A painful review

As those of you who are regular readers of The Spanking Writers will know, Abel is somewhat of a collector of implements. In one of his recent posts he listed a helpful Implement Rollmaker of Honour. Two of the entries in particular caught my eye.

The first was the Claire's Accessories hairbrush which seemed incongruous amongst the others:

"For hairbrushes: it just has to be Mason Pearson – although, bizarrely, I found the most gorgeous cheap brush in Claire’s Accessories when Emma Jane and I were on holiday in Belgium last month, which was very robust but not too severe, and worked rather beautifully"

I had to agree with Abel's assessment, and as you can see below it's a very cute and girly brush, but packed quite a sting and reddened me very nicely!

The second was the list of cane makers:

"For canes: Prysm, Maui Kink, Can-iac and Quality Control. Jack’s Floggers are also recommended (although try finding them at places such as the LAM; I never managed to get a reply to my requests to buy their canes online)."

It reminded me I still hadn't tried his new canes from Prysm.

On my next visit we put that to rights, with six strokes of each swiftly delivered, as blogged by Abel. And then once my favourite (read most painful) one had been established I got many more until a full sixty striped me all over!

I hope you readers appreciate the pains I go to to provide detailed reports on new implements!

A cane for me!

My last trip to London was quite a rushed affair. I arrived late on Friday night to a lovely dinner and much needed fussing and hugs from Abel and Haron. Then Saturday we had a lovey afternoon at Jessica and HWMBO's house with a fab lunch and time to get to know our fellow Regency party friends. Before we tore ourselves away to dash into London to go to the London Alternative Market and dinner with Catherine. By the time I flew out relatively early on Sunday I was a happy if somewhat dizzy girl!

It didn't leave much time for play except for a brief period on Sunday morning. Abel (surprise, surprise) had picked up a few new implements at the LAM and was keen to try them out. I'm sure you can picture him as he purveyed all the implements, before selecting the choicest of canes and then making first me, then Catherine bend over to try them out. In the end he bought a beautiful dragon cane (for me) and a Singapore cane (for Cath) as well as a rattan cane (for everybody!). All from Jack's Floggers. We were all very impressed with the range and quality of the implements and Abel has since bought more online!

So just before I left it was time to try out the dragon cane properly, and I have to admit I liked it very much. It's quite thin and whippy for a dragon, but still has that proper burn afterwards. It's beautifully made and finished with a lovely handle. Abel and Haron both took turns in administering and I'm sure you'll agree they striped me beautifully.

I liked the cane so much so that I decided I wanted to keep it and it will be making its way over to me in Dublin very soon. My first ever cane!

The hairbrush challenge

Let me preface this post by admitting (or reassuring you?) that I don't watch Big Brother. As a social experiment I think it's actually a fascinating idea, but when put into the hands of TV producers the reality gets edited to the point it's as fake as if it were scripted. So I don't think it's worth giving my precious time to. I'd rather while away the time reading kinky blogs and tweeting about the minute detail of my day.

Anyway this is not a post about that show (or indeed about what I consider to be a good use of one's time!). But although I don't follow Big Brother, I was intrigued by this headline when I came across it:

Ultimate Big Brother housemate Brian Dowling had to plunge his hands into a pile of nettles in a bid to win contestants a party for the evening

My curiosity suitably piqued I read on. The contestants, it transpired were set the challenge of undertaking a a series of painful tasks for 3 minutes, without making a sound. One had to put his hands in a bowl of nettles, another had to search for a needle in a hay stack and another had to crawl over rows of upturned hairbrushes.

It couldn't have been all that bad seeing as they managed to successfully complete the challenge. Whereupon they were subsequently rewarded with lots of beer in the hope (no doubt) they would get sufficiently drunk to have an orgy or confess they have a crush on Tony Blair or whatever makes compelling TV these days...

