Monday, June 28

And now for something lighter!

I just want to reassure you all that the weekend wasn't all about deep and dark painful beatings. Not at all. Actually there even more cheerful and light-hearted painful beatings too!

Like on Saturday morning. After much sleep I rose from a fine ten hours of deep sleep in a very good mood indeed. I hadn't intended to be mischievous at all but being condiment-ally challenged resulted in honey over the oak table, soon followed by me bare bottomed, over the oak table.

Forgetting it was HH dealing out the spanking I was semi-cheerfully answering back when the hand spanking got firmer and the voice got cross. It's not allowed to be so disrespectful during a spanking, no matter how light or sticky the situation.

Breakfast finally concluded without much further ado until some ridiculous declaration of innocence from Abel had all us girls howling in laughter. He wasn't too pleased to have us react so and over the table we all had to go, bottoms bared in a row; Catherine, Haron and I. And what a lively spanking ensued with a disgraceful amount of laughter and answering back.

After all that I found myself in a far more mischievous mood. I wanted trouble! But not for me, I still felt quite played out from the night before. But I was sure Catherine could handle a bit more beating. As Indy would say I then then threw her under a bus by remarking that she hadn't got that switching that was proposed, had she? Of course HH doesn't need much encouragement and duly fetched said switch as we all trooped upstairs to watch the show.

Now it's very unusual for me to witness someone playing and not want to join in, but this was such an occasion. I was very happy to watch as HH beat Catherine mercilessly with the switch. Happy to to watch her dance and wriggle away from him as he beat her more, to laugh as he chased her round the room still whacking away and to sigh as he eventually restrained her and whipped her til tiny bits of the switch scattered across the room and she was properly complaining.

Poor girl wasn't allowed be done with yet though. It was then Abel's turn with the dragon cane and the strokes rained down smartly until at least two dozen were delivered. Our girl was almost done. But I wasn't finished with my bus throwing.

Gently remarking that she hadn't nearly as much trouble as me on the wooden pony the night before I wondered how she might find it on the second time of asking? The love in her eyes for me at that moment was very special to behold. And when they had her strung up on the pony, with the board raised much higher than previously, I almost felt bad as she cried and pleaded for mercy. Almost.

It was a very floaty girl who was finally released into many waiting hugs.

Unfortunately we had to say bye to my lovely twin then, and alas the beatings were still not done. Haron was made to squeak as HH and Abel gently tortured her (as she recounts here) and I had yet more fun ahead of me.

That evening we had company to entertain and apparently I was part of the entertainment. Not only was I stripped down to my pretty gingham knickers in the garden, and nor was I just caned while standing on the pedestal in said garden, but I also had to demonstrate the wooden pony for said company as well as endure a harsh whipping with the two tailed whip at full force. Yes it was all very light indeed. Although I at least had the pleasure of watching lovely company being beaten too!

The weekend ended with the obligatory tawsing of a cranky Emma Jane out of bed, and just when I thought HH was growing out of that phase too...

Sunday, June 27

How deep is deep enough?

I'm trying to dissect my latest big scene. One played over the weekend with some of my closest play friends - HH, Abel, Haron and Catherine. Three tops, two bottoms. All people I trust 150%.

The scenario was that we were girls kidnapped to order, for eventual sale. We would be trained and prepared in advance to be compliant willing girls before we being passed on to our new owners.

My character Eva had been with the kidnappers 6 weeks and was already broken in - very meek and obedient. Catherine was just arriving and had to learn what they expected of her and Eva was to help in teaching her, just as the other girls had helped her.

For me it was a great scene - terrifying, painful and deep. Very, very deep. From the minute HH secured me to the whipping bench and told me they had brought a new girl to train in, I was gone. So much so that I was already in tears when Abel and Haron came into the room to tell me how important it was that I help the new girl. That I was such a good girl, so obedient, how much they liked me and hated to hurt me.

And deeper and deeper I went. A headspace fueled by Catherine's character Petals. I was genuinely worried for her character. Not Catherine who I know can break any top with her strength and stamina - she ceased to exist, it was always Eva and Petals, even when we were left alone.

