For various reasons I am not in good form. I'm stressed and cranky and out of sorts. I don't feel like I'm in control and I don't feel like playing by the rules at the minute.
I need a spanking. A good girl, reassuring, OTK spanking. One where I'll feel small and vulnerable. Where I'll cry just a little bit and get lots of hugs afterwards. And then I'll feel all better and safe.
Right now those spankings and hugs seem very far away. Even though I know that I'll certainly get at least one when I visit HH this weekend.
So it made me feel partly better to find a lil present from Abel in my mailbox today. A ruler with my name on it and a little note reminding me to behave or face the consequences. Not as good as an actual spanking, but gave me a nice tingly feeling all the same.
Monday, May 31
Wednesday, May 26
Kinkship
When telling my kinky pals about some special moment in my adult life I have to remind myself that they weren't around when most of these things happened. That even the closest of my kinky friends are known barely a year.
And when I'm having in depth conversations with people like Indy or trading twitter laughs with whoever, I have to remind myself that I've never actually met these people in real life. Yet I feel that I know them already, am confident I'll like them when we do meet. A confidence borne, no doubt, from so many other online friendships that have blossomed in real life.
Not just ordinary friendships though, but kinkships. In some ways they go further and deeper than normal friendship because we lay ourselves completely bare. Not only facing up to the 'shameful' truths about ourselves but sharing them, reveling in them. (Although I have found that sharing TTWD with my already close vanilla friends has deepened that friendship even further.)
And this kinkship has been something I've been musing on a lot lately - how quickly and easily these kinky friendships develop. How strong the bonds are. How most of these connections begin online and how we interact with one another: laugh and cry along, tease and support along the way. How the kink transcends all those traditional friendship triggers of age, location, education, life stage and career.
These musings have been brought to the forefront by the saga of Bryson bear. For those of you who don't know the facts here's a brief overview. Bryson belongs to Mija and a few weeks back managed to lose himself in a hotel they were staying in. Despite much searching he was not to be found, culminating in this lovely post of Mija's.
At the time the blogging fold and the twitterverse provided much advice and support. But what I remember most about that time was the complete empathy I had with Mija for her loss and then the utter elation when he was returned to her as detailed here.
And when I think about it, really think about it, it fascinates me that I can have this empathy with someone I've never met. That's the power of kinkship.
And when I'm having in depth conversations with people like Indy or trading twitter laughs with whoever, I have to remind myself that I've never actually met these people in real life. Yet I feel that I know them already, am confident I'll like them when we do meet. A confidence borne, no doubt, from so many other online friendships that have blossomed in real life.
Not just ordinary friendships though, but kinkships. In some ways they go further and deeper than normal friendship because we lay ourselves completely bare. Not only facing up to the 'shameful' truths about ourselves but sharing them, reveling in them. (Although I have found that sharing TTWD with my already close vanilla friends has deepened that friendship even further.)
And this kinkship has been something I've been musing on a lot lately - how quickly and easily these kinky friendships develop. How strong the bonds are. How most of these connections begin online and how we interact with one another: laugh and cry along, tease and support along the way. How the kink transcends all those traditional friendship triggers of age, location, education, life stage and career.
These musings have been brought to the forefront by the saga of Bryson bear. For those of you who don't know the facts here's a brief overview. Bryson belongs to Mija and a few weeks back managed to lose himself in a hotel they were staying in. Despite much searching he was not to be found, culminating in this lovely post of Mija's.
At the time the blogging fold and the twitterverse provided much advice and support. But what I remember most about that time was the complete empathy I had with Mija for her loss and then the utter elation when he was returned to her as detailed here.
And when I think about it, really think about it, it fascinates me that I can have this empathy with someone I've never met. That's the power of kinkship.
Thursday, May 20
Time for a lil break...
No, not from kinky stuff. And not from blogging or anything else relatively important. I'm taking a break from the Chalet School! Or I mean to say reading the entire collection in one go. I started at Eliane's party and pretty much have been reading continuously ever since.
She has the whole entire collection - all 62 of them and I decided I needed to read them right through. The observant amongst you may recognise a correlation between this undertaking and the severe lack of blog posts from me lately.