Personally, I would have much preferred if it were the contestants that were upturned (over a convenient knee) and the hair brushes applied rightfully and vigorously. It would have been a more painful task indeed. Not to mention far more entertaining for us kinkier folk watching. And I really doubt they would have been able to stay silent for the whole 3 minutes!

I can't help wonder if I could take 3 minutes of the hairbrush without crying out either. I've certainly never tried. It's an implement I very rarely strive to be brave for, I want the top to get a very clear understanding of how much it hurts. Now I can do 3 minutes quietly of most other things yes, even the spray birch, but not so sure about the hairbrush. And to be honest I'm not really sure I want to find out the answer!

What about the rest of ye? By all means please feel free to carry out the experiment for me and report back!

Implements: How do you do yours?

You may remember that earlier in the summer I assisted Ian, the London Tanner in a corporal punishment workshop he held in Dublin. He was explaining the history of CP and demonstrating various implements on me. (His willing but ever so slightly bratty model!)

Afterwards we had a Q&A session about CP and I was asked what did I consider the worst implement to be. It was a question I struggled to answer at the time. So in the end I gave them a version of the below: my thoughts on the main implements we play with.

It's a question that came to mind again over this weekend as I had a nasty re-introduction to the tawse (it's been several months since I felt one). Abel only gave me 6 (for flashing him in the corridor of our hotel) but as it's an XH that is very stiff from lack of use it burned like hell. And afterwards as I rubbed my red hot bottom I briefly decided that the tawse is surely the worst of all implements. It's thuddy and whippy, can be applied quickly and accurately, and whilst it causes deep bruising you can take a hell of a lot before (if at all) it would break the skin. Therefore the top can merrily use it for as long as he chooses!

Yes definitely the worst implement. Or is it? In reality how much I hate an implement very much depends on the mood and context of how it's being used.

In truth I always consider the slipper as my worst implement, my nemesis. Or at least a certain pair of size 1o men's gym shoes masquerading as a slipper. (HH and Ian own this particular pair between them.) It's big enough to cover one whole bottom cheek as it descends with HH's full force behind it, whilst also managing to drag across the skin leaving a horrid burning feeling behind it. It leaves both scratches on the surface of the skin as well as deep, deep bruising.

So awful is this implement that I have to feel very bad to take it. Deserving of the horror it inflicts and the stomach churning anticipation that comes with it. In short the perfect discipline item. I never play with that slipper in a light scene or just for a random non-contextual beating. It simply isn't worth it!

Whereas I can take the cane in any scenario. Deep roleplay, light school scene, judicial or just for the hell of it: bring it on! The cane brings out a certain bravery in me. Maybe it's cos of all those 'brave' school boys I've read about. Or maybe it's cos I know exactly what to expect from it: precise strokes, the sharp crack, the burn in between, the seconds to prepare before the next one lands. To the point it's practically a familiar comfort.

As for straps and the afore mentioned tawse in particular, there are various reasons why I have a very healthy respect for them. Not least because this is HH's favourite type of implement and one he unleashes on me full force. Or the fact it's pretty damn painful. And whilst I can appreciate a nice light strapping I'm too conscious of how easily it can be ramped up with the mere flick of the wrist to go from nice pain to shocking pain.

My main problem with tawses or severe straps are that the first 12-24 strokes are so hard to take. It's impossible to be dignified when you're incapable of staying in place and often screaming in pain. And yet those at the workshop who were unfamiliar with the tawse were surprised to hear me say I feared it over a cane any day!

And then there's the wooden implements. I'm not a huge fan and if I had my way I'd ban them. Mostly because it's so easy to blister the skin or cause deep bruising with them without even trying very hard. And of course the fact they can be applied vigorously and accurately means bottoms get very sore and hot with little respite. When I'm being paddled or hairbrushed, OTK in particular, I will struggle like mad to break free, very rarely settling into acceptance of it and even drawing out the most irrational anger.