Gone too were my lovely friends Abel, Haron and HH. In their place cruel and sadistic mercenaries. HH clinical in his duty to break the girl. Abel delighting in finding fault with Eva yet telling her how fond he was of her. Haron making Eva tremble as she suggested they might buy her back for their own amusement, when she was 'a little used up'.

Left naked on the whipping bench I could only listen as they dragged the new girl (Catherine) into the room, ordered her to strip then soaked her with freezing cold water when she refused to. They tied her cold and wet to a chair while they then beat me for her refusal to comply.

And so the scene went on - at the start I was beaten every time she refused to obey an order. Until I was sobbing aloud from the pain and pity of what they were doing to her, to us. But the worst part was when they made us face each other, and I had to raise my tear stained face to hers, to show her how much they were hurting me. And then their plan started to work - she began to comply.

It was a very long and intense scene where we were both beaten harshly. And I cried more when she was being whipped than I did when I was. At one point they ordered her to take her beating more quietly or I would be whipped again instead. The strokes seared down and she kept absolutely quiet just to save me. That made me cry all the more.

Playing us off each other really worked for me - as deep as I was it make me fall deeper. Wanting to protect her, take her beatings for her but also try to be quiet during mine so I wouldn't upset her. During one of my whippings they made me look into her eyes for each stroke and a huge energy passed between us as she willed me to be brave and I bit back the screams, taking her strength and using it. Right then it felt like we were winning a little battle all of our own.

But then they came up with a new torture for us - the wooden pony. A narrow plank of wood suspended from the ceiling. One at a time we were placed straddling it, legs held apart with a spreader bar, wrists cuffed to an elastic rope above. As the plank was winched higher until our legs were too strained to support us the pressure between our legs became unbearable.

The elastic above gave false hope. The more you pulled the lower it would drop down giving no relief. I begged without shame to be let down before they even started the official minute. The longest of my life. By the time I was done I was weak, completely broken and had to be lifted off the bench.

I didn't even feel my last strapping and didn't utter a word throughout it. I was gone - so deep I couldn't go any further. And somewhere deep inside, I was floating away.

I can't speak for the others but I'm hoping Catherine in particular will share her thoughts on this scene. It wasn't an easy one to co-bottom in with me - none of us could have predicted how deep I would go. And we hadn't considered it would also be the first time Catherine had ever seen me go that deep. Or that she would struggle with her character causing mine to suffer. We had intended for this element of it to get to her, and so it did. But we hadn't factored that she couldn't be sure that I, Emma Jane was very much getting off on it too.

And when the scene ended she also had to witness my struggle to come back from it. She confessed later to HH that she had been un-nerved somewhat by how deep I'd gone and asked him how he dealt with it. He calmly replied: 'I don't deal with it, I aim for it.'

Thing is I aim for it too. I live for these scenes where I can't think it out, can't hide my emotions, have to surrender myself completely. Because for me this is complete freedom and that's what kink is all about for me. But I'm wondering how it works for others? Am I alone in aiming to go this deep? Does it shock you to read of how far I go? Would you be comfortable witnessing or partaking in such a scene? Is there such a thing as too deep?

Monday, June 21

The art of topping

Haron has been writing about the joys of topping both on SW and on her Adele blog. I love hearing about her experiences as I witness her go full blown into this new chapter in her kinky life.

Now as I've said many a time on here I was reading SW for years before I meet the authors. In all that time I always thought of Haron as a bottomy type. She was so clearly labeled as such for me that it might have come as a major shock to discover this toppy side of her. Except I never got the chance to know anything else. The first time I met her she caned me! In fact she was the first woman to cane me or put me over her knee and the first Domme type that I really wanted to play with.

So I for one have very much enjoyed the joys of Haron topping. Whether it be solo or with Abel. Not to mention that great triple scene at Easter. You know things are bad when you've got both HH and Abel in a scene and yet the person who's scaring you the most is the one half their size!

You only have to look at this picture to understand why...