See I had read several of the books as a child but never in order. And I'd missed out a good many altogether. Now for a child who craved routine and hated change or the thought of people growing up and moving away, I was traumatised by this reading out of order. Going from reading about Jo being Head Girl and then immediately onto her triplet daughters starting school. Oh the shock!
So in an effort to heal this trauma I figured I should go back and read them all in order, following their natural progression, It seemed like a good idea. And mostly it has been. Apart from my language being influenced so much it's verging on hysterical.
No joke, I actually told my colleague the other day that 'I hadn't pegged her for a football fan'. As she laughed heartily at me it got even worse as I tried to explain about the Chalet School series. She hadn't even heard of them. In fact not one girl at work had, nor any of my other friends. Do they only come to the notice of us kinky folk?
Really the main drawback to this scheme is that I've become a lil obsessed. Whether it's with the challenge of reading the entire series or the actual books and characters themselves, I'm not entirely sure, But I've been spending all my free moments reading them. Including walking to and from the bus to work (thankfully haven't been run over yet), on the bus to and from work and sometimes even at work instead of going for coffee breaks. I had got into a habit of reading late into the night but Abel reminded me why that isn't a good idea for several reasons, some of them painful!
So now I've got to book 30. And I'm taking a break. This may be as I can't read another word of EMB and her rehashing of plotlines every third book. Or that I can't for the life of me work out what the Head says each time that affects whichever naughty girl so much that she never ever told anyone or never forgot it as long as she lived!
Then there's the frustrations of the regular mentions of someone deserving a spanking or caning but never actually getting one. But being completely honest this break is probably more to do with the fact that I've run dry: I've nothing left to read!
My supplier is in the UK and I won't be seeing her or any of them folks for quite a while. So I have no choice but to go cold turkey. Unless any of you nice Irish readers out there have any of the series for me. Looking for 31, 32 and 33 in particular. I'd be ever so obliged if you could pass them on, that'd be smashing!
She has the whole entire collection - all 62 of them and I decided I needed to read them right through. The observant amongst you may recognise a correlation between this undertaking and the severe lack of blog posts from me lately.
See I had read several of the books as a child but never in order. And I'd missed out a good many altogether. Now for a child who craved routine and hated change or the thought of people growing up and moving away, I was traumatised by this reading out of order. Going from reading about Jo being Head Girl and then immediately onto her triplet daughters starting school. Oh the shock!
So in an effort to heal this trauma I figured I should go back and read them all in order, following their natural progression, It seemed like a good idea. And mostly it has been. Apart from my language being influenced so much it's verging on hysterical.
No joke, I actually told my colleague the other day that 'I hadn't pegged her for a football fan'. As she laughed heartily at me it got even worse as I tried to explain about the Chalet School series. She hadn't even heard of them. In fact not one girl at work had, nor any of my other friends. Do they only come to the notice of us kinky folk?
Really the main drawback to this scheme is that I've become a lil obsessed. Whether it's with the challenge of reading the entire series or the actual books and characters themselves, I'm not entirely sure, But I've been spending all my free moments reading them. Including walking to and from the bus to work (thankfully haven't been run over yet), on the bus to and from work and sometimes even at work instead of going for coffee breaks. I had got into a habit of reading late into the night but Abel reminded me why that isn't a good idea for several reasons, some of them painful!
So now I've got to book 30. And I'm taking a break. This may be as I can't read another word of EMB and her rehashing of plotlines every third book. Or that I can't for the life of me work out what the Head says each time that affects whichever naughty girl so much that she never ever told anyone or never forgot it as long as she lived!
Then there's the frustrations of the regular mentions of someone deserving a spanking or caning but never actually getting one. But being completely honest this break is probably more to do with the fact that I've run dry: I've nothing left to read!
My supplier is in the UK and I won't be seeing her or any of them folks for quite a while. So I have no choice but to go cold turkey. Unless any of you nice Irish readers out there have any of the series for me. Looking for 31, 32 and 33 in particular. I'd be ever so obliged if you could pass them on, that'd be smashing!
Tuesday, May 18
It's all about me!