Finally, we come to the spray birch. Just a bunch of twigs it is certainly not as this blog has borne testimony to on several occasions. It's an evil, painful implement and yet rates as one of my favourites. I love the shame and ceremony of making the rod, the intense burning pain it causes, the speed with which it's administered. I relish how I react to it, fighting all the way until it finally subdues me to tears. And above all I'm amazed that as it lands all I can think of is I would do anything for it to stop. Yet, and this seems like the utmost perversion, as soon as it does stop I have barely a mark to show for it and am instantly ready to play again. Whoever invented the birch is a genius. An evil, sadistic genius of course!

So the moral of my implements story is, as with everything in TTWD, it all depends on mood and context. And for me the best context is always when I'm in an obedient (or soon to be obedient) headspace, playing with a trusted top, where I don't get to choose the what or how many. Where I can't choose cane over tawse, or decline the slipper. I just have to take it, I'm not the one in control. That's really how I like to do my implements. How do you do yours?

Beating back the demons

I was buoyed up and flying after my birching scene. Yes it hurt, yes sitting down was painful, but it had been all worth it and I was invincible.

Secure in the knowledge that my own birching had passed, I happily joined HH and Abel in restocking their birching supplies. Whilst out gathered new birch to be used on other (more?) deserving girls Abel also picked up a supply of supple ash switches. In some curiosity I admitted that I'd never been switched before and expressed an interest in trying it. Having just survived a birch rods made of several switches, how bad could one single, if slightly thicker switch be?

That evening I found out.

I was quickly taken out of my relaxed mood when HH started off by using the switching as a teaching opportunity. He carefully showed me two switches of equal length and bade me observe the differences between them. Pointed out how one was completely smooth, with all the buds and thorns removed. Cautioned me that if I was ever sent out to fetch a switch I was to return with one prepared in this way.

The idea and the humiliation of being sent out to prepare my own switch made me feel quite weak and I was 'Yes Sir-ing' without a thought. I also obediently lowered my trousers and panties and bent over the bed in position when told to do so.

Abel took up the switch first and I stood ready, all set to beat the switch just as I had the birch. But to my shock the first stroke was horrendously painful causing me to yelp and jump out of position. The second was no better and provoked the same response. I felt like I was being cut with a knife.

Whether this was because of the earlier birching, or whether the switch was just so whippy or whether Abel was using his full force, I wasn't sure. But I couldn't begin to comprehend how much it hurt. HH took my hands and held me down while I kicked and yelped through a quick succession of strokes. I had taken more than a dozen and tears were already filling when he paused.

HH then took up the switch and used it fractionally lighter, but still causing me to wince and kick. I didn't feel at all brave. Where was that girl gone to? Who was this quaking mess barely 30 strokes in?

I wasn't pleased with myself and when Abel requested that I look at him, I disobeyed and kept my head firmly down. Not wanting to show him how much I was hurting. How much they were getting to me. And herein lies the stark irony of it all: I didn't want this much pain. I wanted them to ease off, but I couldn't communicate this because then they'd think they'd beaten me. My twisted logic of that moment astounds me even now!

Of course the proper thing to do here was to signal to the tops that I was beyond my comfort levels. That I needed a break, or wanted them to back off. But I was angry that the pain was getting to me and defiance made me react in the opposite way.

When Abel told me I'd be punished for disobeying his request I looked him full in the eye and said some very impolite things, about him and his switch. My words may have been bad, but my tone conveyed the utmost level of insolence and hatred.

In response he calmly told me to kneel on the bed and that he was going to make me sorry. That we'd been here before and my insolence wasn't going to be tolerated. It's difficult to make defiant movements when your trousers and panties are twisted round your ankles but in one movement I was on the bed in position conveying the utmost in 'I don't care what you are going to do to me'.

Somewhere in my head a little voice was shouting that this was a very bad idea. A quieter voice was whispering that I was out of line and I should be ashamed of myself. Unfortunately the loud angry thoughts shut them out. I buried my head in the bed and braced myself for the inevitable onslaught.

