up characters and trying to act them out.

HH was of course surprised at this sudden turn of events. My appetite and interest in roleplay and detailed scenes had always been nearly as high as his. And even worse, I couldn't articulate how I really felt, or what was going on with me, but continued to be contrary over it. Or as HH puts it, 'difficult'.

A spanking for 'me' was pronounced; no roleplay. Bare bottomed across his knee I went and a hairbrush applied smartly. I hate hair brushes: they always make me kick and squeal and wriggle. And they're nearly always applied as discipline, making me feel genuinely sorry.

But this time I didn't react at all. All my energy was focused on trying to beat HH. Holding fast and riding out the pain, not moving a muscle or making a sound as he slammed the brush down on my bottom and thighs. He soon stopped: 'Do you really think I'm hitting you as hard as I could?' he enquired. 'I'm not going to beat a reaction out of you. But I want to know why you're being difficult'.

Honestly I didn't know why but I admitted I wasn't being fair. I wanted to play but only on some strange level that I understood and couldn't communicate. We were both confused.

And what do you do with a girl who doesn't like roleplay and only wants to play on a masochistic level that you're not comfortable she really wants or will get anything out of? Such was the conundrum HH was faced with.

So we stepped back, did other things, chilled out, talked, read, blogged. Played with the kinky costumes (HH has a kinky wardrobe for his playmates that is almost as wonderful as his playroom.) And by the time I discovered the cheerleaders outfit that I just had to try on, and HH showed me his new American paddle that begged to be played with, I suddenly wanted to roleplay again. (Yes this was all in the space of a few hours and yes I know I'm contrary!) But this was a character I couldn't resist.

She was Britney and such a sweet girl really. Unfortunately her head had been turned by making the cheerleading team. She missed classes for extra practice, turned in poor homework, flirted with the boys.

The new Dean of Discipline was not prepared to allow cheerleaders get above their station again, the consequences had been disastrous last year. No, this time he'd stamp it out early. And so Britney bounced into his office in her usual lively way and was horrified to learn she was to be paddled as an example to the rest of the squad.

Over a chair she had to bend, her skirt flipped up and her purple knickers offering no protection at all as the paddle slammed into her bottom six times in hard secession. Dean Cook lecturing all the while, that skipping classes and turning in poor assignments was not tolerated, especially from a cheerleader who ought to set an example.

The swats brought tears to her eyes, making her jump up and plead for him to stop. She'd never been in trouble before and couldn't believe that she, a cheerleader, was being paddled. The Dean's plan was certainly working: she would behave herself from now on. Left to stand against the wall she miserably inspected her bottom, aghast at how pink it was.

And how embarrassed she was having to perform at the game that night; her bottom still conspicuously pink from her paddling. Still she was a true professional and spun and kicked with all her might regardless. Brave little Britney.

It wasn't a very serious scene, although the paddle certainly hurt. But it reminded me why I do actually like roleplay. How 6 strokes can invoke pain and humiliation far beyond something like 60 strokes just for the sake of it, with no character or roleplay headspace. I enjoyed making a fuss over each stroke and feeling her embarrassment at having to perform with the whole school knowing she'd been paddled. Roleplay gives me freedom that nothing else does.

And we went on to do several other great scenes this weekend (more detail to come). I'm writing this with a very tender bottom indeed! But I feel content again; happy to have played so much, happy that my pain tolerance and interest in kink is at normal levels and happy to be looking forward to a little break from it all and the chance to reflect. But mostly happy that I seem to have gotten over my little crisis of faith, at least for now!

Sunday, February 21

Not the only perverts in town

When I visit my kinky friends, we don't just do kinky stuff all the time. Man cannot live by kink alone and all that! Plus it'd be a pretty poor friendship if we couldn't pass the time happily in non-kinky ways too. So we find ourselves chatting and cooking and reading and if I can get away with it, sleeping in!

However one of my favourite things to do is go and explore the surrounding area. Visit a stately country home, or nice gardens or wander round a little town or village or some other such attraction of interest.

Over the weekend HH and I spent a nice afternoon doing just that, driving around the countryside and stopping at places that took our fancy. At one such stop we were exploring a re-modelled cottage that came with a child's bedroom all kitted out with toys. Of course I gravitated straight towards the lovely doll's house in the middle of the room. HH smiled indulgently as I oohed and ahhed over it.

But when we opened it, what a sight met our eyes. For it seemed the dolls in this house were very naughty indeed.

Upstairs the young teenage doll is being spanked by her mother. No doubt for having brought a boy doll into the house; her attempts to hide him in the bath being futile. I'm sure when her mother is finished with her, she'll be a sore and sorry little doll indeed.