I told you that in my very first post, that it was 'all about me'. I wonder how many of you read it? The post I wrote starting out, when I was nervous and unure about my blogging capabilites, my commitment, my doubts that anyone would read it, let alone comment.
While I wouldn't agree with everything in this post now, one thing has certainly come to pass: On here 'it's all about me'. Yet it's also about your comments too, your voice on here. And while I can be awfully remiss at responding to comments and sometimes woefully inadequate at this blogging lark I am very glad I started it and love to hear what you think.
And getting to think about the blog, and what I've shared so far, I got to wondering of all the things I've written about what stood out for you the most? What post really struck a chord, or made you laugh, or wince, or want to beat me, or maybe want to hug me, or even want to run away and not read anymore at all.
Please share, I'd love to know. What part of 'me' on here resonated the most? Indulge me, it's my blogaversary ;)
"Well there's really enough information about me in the side bar, including '10 things you should know about me'. Do let me know if there's anything else you want to know and I might be kind and respond.
What I really mean is that this blog is all about me; selfishly so. I'll only blog when I feel like it; so no daily update I'm afraid. In particular you'll hear from me when I'm trying to make sense of something that's wandering around my head: a common occurrence since I embraced this kinky life.
No doubt there'll be feasts and famines as the mood takes me. Hopefully there'll be some posts of interest to you, but I forsee just as many that are just for me.
If you stick around, I hope it's worth your while!"
While I wouldn't agree with everything in this post now, one thing has certainly come to pass: On here 'it's all about me'. Yet it's also about your comments too, your voice on here. And while I can be awfully remiss at responding to comments and sometimes woefully inadequate at this blogging lark I am very glad I started it and love to hear what you think.
And getting to think about the blog, and what I've shared so far, I got to wondering of all the things I've written about what stood out for you the most? What post really struck a chord, or made you laugh, or wince, or want to beat me, or maybe want to hug me, or even want to run away and not read anymore at all.
Please share, I'd love to know. What part of 'me' on here resonated the most? Indulge me, it's my blogaversary ;)
Monday, May 17
A Tale of Two Slippers
As I mentioned in my post yesterday I played with the London Tanner at Nimhneach. Amongst his hand and the razor strop, he also treated me to his slipper.
Now regular readers may recall my various descriptions of the slipperings I have suffered at the hands of HH. It is my own personal nemesis, the implement that I fear the most. Guaranteed to dissolve me into tears and howl for mercy if HH chooses to apply it for that affect. It's definitely not fun.
The slipper in question is a brutal men's size 9 tennis shoe. And unfortunately for me the London Tanner happens to own its comrade. The left hand slipper of the pair. I had been warned early in the night that he had brought it. So when the time duly came I was expecting it. In true apprehension I bent over the stool, hands on the seat, my bottom properly out on display. I was scared and I had good reason to be. He didn't disappoint.
It hurt a great deal from the start. Each stroke landing unerringly on the crease between my bottom and the top of the thighs, making me gasp and squirm. Many of the strokes made me buckle in agony. And as it continued I lost all dignity in front of the watching crowd. It was very clear I was struggling, but I wanted to take it, see the punishment through.
I was so relieved when he switched back to the stop that I kept obediently in position until we were done. It was with some awe I later inspected the resulting bruises - it's a long time since I've bruised that badly. What you can't see in the photo are the vivid scarlett bruises on my inner thighs and cheeks.
Although both slippers may be identical, the experience with their owners is very different. The London Tanner's had its laces removed, meaning there was no preamble or delay in administering the strokes. Each fell in quick succession and while horrendously hard, not full force so I could take a good number, even if I was struggling for each one.
On the other hand HH takes more time between each stroke. With ceremony he tucks the laces into the slipper, before weighing it in his hand, steps back behind me and administers each stroke with his full body weight behind him, driving the slipper upwards from thigh to bottom. It's very rare I don't jump up screaming at each one and the most I've taken before crying is probably 3 or 4. Unless I'm on an adrenalin high 12 is as much as I can take in any one go.
But either way, whether it's HH with his slipper, or the London Tanner with his, both are a force to be reckoned with. And that slipper will continue to invoke the utmost fear and respect, no matter which of them is yielding it.
