Sunday, December 2


I can't take the pain. It's too much. Too severe. I want it to stop. He holds me, saying nothing, listening to me scream.

 "Please, it's too much, I can't cope, I just can't cope"

I'd never imagined anything could hurt so much. I thought I was tough, I thought I was brave, I thought I was invincible.

I fought the tears of course. Tried not to give in. I've learned that if you build the walls high enough you can fight off most onslaughts. But he knew what he was doing. They all do. Expertly find the chinks in my armour with their weapons of choice: kind words, sincere hugs and unexpected presents; sometimes they even cry with me.  

His weapon was putting me over his knee, spanking me hard until the walls loosened, gently then so the tears started and finally a short firm burst, until I was sobbing.

Afterwards, when I've cried myself out I lie quietly, feeling better for now: beautifully, emotionally numb. My mind wanders to other times I've cried like this with him. The levels of physical pain he has caused me; the dark places he has taken me to and how much I loved the pain and misery that accompanied those times. I used to think I knew what severe pain was: I was wrong. 

In real life there are no safe-words. There is only time and love, and eventually the faint stirrings of hope.

Saturday, May 19

Discipline, rules and consequences.

As regular readers of the blog will know, discipline and punishment is one of my main kinks. It's a dynamic that I have with HH, and only with him. It's not something that lends itself to multiple relationships and it requires a deep level of trust and understanding.

In the past few months when I haven been playing much the discipline has still been important. I ask HH for help with things: generally eating and sleeping properly and staying safe. I've written about such punishments on here previously and, generally, serious punishment doesn't happen very frequently.

A few weeks ago I sent him some new rules I wanted help with; ambitious ones. So ambitious that I soon gave up even adhering to them. On one level I knew I was getting into trouble and that made me happy (temporarily), and on another I excused myself as they were too stringent in the first place.

Combined with my return from the non-kinky wilderness I threw caution to the wind: I wanted to play and play hard. Somewhere in my head the line between roleplay and discipline muddled itself. So I made sure he knew I wasn't even trying with the rules. I wanted to be punished. I wanted to have no reason not to go through with it.

HH pulled me up on both of these things: wanting to be in trouble and setting rules I couldn't or wouldn't adhere to.

My 'don't care attitude' lasted about a week and then an email from him brought me down to earth. He reminded me the rules were meant to be about keeping me safe and healthy - not an excuse to enjoy being in trouble. Therefore he was going to punish me in such a way that neither of us would enjoy it, to make sure it didn't happen again.

In advance, we talked about how our weekend would work and I asked to be punished immediately so we could enjoy the rest of it. I also suggested being punished from the train, something we'd never managed to do before when I came to visit.

On the day I had to write him a list of all the rules I had broken and email it to him; it was a very long list. My initial attitude had been that if I was already in trouble what did it matter how many rules I broke? Writing the list it started to dawn on me that it would matter. His response confirmed it.

I was sick and nervous for the rest of the journey, and not in a good way; there was no anticipatory thrill, not relishing being in trouble.

When I arrived at the station he wasn't at the platform to greet me. Although I knew that he'd be waiting in the car it still hurt. Having to get into the car, with no hello, no hug, and driving home in silence was awful. Reality was dawning and it wasn't a comfortable one.

Once home he sent me upstairs to wait for him. The tears were already pricking so when he came up stairs and made me look him in the eye, as he lectured me, they started falling immediately. He didn't mince his words. Told me the rules were not for fun, not convenient reasons to find excuses to play. That he respected them, respected me; more than I did. Told me how he was genuinely disappointed to have to punish me knowing I hadn't even tried, that there was nothing to be proud of me for. That he wasn't used to having nothing to be proud of in my behaviour.

Looking into the eyes of someone you respect as much I respect HH and hearing that broke my heart. I was ready to accept all the pain he could create for me so I could absolve myself. At that point I needed for the guilt to be thrashed out of me.

But that wasn't to be. I wasn't allowed to escape that easily. He had warned me he would punish me in ways I truly wouldn't like and so he did. And some of it hurt, but mostly it just made me face up to parts of me I don't like and be bitterly ashamed of myself.

Once the initial lecture was delivered he took my jeans and panties down and put me over his knee. Calling me by my real name, he explained this wasn't EJ having her naughty bottom spanked, it was me, he spanked me with his hand. It wasn't even very hard, leaving me to think about how the real me, the career girl, oldest sister, control freak, perfectionist was across someone's knee getting a spanking. The stuff of fantasies once upon a time; the stark reality made me cry pitifully.

Afterwards he put me in the corner: nose to the wall for 6 minutes, timed with an egg timer. It doesn't sound like a long time but believe me it was an eternity. Having to stand still, time to think, feeling your panties and jeans pooled at your ankles, dreading what was to come next.