And down in the dining room the youngest dolls are being lectured by their father. Have no idea what they've been up to but surely it was something very naughty. The little boy doll has been stood to face the wall while his sister gets a good talking to. I bet they both know that Daddy is holding a slipper behind his back and they're dreading when they'll have to go over his knee for a sound smacking. Soon all the children in the house will be crying but there'll be peace at last.

The funny thing about this set-up is that neither of us did anything to the dolls house! It was exactly like this when we found it and HH just had to photograph the evidence. I'm pretty sure all the other kinky culprits we know are at the other end of the country so looks like we're not the only perverts in town ;)

Tuesday, February 16

7 Deadly Sins - Gluttony

Now some might say I'm a glutton for punishment, and to be fair there might be some truth to that. But I'm also a glutton for lots of other things. Like having a good time, drinking bubbly, hanging out with my friends, buying pretty things and eating yummy food.

Just as well then that I've just had the most amazing birthday weekend ever, where I got to gorge myself to my heart's desire! Celebrating with my birthday twin Jessica, the weekend started promisingly with a lovely girly lunch and one (or two...?) bottles of wine. It all went onwards and upwards from there with not one, not two, but four parties over the course of the weekend, three of them hosted by the amazing Jessica and HWMBO!

There was loads of girly fun, brattiness and dancing and of course fabulous outfits for each party. There was verbal sparring and gossiping and the making of new friendships and cementing of old. There was tons of wine and bubbly and fabulous food. There was two birthday cakes and the treat of afternoon tea at the Berkely ( with 3 servings of some courses...!) tied in with an interesting trip to Coco de Mer involving 4 paddles (read Eliane's account here!) And lucky Jessica and me, there were loads of lovely presents!

Of course there was quite a few spankings and other very lovely things too; we are kinky afterall. No surprise really that even in that I was over-indulged. And on my birthday itself I was given a birthday birching. One stroke for every year of my age was pronounced, and not one, but eleven extra to grow on!

It was one of the most severe thrashings I've ever had. Administered by Abel and Haron jointly, both determined to wish me the utmost success this year! There was pain and tears and feeling like I had come a long way since my last birthday, when I was barely out in the scene.

Still once I'd been comforted and fed more amazing food (this time courtesy of Abel) and had a few more glasses of nice wine and some great nineties music and dancing (thanks to my girl Cath!) I was flying again, just like I had been all weekend.

Today I'm a very sore but happy girl, feeling very grateful at having been made to feel so special. I'm hoping that the universe will let me away with having been such a glutton. But if not there's always HH to restore the balance: I'm sure he'll want to give me a few birthday spankings, canings and strappings of his own when I next see him!

Thursday, February 11

7 Deadly Sins - Envy

It's not a nice thing to admit to, but I certainly yield to it. Usually I'm so busy trying to hide it, I can make people think I feel the opposite. Until the mask slips and I give up the pretence. Or I've been brushing it aside so long I erupt at the smallest thing, appearing hysterical.

I genuinely dislike myself for feeling it. The rational part of me can reason it all away, but still it's there and it eats you up. It's not a good thing to suffer from in life but especially in this thing we do, where many people are in open play or sexual relationships. Envy can be divisive, ruining friendships and relationships.

Now me, I've been very lucky. For the most part warmly received amongst friends here and in the UK. I play with lots of different people, with the full knowledge and consent of their partners (if there be one). I benefit from overwhelming generosity but often ask myself could I return it?

A friend asked a while back if I was in a committed relationship would I be monogamous? I answered automatically: yes sexually I would be. But yet I wondered afterwards did I really want that? I've never been shy about sex or felt it a was precious thing to be saved. I don't hold out for the one and I don't consider it a big deal to have sex with someone. As long as it's safe and there's good chemistry then anything can happen.

I'm far more cautious emotionally: I believe more in the necessity for and power of an emotional connection. So whether I would be emotionally poly, I doubt I could achieve it, even if I wanted to. My emotions will always be stronger for someone else, my absolute loyalty, trust and love would always have to be with that one person or no-one at all.

Then there's spanking/CP/BDSM monogamous: a whole other ballgame. I can't imagine giving up play with my current play partners, or not having the variety of play that I do. I thought briefly about just limiting myself to the play partners I already have, a compromise per se. But closing down this world feels so wrong. I've spent too long not in this game to limit it like that.

So that's my answer for now then; sexually undecided, emotionally monogamous and open for play. That's ok then, or is it? Because that's just me. I don't know how well I can cope with my partner playing with other people, without me. That's a hard one.

And it's not about trust, maybe it is just a little bit about paranoia but it's mostly about envy. That he/she was having an experience that I couldn't share. An experience that was perhaps great for both of them and one I'll never get to repeat. An irrational thought I know and it's not like I have to worry about this now. Lil miss reason in my head is assuring me it'll all sort itself out if/when the time comes. Still I like to worry ahead; I feel like I'm saving in the long-run.