Now regular readers may recall my various descriptions of the slipperings I have suffered at the hands of HH. It is my own personal nemesis, the implement that I fear the most. Guaranteed to dissolve me into tears and howl for mercy if HH chooses to apply it for that affect. It's definitely not fun.
The slipper in question is a brutal men's size 9 tennis shoe. And unfortunately for me the London Tanner happens to own its comrade. The left hand slipper of the pair. I had been warned early in the night that he had brought it. So when the time duly came I was expecting it. In true apprehension I bent over the stool, hands on the seat, my bottom properly out on display. I was scared and I had good reason to be. He didn't disappoint.
It hurt a great deal from the start. Each stroke landing unerringly on the crease between my bottom and the top of the thighs, making me gasp and squirm. Many of the strokes made me buckle in agony. And as it continued I lost all dignity in front of the watching crowd. It was very clear I was struggling, but I wanted to take it, see the punishment through.
I was so relieved when he switched back to the stop that I kept obediently in position until we were done. It was with some awe I later inspected the resulting bruises - it's a long time since I've bruised that badly. What you can't see in the photo are the vivid scarlett bruises on my inner thighs and cheeks.
Although both slippers may be identical, the experience with their owners is very different. The London Tanner's had its laces removed, meaning there was no preamble or delay in administering the strokes. Each fell in quick succession and while horrendously hard, not full force so I could take a good number, even if I was struggling for each one.
On the other hand HH takes more time between each stroke. With ceremony he tucks the laces into the slipper, before weighing it in his hand, steps back behind me and administers each stroke with his full body weight behind him, driving the slipper upwards from thigh to bottom. It's very rare I don't jump up screaming at each one and the most I've taken before crying is probably 3 or 4. Unless I'm on an adrenalin high 12 is as much as I can take in any one go.
But either way, whether it's HH with his slipper, or the London Tanner with his, both are a force to be reckoned with. And that slipper will continue to invoke the utmost fear and respect, no matter which of them is yielding it.
Sunday, May 16
A little bit more grown up
It is in the annals of Nimhneach (or it would be if there was such a thing!) that I always wear a school uniform to that great event.
So last night turning up in a distinctly non-school girl outfit, in fact wearing what could be described as a very grown up outfit, was a big deal!
There were many reasons for this change to the norm. The presence of my delightful twin Catherine and the absence of my schoolgirl kindred spirit Caroline Grey.
After a delightful day of shopping and last minute adjustments to outfits the below result was achieved. A black and white theme all in (by the end of the night I was black and white and red all over!) with a white camisole and knickers under a black corset, black seamed stockings and a black net skirt with dangerously high heels.
I will honestly admit that I was utterly thrilled with myself and tottered around Nimhneach feeling very grown up indeed. My twin was just as fabulously resplendent in an emerald green corset, suspenders and bustle skirt and I like to think we turned a few heads in the club.
Between this new air of grown-up-ness and the restrictiveness of the corset I was not my usual over-the-top hyper self or as my friend Martha so aptly puts it 'a firefly on speed'. But this wasn't a bad thing at all and I has just as much fun as normal.
Much of the early part of the evening was spent in chatter, making new friends and greeting old ones. Not only had I the pleasure of my twin Catherine visiting, but also MecIralndais was back from exile and was his school boy self. Bandree's supply of chocolates and sweeties went down ever so well that I almost felt sorrry for her when she was punished for trying to indulge in other, non-chocolcate vices!
It was a much more gradual start to the night than usual and early on I didn't feel up to playing. But when my good friend Bad Shepherd appeared to take us twins in hand, it started a series of very painful, but fun experiences for the rest of the night.
Catherine and I were taken up on stage, bent over side by side and duly whipped whilst half the club looked on. First a flogger, a teasing introduction gradually building into pain. Then an evil (TRULY EVIL) wooden shoe horn that made me dance on the spot, before Mrs Hurty ( a cruel dressage whip, wife to the sadly demised Mr Hurty) was produced. This horrid implement left several vivid welts on my thighs and all in all this meant a fab start to the evening.