And next was being back over his knee again, another lecture directed to Me. The eggtimer again, this time for a steady hairbrushing. If 6 minutes had felt like an eternity, this 3 minutes felt like eternal hell. And as much as I tried to be brave and to not kick and wriggle I couldn't manage it. Another piece of me died.

The next part is so hard to think about, let alone write about. I swore afterwards I wouldn't blog it but it was a big part of the punishment and HH was adamant I couldn't hide during it. Hiding from my blog seems wrong.

He put me over his knee, my bottom high up in the air and gave me an enema. As he did it he described every step in detail, repeatedly using my name. There was no place to hide: his voice in my head, the uncomfortable sensation inside, the water trickling out; I was mortified.

When he was finished administering he hair brushed me, still over his knee, as I struggled to maintain control. And when he was finally done I pleaded to use the bathroom, natural urges overcoming my embarrassment.

But that was denied, I had to serve more corner time first. When he finally gave permission he told me he would allow me to close the door, but if he ever had to seriously punish me again he would stay in the bathroom with me. This small crumb of comfort broke any resistance I had left and I cried emptily.

I was completely broken and ready for the punishment to be over. He had made his point. But no, I hadn't been punished for everything yet. It was a long list, he reminded me.

Making me wear a pair of white panties and a white vest, he sat me at the school desk to write 100 times: "Agreeing rules and then disobeying them is silly and childish".  For every line that wasn't perfect he would give me one stroke of the cane.

The shame burned on so many levels. Not permitted a uniform to escape into a role, wearing white after the enema and not being allowed to leave the desk until my task was complete, not to mention the lines.

For people who don't know me very well this was another horrific task. I do not have neat hand writing and I'm too impatient usually for my writing to be even legible. It was one of the worst tasks he could have given me, but he knew that. Somewhere I applauded his ingenuity but mostly I hated how well he knew me and how that could be used to terrifyingly to my disadvantage.

Something inside me snapped. I was humiliated to the core, afraid of what was to come next and set up to fail with writing lines. I needed to fight back, but quietly. So I tried my hardest with the lines. I wrote each one slowly and carefully, concentrating on every letter. It took me well over an hour to write them all. My hand ached and I was cold, but they were perfect and I didn't get one cane stroke. It was a tiny victory.

Unfortunately we still weren't done. Printing out my email of transgressions he set it in front of me and asked me to write a list of the punishments so far and then read it to him, so I had to say it aloud. He  explained so far he had punished me for all but two of the rules I'd broken: there were two more punishments to come.

Taking me downstairs he told me to get the slipper. I didn't have the energy to beg or resist, just cried silently as I fetched it and got into position. He placed me over the bed, with my bottom and thighs tight and struck with his full weight behind it. It was excruciatingly painful and resulted in the normal howls of misery.

But it was familiar at least, and I could cope with it. Afterwards I was out of it, completely drained by the evening and promising never to do anything to earn such a punishment again. HH confirmed what I suspected: he hadn't enjoyed it either. He promised that over the weekend we would revisit the rules and come up with new ones that were less ambitious, with no excuses for not obeying them. He reminded me part of the lesson I was learning was not to be disrespectful of the discipline dynamic and to not set unrealistic expectations, putting to much pressure on myself.

The cuddles and reassurance afterwards were much needed. And although I had the exercise punishment to come, I knew I had mostly paid my dues and things would be OK.

That said by the time we did the forced exercise routine on Sunday I was shattered and bitterly resented having to go through more punishment. So what should have been a straightforward work out started and ending with a hard tawsing on my bottom and thighs and included an over the knee spanking in the middle, with me crying tears of misery throughout.

A friend texted during the weekend saying she'd never understand why I do the punishment stuff but just wanted to check I was OK. The truth is I don't understand why I do it either. It's just something I need; deep down really need. I don't want to receive a punishment like this ever again but it appeals to my kink knowing that the boundary is there, that HH will enforce it, if I need it.

It's all about discipline, rules, consequences and ME.

Tuesday, May 1

The naughtiness continues!

This evening Abel and I went out to dinner with some new friends. Let's call them Bambi and the Hunter. Mainly because one will really hate their name and the other will be bemused by it.

We've met Bambi and the Hunter a couple of times now. Enough for EJ to start escaping. Both are fairly new to the scene and meeting kinksters, although both experienced with each other. They're partly contributing to my kinky re-awakening as I look at their enthusiasm to play and their precious time grabbed with each other, making the most of it. I used to be like that; before I got spoiled and had play on tap. Before there wasn't room to flirt and brat and fantasise because my play was all around me.

But I digress, that's a blog post for another day. Needless to say with EJ escaping and finding a kindred spirit in Bambi the evening turned out to be playfully mischievous. First there was a ride on a carousel for Bambi, Abel and me. (Oh how we sniggered that Abel rode Joseph!) Then a trip to the big purple cow to sit on the magic mushrooms (work that one out yourselves people!) Before dinner in Yo Sushi.