12 quick strokes rained down. I didn't move or react in anyway. But the pain was horrific and I could feel the switch breaking off with each stroke. Once he stopped I collapsed on the bed and sobbed from the pain.

This time when he asked me to look at him I quickly obeyed and was crying that I was sorry before he could even ask for the apology. And I was sorry. Not just because it hurt so much, but because I truly felt so bad for what I said. And the loud angry voices were silent allowing the voices of reason to break through.

Then I was ordered into position once more and a final 12 hard strokes were applied. Now he had my attention he wanted to drive the lesson home. I cried the whole way through. And when the birch disintegrated completely I didn't feel any sense of achievement this time. Nor was I flying with adrenalin. I felt nothing only shame and pain. Like I had been properly disciplined.

The thing about my discipline kink is that it can't be contrived. I can't act up to be punished; that's just a fun game. Real discipline comes from having done something I absolutely regret, something I'm ashamed of and need to be absolved of.

Real discipline leaves me feeling sorry but forgiven, pulled back from the brink, relieved to have it over with. So I didn't fly afterwards. But I needed and was given cuddles and comfort. Told I was still cared for. Reassured that even when I'm out of control the toppy types still are. That my demons can be beaten back.

Abel and I talked and hugged for a long time afterwards, honestly communicating about what happened. Both of us having no regrets about what had happened, but the same real desire not to have to repeat it. It's a place I've been before with HH and we also talked it over afterwards.

Of course this isn't an experience I could have with just anybody. It takes a hell of a lot of trust in someone before I can let go to that level. Before I can emotionally commit to a scene to the extent I'm beyond safewording. That I can disappear safe in the knowledge that the toppy type will catch me. And it's the same for them - they have to be secure in knowing they can effectively discipline me. That I will take it.

---

Below is a before and after of the switch, an implement I've just found I have a whole lot of respect for!

Christmas Gifts

This is my first proper kinky Christmas. Not that I'm dong anything especially kinky over the festive period but over the year I've made many close friends of the kinky variety. That's meant lots of nice Christmas cards and texts and mails from such friends all wishing me varying degrees of naughty and kinky happiness for Christmas and the New Year!

Some cards even nearly got sent to my scene name which would have made for an interesting conversation with my flatmate :)

And amongst my closet friends we've exchanged gifts, some of which I was allowed to open over the weekend. My very first proper kinky gifts and there are two in particular that I really have to share.

The first is from dear Haron and Abel and adds to my practically non-existent implement collection.



Made to order it's my first ever, very own, all mine, tawse. Isn't it pretty? Mind you it's also very heavy and whippy. Notice the thickness of the beautiful leather and the discreet XH stamp on the handle.

Already I both love and fear it, having experienced a taste of it on my bottom and hands. Haron was the first to treat me to it, with 3 strokes across my recently caned bottom. She, very nicely, gave me one over PJs, then another over knickers and the final on the bare. For such a sweet girl she really made them count! Then HH gave me one stroke, followed by Abel who added the final 2 to make an even 6. He also gave me 4 on the hands and although very restrained in his use, still managed to produce tears as the stiff leather was unyielding on my small hands.

I half-jokingly, half seriously, told Abel and Haron I was going to frame it, being far too beautiful a work of art to use for whacking a girl. Unfortunately neither agreed and Abel has warned me that it had better be ready and waiting to be used when he visits me in Dublin!

The other gift I want to share is something that HH gave me, declaring that every kinky girl should have one. A beautiful book called The Lonely Doll. Having read it I have to agree. I absolutely adore it and laughed and ooh-ed and ah-ed the whole way through reading it.


It's an actual children's book, published and sold worldwide since 1957. And it's supposedly not kinky at all. But even just reading the Wikiepedia plot summary below you'll probably think the author had to have been somewhat kinky, even if she never admitted it to herself.