My next misadventure was with the London Tanner. We'd met at the last Nimhneach where I'd had two spankings - while not mild they hadn't been the worst in the world either. So I figured now we were no longer new to each other, things would get a lot worse. And how right I was!
The OTK warm up spanking was pleasant. But the razor strop that followed was an ordeal. A lovely implement - when he chose to wield it moderately it was almost enjoyable - unfortunately such strokes were few and far between and I was dropping out of position with the fierce strokes. As for the slipper, that requires a whole blog post to itself! Let's just say the whole scene was very painful and I might think twice about openly bratting and admitting my various naughtiness to him in the future!
After a brief respite I went into another scene with Master Retep. He took me to the spiderweb made of chain and tied me hands above my head facing those club goers who were queuing for the bar. Even though we were at a fetish club with all like-minded people I was actually verging on shamed to be on display like this. Usually when playing at Nimhneach I'm facing away from the audience, and I squirmed to have to face the onlookers enjoyed my discomfort. Especially as MR was using a hooped rattan paddle that had a vicious sting to it.
After another strapping late in the evening from the London Tanner, taken jointly with my twin, I felt sore and played out. Happy to observe the rest of the night. But I couldn't resist asking Topcat for a spanking.
The first of my scene playmates we haven't played as much lately. Yet there was something reassuring about being put over his knee - he's a big guy and my feet were clear off the ground making me feel small and vulnerable. His pre-spanking chat (he was quoting Earnest Hemmingway!) given while I was squirming in position made me quite headspacey and I wasn't at all brave to the hard hand spanking that followed. A very lovely spanking and reconnection.
So thus passed another Nimhneach. One where I was a little bit more grown up and sedate but had just as much fun. Given that it was the 5th year in existence, huge kudos must go to the hardworking team who keep it going and make it the safe and fun place it is. The club and the people who attend mean so much to me and I am so thankful to have it. Happy Birthday Nimhneach!
So last night turning up in a distinctly non-school girl outfit, in fact wearing what could be described as a very grown up outfit, was a big deal!
There were many reasons for this change to the norm. The presence of my delightful twin Catherine and the absence of my schoolgirl kindred spirit Caroline Grey.
After a delightful day of shopping and last minute adjustments to outfits the below result was achieved. A black and white theme all in (by the end of the night I was black and white and red all over!) with a white camisole and knickers under a black corset, black seamed stockings and a black net skirt with dangerously high heels.
I will honestly admit that I was utterly thrilled with myself and tottered around Nimhneach feeling very grown up indeed. My twin was just as fabulously resplendent in an emerald green corset, suspenders and bustle skirt and I like to think we turned a few heads in the club.
Between this new air of grown-up-ness and the restrictiveness of the corset I was not my usual over-the-top hyper self or as my friend Martha so aptly puts it 'a firefly on speed'. But this wasn't a bad thing at all and I has just as much fun as normal.
Much of the early part of the evening was spent in chatter, making new friends and greeting old ones. Not only had I the pleasure of my twin Catherine visiting, but also MecIralndais was back from exile and was his school boy self. Bandree's supply of chocolates and sweeties went down ever so well that I almost felt sorrry for her when she was punished for trying to indulge in other, non-chocolcate vices!
It was a much more gradual start to the night than usual and early on I didn't feel up to playing. But when my good friend Bad Shepherd appeared to take us twins in hand, it started a series of very painful, but fun experiences for the rest of the night.
Catherine and I were taken up on stage, bent over side by side and duly whipped whilst half the club looked on. First a flogger, a teasing introduction gradually building into pain. Then an evil (TRULY EVIL) wooden shoe horn that made me dance on the spot, before Mrs Hurty ( a cruel dressage whip, wife to the sadly demised Mr Hurty) was produced. This horrid implement left several vivid welts on my thighs and all in all this meant a fab start to the evening.
My next misadventure was with the London Tanner. We'd met at the last Nimhneach where I'd had two spankings - while not mild they hadn't been the worst in the world either. So I figured now we were no longer new to each other, things would get a lot worse. And how right I was!
The OTK warm up spanking was pleasant. But the razor strop that followed was an ordeal. A lovely implement - when he chose to wield it moderately it was almost enjoyable - unfortunately such strokes were few and far between and I was dropping out of position with the fierce strokes. As for the slipper, that requires a whole blog post to itself! Let's just say the whole scene was very painful and I might think twice about openly bratting and admitting my various naughtiness to him in the future!