Now this is one of my favourite places to eat at the minute but I hadn't truly appreciated the potential for brattiness. There's the water taps on the table: if you push the tap too hard everyone on the table gets splashed or if you overfill the drip tray people's feet underneath the table get wet! Then there's the fun of pressing the service bell, on and off, lights flashing and announcer claiming table 12 needs attention, followed by the exasperated look of the waiter arriving to find we weren't in need of anything at all. Or the fun of the carousel with the bowls of sushi. However, I'm not going to describe the strange chocolate dessert, save to say Abel's description of 'japanese condom' was very apt!

As the Hunter took Bambi off he promised she would pay for her naughtiness. Abel assured him I would pay for mine too. And so I got my first caning in my new home, with the dreaded dragon cane. I would have gotten six, but HH on hearing I was to be punished was so approving that Abel decided to double it, in his honour.

I can't tell a lie: the 12 strokes really hurt! But I was a good girl and took them bravely(ish). Didn't I stripe beautifully?

Sunday, April 29

That feeling...

I've got that swoopy feeling in my tummy. You know, that squirmy, oh oh I'm in trouble, eeek feeling.

It started with a cheeky email, sent to that person, after a few glasses of fizz. It was bratty and provoking and he responded on form. Surely time to back down? Oh no, I haven't felt bratty in a long time, best to go all out, not leave him in any doubt of my intentions. Hence, I bravely declared that he didnt scare me: oh no, not a bit.

But sometimes he knows me better than I know myself. Today there was a short message: "I expect you've been regretting this. If not, you will." Not a threat, you see, but a promise. Now I'm properly scared; deliciously so. You see, I haven't felt properly scared in a long time, wouldn't let myself be. So yes, I'm worried that my bratting will be dealt with, know it will hurt and that I'll be crying regretfully. But at the same time I'm welcoming that feeling, so long absent.

And enjoying that feeling whilst still being properly scared is the delicious contradiction of consensual kink, right?

Sunday, March 11

The words won't come...

I'm waving shyly at you lovely readers and hoping my absence will be excused. That's the first problem I face returning to the blog that I have shamefully neglected. Shameful not just because of the perceived neglect of the readers I've had for so long, but the neglect of myself and my need to document and process.

All I can offer is that it's been a challenging couple of months with health issues and family and personal stresses. But I feel in a better place now; not a perfect place, but a good place. Nothing is easy, but nothing is impossible either. Kink wise I'm playing with the people I love and trust the most and when play doesn't work out I still feel safe and cared for. And I'm surrounded by my friends, some of whom happen to be kinky, but it's not the defining link anymore. As ever my family are special and important.

Finding energy and space to write hasn't been a priority, yet I know I'm missing out on so much: I miss my blog and I miss my readers. But the words won't come. I want to talk about the wonderful kinky weekends and parties I've had and been too, the scenes that were great and the people I love. But the words won't come. And nor will the capacity to process the more difficult elements: the scenes that didn't work; the sudden and irrational anger, frustrations and jealousies; the relationships and groups dynamics that are tough to navigate. The words just won't come.

So here are some pictures to keep you close to me and let's all hope the words come back, when they're ready, when I'm ready.

I celebrated my 30th birthday recently and had a party with a London Blitz theme - the house was decorated in blitz style and all our guests wore 1940's costumes, and thanks to Lucy, all had perfect 1940s hair too. Below is just one of the many decorations and posters my dear Catherine Thomas made for the party! And the fabulous cake Kinky Ella made (using all her ration for months to do it!). Of course I went as an evacuee, determined that EJ's girly spirit was just as strong, even in my 30s ;-)

I've been trying to improve my overall health by getting fit and having a better diet. HH and Abel are very supportive of this, so much so they delight in over-seeing my training. This is all for my own good you see; as is caning me as extra motivation. Nothing whatsoever to do with their sadistic natures, apparently.

The last two are from a recent weekend away in the darkest countryside with HH and Abel - a weekend where I was their play thing, abused and used for their pleasure. Abel has written a great post about it here, for those of you who would like more detail. But I think these two pictures tell it all: the submissive girl, birch in hand going to meet her fate and the broken girl, sore and sobbing but yet feeling comforted and safe by those who know her best.

Sunday, January 1

Happy New Year!

I couldn't decide which photo to use on Christmas Day and in the end I took the lazy option and decided to share the other picture with you today.

It was taken by HH, at Kinky Towers; a fabulous venue hired by Abel for a kinky weekend with some of our closest friends. This was just one of the amazing rooms in the house; a medieval kitchen with huge fireplace.

I love how vulnerable I look, shivering naked in the fireplace, a little girl in the enormous room. This was taken just after a particularly severe scene with Abel and HH, which I intend to blog about later, but it's enough to say that the redness of my bottom and thighs only tells half the story!

I hope that my Kinky 2012 will have the same ingredients as this picture has: sadistic partners, pain, humiliation, great friends and fabulous weekends of pure escapism. Happy 2012 everyone!