So that's the anticipated envy I forsee in my future. What I'm currently envious about takes many shapes and forms. I envy such and such that they've found a compatible life partner in the scene. I envy such and such cos they are comfortable with their sexuality. I envy such and such cos they've got a great wardrobe, great hair, are taller than me, are smaller than me, have more money than me, have a better career, they've played an amazing scene, la la la la. I could go on and on.

But the biggest source of envy right now is time and distance. I wish I had more of one and less of the other. I openly envy my friends across the water who can arrange play dates and get togethers at the drop of a hat. I'm jealous that I can't have all the time I want with all the people I want. I stress over spending most trips trying to catch up with everybody and feeling that I've seen nobody. And I hate it when I don't get alone time with people, but hate it just as much when I don't get to see someone on a trip. I can fill my whole day right up with this envy thing.

Still, I doubt I'm the only one committing this deadly sin. In fact I'm pretty sure there's at least one person reading this who's pretty damn envious of me having such a great group of friends to play with, a good job that funds the Ryanair flights back and forth and that I'm healthy and independent enough to take advantage of it all. And that's life, sure as hell the grass is always greener!

Tuesday, February 9

Let's not talk about sex

HH commented on my last blog post about whether it was allowed to delete comments that we feel are inappropriate. As he says:

'But for me the grey area, where I do hesitate, comes from comments that I find squicky or distasteful, or say things I don't want to be associated with. For example, I recently deleted one that suggested a sexual ending to a scene I thought of as "sweet and innocent".' Now, I fully realise that in "censoring" such a comment I am imposing my own ideas of what is "appropriate". What I am not sure about is whether that is something I ought to do, or am entitled to do.

In this situation I think he was right to delete the comment. His post was about a scene that was 'innocent'. Of course we all know the underlying sexual element to all such scenes: I'm not going to go into it again here. But for many of us our core kink is about realism and being as authentic as we can. Therefore for HH and others reading afterwards the 'realness' of the fantasy is compromised by the suggestion of a sexual ending.

However, I'm not saying that anyone who would imagine that scene descending into something sexual is wrong. As Indy is currently discussing on her own excellent blog, most of us try to subscribe to the YKIOK school of thought. Or for my part, even if I find it squicky (but it's happening between consenting adults) I try and keep my opinions to myself.

But when it comes to our blogs, that's different. We bloggers decide the tone of our own blogs, to our own tastes. Each post is a conversation we've decided to initiate, whether it be a discussion, random musing or sharing scenes and fantasies: our own personal scenes and fantasies.

In my world discipline and punishment are my core kinks. They are not a turn on or something to get off on. They are not erotic at the time and in my head, my fantasies do not descend into a sexual ending.

As this blog is all about my core kink it figures that it would take the same approach. So I don't talk about sex on here as I find it a distraction from the purity of what I'm really into. Although this is just my personal preference and I have no problem with others who do, usually finding their accounts very hot to read.

But for me it's a lot to do with privacy; my own and whomever I'm playing with. And also because I don't want people to make random judgements about me, or my play partners either. Assuming I play such a way with everyone, or am into X because I like Y.

And mostly I don't share the sex stuff because I like to think this is all real: I was a naughty girl who got caned by her Headmaster; I was a bratty girlfriend who got spanked by her boyfriend for good reason. I like to read over my accounts of playtime and pretend I don't actually like this whole punishment thing at all.

Not blogging those details doesn't mean I don't like sex; I do. Or that some of my scenes don't have sex in them; they do. Or that I don't sometimes hint at such play in my fantasies and stories for you to draw out yourself; I do. Or that all this fake reality isn't the biggest turn on of all; it certainly is!

I just choose to not blog about it. So if you comment and wreck my kinky buzz, I think I am entitled to delete that comment. But as HH ponders what to the rest of you think?

Saturday, February 6

What's in a comment?

The whole issue of blogging and commenting is an interesting one. It's something I think about on and off and was brought to mind again by Jessica's recent post on the very topic. As she discussed it can be hard when people say things we don't agree with, or misunderstand what we've said in the post.

At the end of the day we all write the blogs for ourselves. We write what we want, in our own way and as frequently as we like. But despite that, no matter how bold the assertion is that we don't care what people think; we do. We want people to read what we've written and we need to know what they think.

I'm amazed at how much I value comments. Annoyed almost at the extent to which I get anxious about a post until someone has commented on it. Silly I know, but it's like a validation of what I've written: if it's good enough to comment on then I'm good enough to write it in the first place.

