The cycle of kink

I'm feeling in a dark place, play wise. I want to be mentally and physically abused. Objectified and demeaned. Made to feel worthless. Made to cry in shame at my nothingness. But I'm not concerned about it. I'm embracing it. I'm enjoying it. I know it's just part of the cycle.

Because my penchant for certain play does move in a cycle. One that has no rhyme or rhythm but a pattern all of its own. I have learned to appreciate and accept the cycle. Not to force an appetite for a different type of play.

The intervening periods are of indeterminable lengths, often overlapping. There are times when I primarily want to play hard, when I want only loving, gentle play, when I want dark abusive scenes or light hearted fun scenes. There's even the part where I don't want to play at all and I am powerless to overcome it.

Sometimes the cycles vary with the person. Whilst blogging about our lovely hockey captain scene Abel talked about how less and less we do dark scenes together, preferring softer more comforting scenes. That's our cycle for now, but it can change too. It wasn't always so.

Towards the middle to the end of last year it was all about hard play for me. I did two severe JCP scenes and lots of private play at a hard level. I buzzed with the adrenalin of it all. Flying high on a wave of pain and endorphins and survival. I couldn't get enough.


But there was only so much of that play that I could sustain. I took a long time to heal from my December JCP, physically and mentally. Even after the visible marks on my bottom had disappeared I could still feel the impact deep down. And on playing I marked much more easily, felt the pain go deep. Fancied that my right crease was more tender, was concerned that I wouldn't fully heal.


Then there was the mental healing. It's very terrifying to put yourself in a position where someone can inflict that much pain. As I've blogged my control freak gets quite upset when I put myself into such situations. And after December's JCP she got her own back, albeit temporarily. I haven't wanted to repeat such a scene. I haven't wanted to feel that stomach churning, palor inducing fear of knowing that a world of unimaginable pain is going to descend and that you can't (won't!) stop it. 


At the Spanking Writers party a few weeks ago I played harder and longer than I had in months.I got that flying through pain and endurance feeling again, although on a much lower scale. It was very reassuring I still enjoyed it. And hearing Catherine talk of her recent JCP I feel my interest stirring in such a scene again. Although I shan't be signing up for over 300 strokes with a manx birch like my darling (but mad!) twin.

The current dominant mood is the need to be shamed and it's being well indulged. Apart from Claudia who was shamed to tears there's been several other such characters. And a very recent scene with Abel and HH (blogged here on Spanking Writers) made me want to die. Very unusually it affected me both in and out of character.

I was a school girl made to work as an escort to pay off her guardian's debts. The gentlemen running the agency made poor Charlotte take a series of increasingly embarrassing and lewd photos for their website. From partly dressed to legs spread wide, to naked on all fours, to being spanked and caned on film. I thought the humiliation couldn't get any worse than having to walk around with a butt plug deep inside me while they photographed my red face and tearful eyes.

Yet when Abel calmly bent me over the bed and fucked me, as HH silently watched I was humiliated beyond anything I'd ever experienced before. Understandably from Charlotte's perspective because she was so violated. But even more so personally, for me Emma Jane. To be so objectified by the two men I am closest to in my life. To be so used by one in front of the other. Both dispassionately making nothing of me. It was very hard to bear, and the tears I cried were barely in role, it was me Emma Jane that was completely humiliated.

Still I haven't had my fill of this shame business just yet. Remind me to tell you about Natalie next week, a poor prefect that falls out of favour with her Housemaster. I dread to think what HH has in store but i'll be delicously dark.

Shamed to tears...

On my last visit to HH he took me to new levels of shame in a scene, that almost rivalled the depths I plummet to when I'm being punished. I had written to him in advance with my idea; a slave who had disappointed her master. Unusually for me I was very detailed in my description:

'Although strict, he is, in general, a fair and generous master, as long as she is obedient in fulfilling all of his needs. When he is pleased with her she is permitted many privileges. She sleeps in his bed, eats at his table, chooses her clothing (from those that he has provided) and when guests are present, although she serves and entertains, is permitted to socialise under his watchful eye.

On the last occasion he had a visitor she failed him. Too busy enjoying herself to attend to her duties, over indulged in his wine and became belligerent, resisting the advances of a guest at who's disposal she was put.