I was in serious pain, crying and screaming the place down and she's looking me in the eye and smirking at me. The epitome of cruel!

(I've been dying for Haron to out herself as Adele so I could finally post this picture)

As Haron recounts her adventures with the lovely Boy Crush I wonder will that ever be me? Will I ever be toppy, a full blown switch?

By now I've spanked and caned and strapped a few people (all fool hardy enough to put themselves in my way!) But that's always been in some semblance of fun and mostly in front of other people. And always just because I can. Truth is I like inflicting pain (to willing people obviously!) and being mean. I like being unfair and giving nasty surprises and teasing the victim. I really just think it's great sport.

As Graham noted on her blog over the weekend, when I caned her (on a very spurious excuse one must admit!) it was all about me, not her. I was enjoying making pretty lines on her lovely bottom, trying to deliver strokes that landed on top of each other, making little welts and marvelling at how she just lay there and took it all. It was tremendously satisfying work! And all because I could - what a power trip.

So I suspect that if I do eventually transition to top I'll be a very evil type. Not that I've been short of great female toppy rolemodels; Haron, Jessica, Miss Cavendish to name a few. But they are mostly kind and considerate tops. Even Haron at her cruelest generally redeems herself. I reckon I'd probably be more like Juliet, except she'd be my normal modus operandi, not the once in a alter ego. Getting off on the pleasure of making someone suffer, just because I can.

So just as well I'm not ready to become a top yet. I may just be too evil. Or else too much of a brat at heart!

Sunday, June 13

Do the Write thing!

Long before I was brave enough to contact anyone in the scene or even de-lurk anywhere, I was reading every kinky thing I could find. And I continued to be an avid reader on and off for years until I came out. (Now I don't get to read as much as I'd like, there has to be time to write now too!)

Back in 2001 there weren't any blogs per se - the first one I ever read was The Spanking Writers in 2006. But there were lots of great websites. And these websites had stories. Oh how I gorged myself on them. Some great, some OK, some not to my tastes, but all in their own ways reassuring me that I wasn't the only kinky girl in the world. And that these people understood my 'deepest, darkest desires' far better than I did myself.

I thought that these people were very generous in writing all these stories for the likes of me skulking about without as much as a comment. I didn't fully comprehend that they got just as much out of writing those stories themselves, that they wrote as much, if not more, for themselves than anyone else.

The need to understand and explain yourself through stories when words alone won't do. The thrill of crafting something out of a mere idea. The pride of your achievement. The joy of someone telling you they enjoyed what you'd written.

These were all things I came to learn when I started my own blog and wrote my own stories. Of course I've also learned the frustration that comes hand in hand with writing. Of creativity that won't materialise or the great idea that refuses to be expressed in a coherent manner. Or since writing for Winterbrook how hard it can be to develop a character and weave in plots against a long term storyline

I've written here several times that The Treehouse was one of the first sites that I visited back then and the stories on there continue to hold a very special place in my heart. I still remember using Mija and Pablo's writing to try to explain what I really wanted from my vanilla/semi-kinky boyfriend.

And it was on The Treehouse that I first heard of the group Soc.Sexuality.Spanking and the Summer Short Story Contest. Of course I never commented there either but greedy little me was delighted to have more stories to feed my habit.

Now I think it's time to finally give something back. Which is why this year I've volunteered to read and review the stories being entered into the competition. I'm very excited about the stories I've seen so far and am also thinking about my own entry. So I'd encourage you to write up a story and submit it. Details can be found here. Go on, I dare ya!

Wednesday, June 9


I arrived at HH's tired and stressed this weekend. In short I was feeling fragile and in serious need of R&R. And I got it, spanking style. I had warned him before my plane left Dublin that I was grumpy and moody. He replied he'd brought a hairbrush with him to the airport.

It was exactly what I needed to hear. I wanted to feel disciplined, and in being so I would feel safe. In being spanked I would feel cathartic. And if I was a grumpy lil brat I'd pay for it.