The Lonely Doll tells the story of a doll named Edith, who lives by herself until two teddy bears, called Mr. Bear and Little Bear, appear in her life. One day, Mr. Bear goes out for a walk leaving the two alone in the house; He returns to find they have rummaged in a closet for dress-up clothing, smeared themselves with makeup, and written "Mr. Bear is just a silly old thing" in lipstick on the mirror. Mr Bear proceeds to discipline both Little Bear and Edith, leaving Edith to worry that he will take Little Bear and leave. Mr. Bear assures her that he will never, ever, leave her.

Yes that's right, Edith gets spanked by Mr Bear and there are adorable pictures to illustrate the story throughout the book. It appeals to me on every level, both the kinky adult I am now and the little girl I used to be. Plus there's a cute doll, cuddly teddy bears, naughty misbehaviour, funny pictures and spankings in it, sure what more could a kinky girl want from a book!

So I'm very grateful for such lovely and thoughtful kinky gifts. But most of all I'd like to thank all my kinky friends for the best gift of all, your friendship. To all of you, both online and offline, thanks for welcoming me into the kinky family this year. For your generosity and support. For being patient and understanding. For the lovely emails and blog comments and texts. For the invites to the parties. For vouching for me to other friends and playmates. And above all for helping me live the kinky dream and accepting me for who I am.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a very Happy and Kinky New Year!

She who goeth a borrowing, goeth a sorrowing...

Good neighbours can usually be called on for a lend if you're stuck for something. You know like a cup of sugar, a drop of milk or, in my case, a cane or two.

Yes the wonderful advantage of having a lovely kinky neighbour is the opportunity to borrow from his extensive collection of implements if the need arises! Which works out very useful when another toppy type is flying in and doesn't want to drag his own extensive collection around with him.

And Mr T was very generous in sharing his implements. Actually a little too generous if you ask me. While visiting toppy type may appreciate it, my bottom may not. Really there was no need to give me all of the below:

A long leather strap (half an inch thick);

A 5 tailed Lochgelly tawse;

A slipper paddle;

A martinet;

A thin whippy cane...

...and a vicious dragon cane!

I swear I haven't been that naughty. Honest! (Gulp)

A rod to beat me with

When HH and I set off to visit a nice stately home and gardens I wasn't at all worried that I'd end up being switched in public again. That was partly because there were no other brats around to get me into trouble (you know who you are!). And also because I had just been soundly thrashed and sitting was difficult enough already. So I was determined not to get into trouble again anytime soon. As it turned out the visit passed very pleasantly indeed with no corner time, spanking or molesting whatsoever.

It wasn't until the return journey that I had cause to worry. We were driving down little wooded lanes with HH scanning the hedgerows, muttering things like 'that's too mature, too young, not actually birch'.

The realisation was slowly dawning that we were on the search for a birch tree which led to the conclusion that someone was going to be birched; more than likely me. I sat very quietly in the car hoping we wouldn't find any. And when he made me get out of the car to wander down a little lane I trudged sullenly behind him, sticking my tongue out when I thought he wasn't looking. (Turned out he had noticed but I was let off as the pursuit of birch was more important!)

I felt very unhappy that I had to actually go out and physically get the birch. That just seemed inhumane, to have to go and get your own rod to be beaten with. HH reminded me that he could just send me out on my own to get it and whip me even more if I didn't come back with the right kind of birch. So I kept my complaints to myself.

And when we finally found a suitable birch tree, (neither too young or too old, or too brown or too green or too high) I had to watch as he slowly inspected each branch for its whipability. The whole process was very humiliating! And further compounded by me having to carry the bundle of switches back to the car, to the stares of local walkers.

The bundle then sat in the hall waiting to be bound into a rod. Apparently I had to do that bit too which was just a further degradation. But worst of all was having to wait. I wasn't being birched until the next day...