She's already been severely whipped for her behaviour and all her privileges have been removed. She now sleeps on the floor in a separate room, wears what he orders, sometimes nothing but her collar. She must prove her worth to him again and although the whipping made her cry, the shame at failing him is worse and she is trying very hard to regain his trust. He is not making it easy, with little encouragement and chastising her for the most minor faults...'

And after further discussion, and consultation with close friends, the scene was planned as an evening of entertaining master's friend and his personal slave. One who was impeccably behaved and whom master held up as a shining light of servitude.

An hour before our friends were due to arrive HH put me in role as Claudia, standing me on a low stool and caning me harshly as he reminded me how angry he was with me, how I had embarrassed him. Then gave me a torn singlet to wear. We had agreed in advance that he would choose the outfit and it would be best to give it to me in role. I was worried I couldn't bring myself to wear it and how right I was!

The singlet was so low cut it just about covered my nipples, and it didn't actually cover my bottom or my crotch at all. If I pulled it down I got an inch more protection down below but then exposed my breasts completely.

Already I was feeling headspacey, ashamed to have let him down. I was also struggling with how cold and distant he was with me, how there were no words of encouragement or praise at all. This proved to be particularly difficult to adjust to, and yet it's what made the scene work so well. But I realised later that in all the scenes I'd ever done previously, HH would always encourage in some way. Even if it was a dark, abusive scene there would be words of praise of my eventual acquiescence. It was therefore very hard that no matter how I tried to show obedience, willingness to accept my punishments and desperation to please he was constantly dismissive of me.

Whilst waiting for our guests to arrive I was made to kneel up against the wall, hands on head, ankles neatly together. Just as the position would become unbearable (I was too afraid to flinch) he would call me over to him to remind me of how I had failed him. Then I was strapped or caned: he wanted my bottom to show his displeasure as much as his tone did. In between I waited nervously, dreading the arrival of the guests but almost wishing them to come so afraid of being alone with him was I becoming.

When I finally opened the door to them I wished the ground would swallow me up. I was mortifyingly conscious of how little I wore, and that it highlighted my private places more than if I had actually been naked. Even worse, Elspeth was wearing the most sumptuous corset and bustle skirt with delicate high heels. Mr Hawthorne barely looked me over, I wasn't worth his notice!

My first task was to serve drinks, wine to Mr Hawthorne and water for his slave. I was berated for not bringing the drinks on a tray. When I returned to my position against the wall hearing him coldly describing my disgrace to our guests, brought the first tears to my eyes.

In contrast Elspeth sat at her master's feet, her long, silky hair fanning out over her corset. When the gentlemen praised her beauty and her obedience I wanted to die. I was ignored until my next punishment was due and tried to take the strapping as gratefully as I could, but I was not acknowledged. Yet when Elspeth was brought forward for a strapping of her own she earned praise for her beautiful posture and manners in thanking each gentleman for her punishment.

At one point I was stood on a low stool facing our visitors, as the men objectified me completely. Discussed if I could ever become anything useful again, wondered if I was worth breaking? And the full weight of my shame made the tears fall openly as I hid behind my hair. I was very deep in role and distraught to be held so low in regard.

The evening continued in this vein, with me being talked about dismissively or ignored. Made to kneel in the corner or be beaten. And at one stage suffered a humiliating and detailed inspection at the hands of Mr Hawthorne. Whilst Elspeth was petted and praised and played with.

It was hard, however to sustain the momentum and after an hour or so I began to disengage, to pull back from feeling so hurt and worthless. Noticing this HH called time on the scene and I buried myself in his arms, too embarrassed to turn around and face our guests! It was a really great scene and fabulous to play with Marlow and Lily in that way for the first time. He was the perfect visiting master and Lily was far too good at being the hated 'perfect' slave. Afterwards we giggled about what a role reversal it was for her to play such a good girl, and how hard she had to work at it!

Our evening turned to more pleasant pursuits and Claudia was retired, but only briefly.

