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.

To comment or not to comment

There's a very interesting discussion going on about commenting on blogs that I feel compelled to add my penny's worth to. Casey Morgan blogged about the lack of comments on some of her posts and wondered why her blog seems to attract less posts than other bloggers. If you've read Casey's blog you'll know it's nothing to do with the frequency and quality of her writing.

Thinking back to my own blog beginnings, one of the reasons that I was reluctant to start one at all was that I knew I would judge myself and the success of my blog by the number of comments I got.

My biggest fear was starting a blog that no-one would ever engage with or contribute to. So my first blog post was a bolshy warning that the blog was for me, not the reader and I'd only post as I felt like it. (Funnily that's the only post on this blog that didn't attract a single comment!)

It was also a while before I told any of the established bloggers about it, sure if no-one knew I had a blog then I could hardly expect to have any comments right? But within a week of blogging, I became addicted to getting comments and posted every day for 100 days, so motivated by what people wrote.

So I can empathise with Casey. As she puts is so well:

"I’ve been giving some thought to the subject of blog comments. We all like getting them. They make us feel heard and appreciated. Conversely, it’s easy to feel, when a post receives few or no comments, that people don’t love you."

In response to her I wrote that I was quite guilty of lurking on her blog and rarely commenting and tried to figure out why that was. It is certainly true that I am less inclined to comment on the blogs of people I have never met which includes all the bloggers across the pond. I'm a much more frequent commentator on the blogs of the Irish and UK players I know. And my propensity to comment increases with how well I know them, often using the blogs to stay in touch in between parties and weekend visits.

But the other side of it is that it's much harder to comment on a post that is powerfully written, or is deeply thought provoking, meaning it's easier not to think about it or try to formulate a reply to, which is certainly true for some of Casey's posts.

Serenity then took up the reigns of the discussion with her perceptive analysis of commenting in general. She talked about the different types of posts, some that talk of personal lives and issues outside of kink that are not always fluffy and light and therefore attract less comments.

I can agree with that, while in general this blog is light and fluffy, there are times when I am quite serious or angsty and those posts get less comments than my giggling over shopping or describing my play scenes. But while this frustrates me sometimes, I'm very conscious that I do the same thing myself when reading something more serious on other blogs, finding it hard to come up with something worthy of a reply to such a great or thoughtful post.

Another great point Serenity made was about the different types of blogs out there, dealing with different things, from the frivolous, to kink and play only, angsty or light, to real life deep issues. Just as each of us writes about different things and to varying degrees, we also like to read different things from blogs. Some don't want to hear about our personal lives, some only want to hear or see the beatings and some want to hear all the details while others likes some things held back. But that's their prerogative and shouldn't influence what we write.

When I started this blog I very consciously decided not to write anything personal on the blog, as in none of the angst of my day to day life goes up here. Just because, like everything else about my kinky life right now, my blog is pure escapism from real life. If I ever get to a stage where I have a partner and kink becomes more than just weekend visits interrupting reality then my blog may change to reflect that. And for different reasons, which I've discussed previously, I purposely don’t write about my sexual experiences here either.

My point is that we all make personal decisions about to what degrees we write on our blogs and we all chose what we want to read. Just because I don't write about personal life or sex doesn't mean that I don't like or don't read blogs that do discuss these things.

Our blogs are our own space and they shouldn't be edited to conform to a populist readership. And while it can be hard not to validate ourselves though the number of comments we get, we have to tell ourselves this is not a popularity contest.

Of course that's easier said than done but I have to remind myself that my greatest achievement with this blog is not all the comments or the level of traffic, but all the posts I've written, the thousands of words that I agonised over and the pride I feel when I read them.

Just one look

So far in my kinky career I've mostly played with men. And they've had to work hard(ish) to earn my trust enough to play. By working hard I mean lots of email conversation, actively getting to know me and my likes and dislikes. Or being recommended by another top or bottom type. It's very rarely that I'll meet a guy, take one look and want to play.

Even with Zytex last weekend I have watched him play often enough and read his comments online enough to trust him. And our pre-play conversation confirmed my instincts that he was worth playing with.

The few women I've played with however, have only needed to exist. I find myself meeting them and instantly wanting to play. Becoming shy even, finding it hard to verbalise my desire to play with them. Something I have no problem with when it comes to kinky men!

