Saturday, December 25

Merry Christmas!

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

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

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

Thursday, December 23

Soothing the soul

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, December 14


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday, December 4

Back before the Court

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

I underestimated both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bedtime that night

Thursday, December 2

Finishing School - The Head Girl's Tale

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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