Over the weekend HH certainly delivered on that front. Reading me very well, mixing real life needs with play. I even found myself being spanked into bed each night instead of being spanked out of it in the morning!

We passed a pleasant first day sight seeing and catching up and even just being around HH I felt much calmer, no spankings required. Until it was getting late in the evening. And I was due my punishment for losing yet another mobile phone.

In truth I actually wanted to be spanked, I just didn't want it to hurt. But punishments have to hurt. And HH's spankings always do. My only concession was an OTK hand and leather paddle spanking, before the real thing was delivered. A heavy, wide leather strap was produced and the pillows were placed on the bed. Over them I lay, my bottom raised high for the strap.

It had been a long time since HH had given me a proper strapping. I've often admitted I find him far more terrifying with straps than any other implement - scarily accurate and always with huge force, I dread the pain. And this was no different.

After just a few strokes I was crying. Not just from the pain though, but from the opportunity for release. To cry out all those stresses of the week. It was no longer just about the phone, it was catharsis. And when he cuddled and put me to bed I was asleep in a few minutes, almost unheard of for an insomniac like me.

And the weekend continued in that vein. Acts of brattiness or disobedience were duly punished and I welcomed it all. Even the hairbrushing for spending too much time on twitter I secretly approved off. Although the whacking with the giant wooden spoon for dropping it on his knee might have been a lil unfair!

But the most cathartic punishment was for no reason at all. I was withdrawn, saying little, looking on the verge of tears. 'Out of sorts' as HH put it. 'I'm going to strap you now,' he pronounced. 'It will do you some good I think.'

And so over the pillows on the bed I went again. Feeling confused: I hadn't been naughty. Then feeling scared as I noted him fetching his two heavy tawses.

At first I resisted it, tried to just ride out the pain. Tried to cling on to the bed and not react. But he was persistent and I couldn't deny it hurt, hurt a lot. It wasn't long before the tears started.

'Yes definitely doing you some good,' he commented.

I felt, rather than saw the change in tawse. The heavier of the two really made me sob in earnest as it cracked down mercilessly. It's impossible to describe both the thud and whippiness of the tawse. It sears on impact and burns long after the stroke. So many delivered in quick succession makes you feel you'll die if it continues much longer, that you couldn't take another stroke. Yet even at that point, where you can't take anymore, you can. And then you can even take some more after that.

I was soon ready to be done. All sorted, honestly. He paused again. Seeing I'd had enough, was experiencing the release he knew I needed. And then gave me a final set. Because he could and because I would take it.

And in taking it I would surrender every last shred of control. Expunge everything, every heavy feeling. Become light and empty. By the time he was done I was hyperventilating, my face a red ugly mess, eyes red and puffy, my nose dripping. Cried in his arms til there were nothing left. Until I was limp and exhausted and at peace.

By the end of the weekend I was feeling more like myself and ready to face the big, bad world again. And despite the enormous crash on parting I knew I was OK again. That I could get on with things, without the need of a man with a strap to direct me. My fragility was back under control, carefully hidden from the real world again.

Monday, June 7


I think I am generally quite submissive in scenes. I don't mean public play scenes or bigger group roleplays like Lowewood of course. They're just for fun! But in proper one to one roleplay my inner submissive is usually quick to surface and those scenes tend to be those that I go deepest in. And in real discipline scenes it's rare that I don't start off wanting and needing to be disciplined and therefore in a submissive state of mind anyway.

So it can be quite interesting for me when some roleplay scenes start off with a character who is fiesty. 9 times out of 10 she'll be reduced to meekness or else the scene probably hasn't worked for me. In truth I find it harder to play feisty characters. I'm not always sure how far to push it. Or else the pain becomes too much and I give in. Or my play partner is just too terrifying.

And there's something very free about playing a submissive character. You just let go and give in to everything that's going on. You can't control it. You can't direct it. You really have no influence on what's happening and I find that very hot indeed.

Like the character I played today. She was so terrified of HIM (HH), that she daren't disobey, answer back or move too far out of position. Going into the scene with that background sank me immediately into deep headspace. Afraid of how to answer his questions, afraid to kick my feet when being paddled, afraid to say no to anything he was doing.