And last weekend at Nimhneach I caught the eye of a Domme and if she had ordered me to come to her I would have. The attraction on my part was that intense and all through just one look.

I'm wondering about the different affects of men vs women and the only solution I can come up with is the greater power exchange involved. I'm not sexually attracted to women, but I am to men. In my life long kinky fantasies I have always thought of the authoritative male in charge: teacher, garda, guardian, priest.

Submission to such a male authority figure is natural for me. But submission to a woman is not. It requires more from me. I have to allow her to have authority over me. Permit her power, that to me as a confident and competitive young woman feels inherently wrong. Therefore submitting to a woman is more powerful and more intense.

I'm so looking forward to exploring it more and figuring out if it's just the unknown that is the attraction or is it really a female thing and my own gender issues. Either way I've been delightfully thinking about that look and what might have passed...

A real caning

Ever since I started playing in the scene and experienced my first caning I've wondered what a real caning would feel like. By real I mean what actual school kids had to endure. Of course I'm not really 12 years old and terrified out of my wits, so roleplay can only get me so far.

Therefore I define a real caning for me, as one where I'm not enjoying it one little bit. Where each individual stroke is feared and I certainly don't want to incur extras. Where I don't relax into it at all and I can't surf on the endorphin rush. Where I'm crying purely because of the pain. Where once I'm finished all I feel is relief and lingering pain.

I always figured things like no warm up beforehand or a more severe type of cane or having it applied with much harder force would get me as near to a real caning as I could go. I'd never considered the effect of getting caned on an already extremely sore bottom, as so happened during my recent playdate with Abel.

On the day we had done the 300 scene and a few gentler spankings and strappings afterwards. I was feeling a lot of pain by then and playing was difficult, if bearable. But it was the final scene of that visit that broke me. I hadn't cried in any of our previous scenes, yet I cried in this one.

I had done something quite bratty, pushing Abel off the bed to land on the hard floor. He was not happy. Especially as I'd just been warned to behave, sore bottom or no sore bottom. So I couldn't argue that I was too sore to play, having been so blatantly naughty. I was quickly made to regret my rash behaviour.

Ordering me to lie face down on the bed he promised six with the cane. Peering fearfully over my shoulder I saw it was the whippy cane and not the dragon cane. I breathed a short lived sigh of relief. Until he started placing each stroke right on the delicate crease of my bottom, each stroke on top of the previous. It hurt so much I couldn't help but move out of position each time. Kneeling up and clutching my bottom and shrieking in pain.

He gave me two before warning me that none of them counted unless I stayed in position. So with great difficulty I clung to the bed and hissed through six more. I was sweating with pain and effort by the end of it. Played out. Done in. No more. Except he was looking at me with that look on his face. The look that says we're not done yet.

He then instructed me to lie on my back with my legs straight up in the air, holding my ankles. I could see him lift the cane and strike it down. Once more it landed right on my crease, except now my skin was pulled tight from the position. It hurt so much that I shot up into the air and off the bed completely. The tears came straight away, tears of pure pain.

I looked at him in shock. What an earth was that? But he merely instructed me to get back into position, uncompromising in his tone. Trembling I lay there, waiting for the next stroke. How could it only be number two? Again another burning stroke and a corresponding leap from me. I honestly didn't know how I was going to get through six of them. Counting was an effort, staying in position was impossible. The only saving grace was that he didn't give me extras for it.

For the first time ever I thought I was experiencing a real caning. Each stoke felt like a brand. I couldn't comprehend how much it hurt. Trying to steel myself to take each one, I waited for each to fall with real, stomach churning dread. I cried miserably through each and genuinely wished I was anywhere but there. Time slowed down to a crawl and getting through all six seemed to take forever.

And to make matters worse, he started to coax me back into position by telling me how 'brave' I was and that I was a 'good girl really'. His gentle, encouraging tone only served to make me feel like I had no choice but to take my punishment. No choice but to be the good, brave girl he wanted me to be. The tears flowed and flowed.

I'm in no hurry to repeat the experience. Honestly, I'd rather have another 300. But now looking back I can appreciate it for another wonderfully intense scene. And I can revisit that feeling of utter helplessness and despair that a real caning invokes.

The kinky contradiction

So Lollipop has started reading my blog. (*waves if she's reading this*). But it was after much thought and with some trepidation that I gave her the link. Although I really wanted to know what she thought of my writing (being a professional herself), I was worried about what she might read!