But what about negative and critical comments? Does it invalidate what we've written, and therefore us, or are we pleased that they've engaged? Happy we've caused a reaction? Do we respond, clarify or ignore? Do we go as far as to delete?

And what motivates readers to comment in the first place? There's been many discussions about what types of blogs and posts are more likely to attract comments. I've explained before that most of my comments are general waves of hello on the blogs of friends: I'm supporting you, I like what you write, keep going.

It's only the really thought provoking posts that get my total attention and sometimes I don't comment on those at all, so lost for adequate words. And when I do manage to respond to them it generally turns into a blog post of my own.

So even though I can see it both from the writer and the reader perspective I still have this need for validation, as do many other bloggers I suspect. Using stat counters to see how many hits we have, wondering in awe at the reach of our little blogs. In January I had readers from 89 different countries, including the Republic of Congo. I find that mind boggling. And it amazes me that there are so many of you who read and don't comment. Are you just stopping by once in a while or are you a regular reader? I'm so curious. You know all about me and I know nothing about you!

And then there's Winterbrook. We have a lovely band of regular commentators who we know well, but I suspect there are many, many more who read it silently. We don't have a stat counter on the site, so we actually don't know.

Not that we ever made a group decision not to have one, but for my part there's that fear maybe no-one is reading it at all. Maybe our writing isn't good enough, or we don't post as regularly as we should. Would it put us off to learn that only 10 people a week read it? Probably. Should it? Of course not. Would it put us off if we got continually negative comments? Probably. Should it? Of course not.

So commenting is a funny thing but I think I agree with Oscar Wilde: 'the only thing worse than being talked about, is not being talked about!'

Friday, February 5

The Punishment List!

Those people over at the Spanking Writers aren't just the leading lights of online writing, they've moved on to print too! After publishing the first Spanking Writers Anthology together with Haron, Abel has now published his long awaited book 'The Punishment List'; a wonderful collection of his best spanking stories.

Like so many online newbies before me, I gravitated towards Abel's stories in my early internet forays. Not knowing what I was into or what my kink was back then, I just knew that these stories triggered something in me.

So I felt very privileged to get a sneak preview of the book before the rest of you! I can confirm the original stories are just as wonderful in print and the ten never published before are some of Abel's best writing yet. 'Midleton' is one of the most dark and emotive spanking stories I've ever read, while 'Anna and the Headmaster' gave me a warm glow all over; almost as good as a spanking itself!

Off you go and buy it, a worthy addition to any collection of spanking literature and a lovely present for that kinky person in your life. And not only do you get to enjoy the stories but also the fabulous front cover, designed and painted by the talented Catherine.

And when you've read it, come back and tell me what your favourite story was!

Monday, February 1


It really filled me with great joy that today was the 1st of February. I've always loved February; truly my favorite month of the year. For one it's the month of my birthday. And I've always been made to feel special, or insisted that I was made special this month because of it.

It's also the month with a day devoted entirely to celebrating love, even if it is getting cornier every year!

But the best thing about February is the feeling of re-awakening. Officially the first month of Spring and regrowth. Even if it is still shockingly cold, the evenings are getting brighter. And there's the promise of flowers popping up and leaves adorning the trees once more.

And even more noticeable is the hum of life and purpose. People are coming out of their January cocoons. Escaping from the fasting post-Christmas. Shaking off the January blues and looking forward to the year ahead. Revitalised.

I'm no different, gradually feeling energised at work again, wanting to be out of the house, motivated to achieve those New Year ambitions. I can feel my kinky mojo stirring too. As I've blogged, my lack of kink and reluctance to play has been of some angst to me. And I've found Patrick Kavanagh's poem Advent, wonderfully apt in understanding how I have found myself here. These lines resonate in particular:

'We have tested and tasted too much lover,
Through a chink too wide comes in no wonder'

He speaks beautifully of how we must serve some form of penance or denial to be able to enjoy the things that once gave us great wonder and pleasure. The need to cleanse our palette with 'dry black bread' so we can taste again.

In the past year I have had a veritable feast of kinky delight. Throwing myself into it with the ferocity of a starving man afraid of where his next meal will come from. I've gorged myself on intelligent kinky conversation, amazing roleplay and adrenalin racing pain. I've revelled in new friendships and embraced the freedom to be kinky. And I've been consumed by my blogs and the online world.

So perhaps it's not quite so surprising that since the Christmas break I've found it hard to get going again. Stuffed with kink, spoiled with all I enjoyed. Secure that it wasn't going to vanish into thin air, that I could pull back and it wouldn't be taken away from me.

But now I feel I've fasted enough. I'm getting hungry again. My mojo is stirring and I'm looking forward to playing again properly. I'm re-awakened.