We resurrected her the next day, with the scene starting with the bailiff whipping her before locking her into the hole to sleep for the night. (The 'hole' being a very confined place beneath the floorboards where HH incarcerates deserving girls!) It was dark and cold and dirty and the singlet gave little protection. Although I'm not very tall I had to curl up in a ball to lie down as ordered. HH went off and left me there for 10/15 minutes. I'm not really sure how long it was, being too busy trying to channel Claudia's headspace from the night before, as much so I wouldn't start freaking about spiders or being in the dark.

When he returned he let me out, now being Claudia's master. I was pathetically grateful to see him. But again the dismissive tone was hard to bear. He dragged me out of the hole, complaining that I was dirty and needed cleaning. Then forced me under a cold shower and scrubbed my skin with a rough brush.

As horrible as it was, I tried to accept his ministrations bravely but the tears soon fell. And I cried all the more feeling his strap as I lay cold and wet on the bench. I tried not to make any sound to show him I was repentant, yet could not help crying out.

But he seemed pleased by my cries. Intensified his torture; whipping my breasts, twisting my nipples, slapping my thighs. Told me I was now his pain slave, that he would take his pleasure in causing me pain. Finally gave me a crumb of praise, that he was enjoying hurting me...

Dark fantasies and landmines

A while back I wrote about how difficult I find it to articulate or communicate my dark fantasies to other people. There was one fantasy I was struggling with at the time that prompted that post. In the end I did manage to write a context for it through a short story and I followed that up with random facts and examples of the violations that person would commit. For his part HH did his own research and between us we came up with the scene. On my last visit we attempted to play it.

It's a scene I've wanted to play for a long time. And one of the first we discussed in our initial emails. Back then I spoke a lot about authority figures as below:

"For me any authority figure works well, especially a male authority figure. To some extent I naturally believe in authority, rules and legitimate power: headmasters, prefects, policemen, master of the house, rugby coach, tutor, father, guardian etc. And because of that I'll try to behave, respect their rules and accept punishment if I fall short."

Eventually I admitted that Catholic priests came under that umbrella too. One that fell into the abuse of power category, which was even more appealing as a fantasy. It was difficult to admit that I had such fantasies, both from the point of view of being an Irish Catholic myself, and also because of the stories of abuse that have shocked our country.

Each of us in our roleplay takes parts of real life happenings as inspiration, through what we've read or heard. Our fantasises feed (consciously or unconsciously) on such material. But it doesn't mean we condone what happened, or that we would wish for such things to happen to us, without our consent. Just as consensual 'rape', i.e. the illusion of being raped bears no relation to the real horror of actual rape. I no more approve of the children beaten at school under the guise of discipline than I do of the priest who abused the children in his care. Yet a school girl caning scene is probably more palatable than a priest abusing the same girl. But our fantasies are OK, aren't they? Each to their own and all that, right?

I'm actually trying to convince myself, as much as any of you here. Because I do struggle with it. And despite wanting to play a priest scene  it's taken this long for me to attempt it. The publication of the Ryan report made me hate myself for having such fantasies in the first place and it's taken almost two years for me to consider it again.

In advance I was worried about my ability to go through with it, but wanted to try. HH was supportive, leaving the decision up to me. He had his cassock, I my 1960's short dress and brogues. As the housekeeper's daughter I was caught reading an inappropriate book from his shelves and we took it from there. From the start I found it hard to let go. HH was scarily convincing as a priest and although I went through the right motions of fear and shame, I was very conscious of my every move.

And then the landmine hit. HH asked me to say a certain prayer. As I struggled to remember it my Grandmother floated into my head. She had taught it to me. She was the last person I said it with. It's a prayer that she says for me regularly, a prayer to keep me safe. I went numb and HH spotted it immediately. End of scene.

He took me upstairs and consoled me as first I babbled incoherently and then sobbed loudly about how I was walking all over my Grandmother, one of the most important people in my life. How I felt like I was throwing everything she believed in back at her by making a mockery of her religion. I felt so distraught it shocked me. How could I not have seen this coming?

It took a long time (and much hugging from HH) for me to calm down about it. To forgive myself for treating my Grandmother so disrespectfully. And to accept it was OK that I couldn't do that scene, to come to terms with the fact some things run deeper than we can appreciate.

It doesn't mean I won't do any more dark fantasies though, just not this particular one. And although I'll be no more capable of preventing another landmine from hitting, at least I'll won't be as shocked by it.