I told her I was kinky when I first got into the public scene last year but had never discussed the specifics with her. She knew I liked to be told what to do and that was as much detail as I gave her! And when describing a play scene I'd use words like 'killed' or 'beaten'. I never talked about spankings or canings or paddlings, afraid of oversharing. And even though she helped me pick my outfits I guessed she didn't know what I was up to. Part of me figured she might be imagining that I was into more extreme stuff than I was (you know hanging from the ceiling by my nipples).

So we discussed it and knowing I had started the blog she admitted to being curious. So I gave her the link, letting her decide, warning her that some of it might be too weird for her. When she got round to reading it she mailed me suggesting coffee and saying the blog has raised lots of questions. Cue panic from me. Had I freaked her out? Did she no longer support my choices? Would she stop being my alibi?

But when we met her main questions were 'does it hurt' and 'do you enjoy it at the time'?

Which made me laugh cos I suddenly got a viewpoint of how we looked to vanillas. So puzzled by what we do that they rationalised it through thinking we might be immune to the pain. So the first question was easy to answer. Yes it bloody hurts. Some things more than others, but it all hurts. But the thing is (for me anyway), there's no point if it doesn't hurt. So that was easy to answer.

But the other question not so easy. Do I enjoy it at the time? Well mostly it's a roleplay scene so I'll generally be so into roleplay and headspace that there's no time to check in on the enjoyment levels. I'm usually scared, worried, apprehensive, sorry, regretful, cowed or sometimes even defiant if the scene calls for it. And I enjoy all those feelings. And I enjoy it even more when it's over, the relief of finishing it and the lovely endorphin rush that goes with it.

But the pain itself I don't actually enjoy at the time. I have asked myself this many times, but I truly don't think I'm a masochist. I don't get off on the pain. Being beaten just for the sake of it is not my thing at all. But I love the feelings created by the use of pain within a scene. I can't have the experience I crave without the headspace of the scene or an element of pain. They don't work in isolation.

And sometimes I like to play at parties or clubs where my ideal headspace is never going to be created. But on those occasions I love the very public act of submitting and surrendering that's conveyed by taking whatever pain I'm given.

So it's very contradictory and quite hard to explain to a vanilla. I don't enjoy it, but I do.

Discipline Fetish

My post yesterday describing my first mouth soaping resulted in a few comments on the horrors vs hotness of it. I started to comment in response and then realised I needed a whole post in itself to explain.

Personally I had always been curious about it and since HH knew this, it was bound to happen in at least one of our scenes. So I figured I'd try it once and never want to do it again. But that wasn't the case. I'd certainly submit to it again.

Now don't get me wrong, the whole thing was horrible. The soap was disgusting and I had to suffer through the whole scene feeling and tasting it in my mouth. And even afterwards when I brushed my teeth I could still taste it for hours. Ugh!!

I also feel the same way about hand tawsing. I hate it so much at the time. Having to hold out your hands for each stroke. The unbearable pain and the lasting burning afterwards. Plus there are only so many strokes you can take. Your tolerance never increases, your hands don't warm up to let you take more. Each hurts more than the last one and you can't be stoic and unflinching.

So why would I willingly do both of these horrible things again?

HH and I discussed this at length and we came to the conclusion that it's because both really appeal to my discipline fetish. I want to be a good girl. A well-behaved girl. A disciplined girl. Even before I knew I was into spanking or had any spanking thoughts at all I was obsessed with rules and discipline. My earliest fantasies were of people being subjected to lots of rules. Being obedient. Being disciplined. An interest in the physical act of discipline came much later.

For me mouth soaping and hand tawsing are both very pure forms of punishment. Like writing an imposition or standing in a corner for a long time, or being sent to bed early. Yes the thought might be hot but the reality is not! For me, this is real discipline.

Then there's the sense of shame that goes with these punishments. The inability to be brave. The absolute unpleasantness of both. And for me they are non-sexual compared to other punishments on my bottom, breasts etc. During those punishments I often feel a huge endorphin rush and usually don't want the scene to end until we've played for a long time or I've been taken to my limits.

With pure punishments I want them to end as soon as they start. I don't want to extend them and I won't purposely misbehave to get such attentions. So I feel truly punished if my mouth is soaped out or if my hands are tawsed. And being truly and deservedly punished is at the heart of my discipline fetish.