I also think he enjoyed the 'power' of it. That no matter how many excruciatingly painful cane strokes he'd land I would meekly get back in position and offer my bottom and thighs up to him again. Whilst in my head I was truly praying he'd just stop.

And even though I was being as good as I could be, it wasn't enough. When he asked did I want any more cane strokes I respectfully said 'No thank you Sir'. But that was the wrong answer. 3 more searing strokes then landed as I lay on my back and held my legs up straight and high. My error? Being presumptuous enough to think I had any say in the matter! This led me to a very compelling place - the depths of depair. A great place to come up from in the security of someone you trust implicitly!

Below is an account of the actual scene. I thought it up this morning, shared it with HH and then we played it. Warning, it was a very edgy idea and an even edgier scene!

I was a girl who had been kidnapped for the enjoyment of my captor. Taken when I was 17. I didn't know his name, learning to refer to him as Sir. And he named me Felicity. I was to forget my past life. My home was now the top floor of his house. A self contained unit with a heavy locked door the only means of entering or leaving it.

Held captive for a year or more with no hope of escape I had learned the path of least resistance. Obedience was my watchword and I was entirely meek and submissive. I hadn't forgotten the early weeks when my defiance had made life a living hell. Now it was bearable. Just.

Despite my efforts I was still regularly disciplined to ensure I remained afraid and obedient. All too easy he found fault with me.

On this day he came to my room as I was completing my Latin homework. One of many subjects part of my daily routine. I wore my everyday clothing of a white blouse and grey pinafore. My socks and underwear were white, my hair neatly tied back.

Rising from my desk as he entered he room I nervously looked down at my copybook, hoping there would be no mistakes for him to find. Often punished for untidy writing, I had laboured hard trying to be neat. But today it was a minor spelling error that was my undoing.

He explained he couldn't let that go unpunished and placed the wooden chair in the centre of the room. I stood by this side as ordered, holding my pinafore up above my waist as he scolded me. Didn't make any protest when he took my knickers down and placed me over his knee.

A wooden paddle cracked down on my bottom and I clung to the chair dearly, trying to take it quietly. I daren't kick my legs. He didn't allow that. It soon became unbearable and I whispered 'Please, Sir, please' my voice breaking. He paused momentarily, told me he was happy that I was taking my punishment like I deserved, then continued cracking the paddle down until my eyes were wet with tears.

When he permitted me to stand I knew better than to think that was the end of it. He placed me nose against the door, my knickers pooling at my feet, my pinafore bunched above my waist, hands atop my head. Told me to contemplate the caning that was soon to follow. How I was a bad girl who need punishment and how lucky I was to have him to take care of me.

After several minutes where I barely breathed aloud he took to the vaulting horse. Undressed me until I was naked and then ordered me to kneel on top of it. I assumed the caning position he expected. Kneeling down, with my arms and hands flat on the horse, my bottom raised up high in the air.

Then a sharp whippy cane was applied to the crease of my thighs and bottom over and over again. I was soon crying. But each time I held the right position for the stroke. And when a particularly hard one cut me and I moved away, I was quick to get back to where I should be. Not once did he have to ask me and he was pleased at my obedience, reminding me how far I had come.

After many cane strokes he let me down. Told me we were half way through. I stood still as he inspected me. His hands running over my body, touching and probing places that I didn't like but was too afraid to object to. Endured it all in silence.

Until I was back on the horse for another round of caning. Again I cried and whimpered as the strokes burned and melted into one another. But there was no mercy. In between he asked questions that I struggled to answer. What was the right thing to say? Yes Sir or No Sir? Once I forgot to say Sir, tacking it on after a pause. A sharp volley of smacks was my reward.

When I was sobbing and fully subdued he introduced me to new things he wanted from me. Things that were too distressing to comprehend. The session finally ended with the 3 brutally hard cane strokes across my thighs. As he mused about whether to give me another 6 or not I lost it, completely broken, in the depths of despair.