After a brief respite I went into another scene with Master Retep. He took me to the spiderweb made of chain and tied me hands above my head facing those club goers who were queuing for the bar. Even though we were at a fetish club with all like-minded people I was actually verging on shamed to be on display like this. Usually when playing at Nimhneach I'm facing away from the audience, and I squirmed to have to face the onlookers enjoyed my discomfort. Especially as MR was using a hooped rattan paddle that had a vicious sting to it.
After another strapping late in the evening from the London Tanner, taken jointly with my twin, I felt sore and played out. Happy to observe the rest of the night. But I couldn't resist asking Topcat for a spanking.
The first of my scene playmates we haven't played as much lately. Yet there was something reassuring about being put over his knee - he's a big guy and my feet were clear off the ground making me feel small and vulnerable. His pre-spanking chat (he was quoting Earnest Hemmingway!) given while I was squirming in position made me quite headspacey and I wasn't at all brave to the hard hand spanking that followed. A very lovely spanking and reconnection.
So thus passed another Nimhneach. One where I was a little bit more grown up and sedate but had just as much fun. Given that it was the 5th year in existence, huge kudos must go to the hardworking team who keep it going and make it the safe and fun place it is. The club and the people who attend mean so much to me and I am so thankful to have it. Happy Birthday Nimhneach!
Wednesday, May 5
New term at Lowewood
Hmmm so I've been busy goading Graham into posting every day in May and yet we have come to day 8 and I have not a post myself. (As the young lady herself is not shy in pointing out!)
That's not from lack of ideas - I have many things I want to blog about - but have had little time online to do so. Sometimes I wish I could hide away with just my laptop and blog to my heart's content. But that's not going to happen anytime soon so I shall snatch a few moments now and give you an update on my third term at Lowewood where my school girl alter ego Caoilfhionn Ni Bradaigh was back amongst her delightful fellow school mates Jessica, Beth, Rebecca, Sylvie, Jemima, Felicity and new girl Holly.
After being bottom of the school the first two terms Caoilfhionn was determined this should not happen again. This inspired in no small way by the sharp talking to her guardian gave her the night before. She was to be a paragon of virtue, a shining light of goodness. In such a mindset she arrived and enlisted fellow Byron house mate Felicity in a vow of obedience for the pride and honour of Byron.
Assembly started off with the usual rousing school hymn and then to Caoilfhionn's utter amusement her partner-in-crime Jemima was announced as Head Girl. That girl's astonishment at the realisation she would have to behave or get double punishment was priceless.
Despite such excellent intentions to behave, by the time assembly was over both Caoilfhionn and Felicity were already signed up to detention after lessons for eating sweets and giggling repeatedly. Caoilfhionn had also lost 15 house points - 5 each for her hair not tied back, wearing red shoes and wearing red sunglasses, which did cause a bit of a sensation!
Still, both girls tried very hard afterwards and proved successful. Caoilfhionn managing to get points in every class and excelling in both History and Latin! At the end of the day how proud was Mr Edmunds, Head of Byron House, to have not only Caolifhionn coming second in the school but Felicity actually topping it and winning the Father Smith Cup for all round performance in the bargain!
All in all it was a great school school term. One of the funniest moments being when Caoilfhionn, having repeatedly being told that her skirt was so short it might as well have been a belt, decided to actually swap it for a belt and see if anyone noticed. It must be pointed out Mr Shaftbotham only noticed when she turned around and he saw the belt buckle.
After trying to explain herself to him, things got a whole lot worse when she was informed it was her turn to report for private detention with one of the teachers. In this case Rev Jenkins. Her crime it later transpired was standing on the lawns at Trinity College clearly flouting the 'Keep off the grass' sign. Her denials came to nothing as he produced the photographic evidence. But how hard it was to keep a straight face when at first sight of her she was ordered to pull her skirt down - having to tell him it wasn't a skirt but a belt was priceless. Almost worth the searing 12 strokes of the heavy strap he duly delivered!
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