Living for all these highs and lows

Lately I've been having some pretty amazing experiences kink wise. From spanking parties, to kinky days out to full-on school role-plays. And within all those experiences I've met and played with new people and tried new things. It's been fantastic!

Many of these experiences have involved role-play, an important part of what what we do. Allowing us to fully immerse into the scene and react naturally to what is happening. It also ensures there's variety to what we do. It's not just another beating. From schoolgirls to maids to teenagers to reformatory girls, all with different backgrounds. The list is endless and therefore the play opportunities are endless. And playing with different people and using different scenarios means you can never predict how a scene will turn out, which is the best part of all.

And great play means you achieve that state where you want to stay in role and play forever. You've reached a 'high', created by both the endorphin rush from the physical punishment and all the emotions released in the scene. Your spirits are rampant and you feed on the energy around you from both the tops and bottoms you play with.

The only downside to so much fun and roleplaying, is the inevitable crash when it's over. Especially when doing group scenes or playing for an extended period of time.

And as Eliane discussed yesterday, this drop is further enhanced by others around you dropping at the same time, all reluctantly letting go of the scene and mentally preparing for real life again.

For me the drop is further compounded by having to leave all the people I've just been playing with, not quite sure when I'll see them again. In the last few months I've made some great new friends and the more I see them and spend time with them, the harder it is to say goodbye.

In our quest for such great 'highs' we are setting ourselves up for this drop. And the bigger the 'high', the bigger the drop. But sub drop or top drop as it's known, is an accepted hazard of what we do and I for one wouldn't have it any other way. I'd rather have serious 'highs' and 'lows' than mediocre experiences that don't even register when they're over.

And fortunately, for me anyway, the drop doesn't last long. Once I process the event in my head and get some much needed sleep, I turn to looking forward to my next adventure. I'm living for all these highs and lows!

Consensual Non-Consent

A couple of blog posts by others have got me thinking about 'non-consent'.

Eliane writing about the power of the word 'no'. She likes being told it; I like saying it. And Kami's description about a very intense rape scene she did recently.

For me 'non-consent' is a powerful turn on. At the most basic level it's the underlying parameter to every spanking and punishment scene I do. Partly it's my get out of jail free card, allowing me to pretend I don't want (need) to be punished. Being forced to endure the punishment is half of the thrill in it. But mostly it makes it all the more realistic to be punished against your will. Real school girls, naughty little girls, reformatory inmates and so on, don't want to be punished; they just have to suffer what they're given.

And 'no' is a great word to reinforce the helplessness and impotency in a scene. I can say it, shout it, scream it, plead it; but to no avail. And that's extremely hot, especially if it's in a sex scene.

But the most important thing is we wouldn't enjoy any of these scenes if we had not previously given our consent. If we hadn't agreed to be punished, if we hadn't agreed to submit to sex, if we hadn't agree to be used. Otherwise it's just the other type of abuse that I certainly don't find hot.

Giving consent in advance to a trusted play partner allows the 'non-consent' in the scene to take place safely and enjoyably, for both parties. The fantasy is then created by the top/dom controlling how and when it happens and the bottom/sub screaming, crying, begging "no, please, stop, no, I don't want this", but the top continuing as he pleases.

His sense of power is heightened as equally as her despair is, making the scene work even better for both of them.

As this was on all my mind last night it's no wonder then that I had the following dream:

'I was held by a Domme that I knew, but had never played with. Limits had not been discussed. I was afraid and didn't want to play. I told her no over and over again but she ignored me, beating and violating me unmercifully. But I wasn't enjoying it. The only feelings I felt were fear. Then other people joined the scene, people I have played with before and trusted. I tried to to tell them I didn't want this, begged them to help me. But they just thought my pleas were part of the scene. They merely watched the Domme abuse me, enjoying my distress, not realising it was real, not knowing I wasn't at all turned on'

I'm still trying to figure out if the dream meant I really want to be abused, completely non-consensually. Or whether it was to remind me of safewording. Not once in the dream did I say it. Would she have stopped if I had? I'll never know.

But I do know for all my talk of non-consent and being controlled in a scene, I'll always have my safeword to stop if it becomes too intense or I can't handle it. And for the top's sake he must be able to trust me to use it. We're both equally responsible for the scene going wrong or going too far. Most of all we can't forget that 'non-consent' is just a carefully crafted illusion.