Good lil girl out on her bike...
...enjoying the lovely sunshine....
...until ooops a nasty breeze flips her skirt up. Hopefully no-one saw it or there'll be a caning in store for our poor girl!
Sunday, August 8
Oooops
Good lil girl out on her bike...
...enjoying the lovely sunshine....
...until ooops a nasty breeze flips her skirt up. Hopefully no-one saw it or there'll be a caning in store for our poor girl!
Sunday, June 13
Do the Write thing!
Long before I was brave enough to contact anyone in the scene or even de-lurk anywhere, I was reading every kinky thing I could find. And I continued to be an avid reader on and off for years until I came out. (Now I don't get to read as much as I'd like, there has to be time to write now too!)
Back in 2001 there weren't any blogs per se - the first one I ever read was The Spanking Writers in 2006. But there were lots of great websites. And these websites had stories. Oh how I gorged myself on them. Some great, some OK, some not to my tastes, but all in their own ways reassuring me that I wasn't the only kinky girl in the world. And that these people understood my 'deepest, darkest desires' far better than I did myself.
I thought that these people were very generous in writing all these stories for the likes of me skulking about without as much as a comment. I didn't fully comprehend that they got just as much out of writing those stories themselves, that they wrote as much, if not more, for themselves than anyone else.
The need to understand and explain yourself through stories when words alone won't do. The thrill of crafting something out of a mere idea. The pride of your achievement. The joy of someone telling you they enjoyed what you'd written.
These were all things I came to learn when I started my own blog and wrote my own stories. Of course I've also learned the frustration that comes hand in hand with writing. Of creativity that won't materialise or the great idea that refuses to be expressed in a coherent manner. Or since writing for Winterbrook how hard it can be to develop a character and weave in plots against a long term storyline
I've written here several times that The Treehouse was one of the first sites that I visited back then and the stories on there continue to hold a very special place in my heart. I still remember using Mija and Pablo's writing to try to explain what I really wanted from my vanilla/semi-kinky boyfriend.
And it was on The Treehouse that I first heard of the group Soc.Sexuality.Spanking and the Summer Short Story Contest. Of course I never commented there either but greedy little me was delighted to have more stories to feed my habit.
Now I think it's time to finally give something back. Which is why this year I've volunteered to read and review the stories being entered into the competition. I'm very excited about the stories I've seen so far and am also thinking about my own entry. So I'd encourage you to write up a story and submit it. Details can be found here. Go on, I dare ya!
Back in 2001 there weren't any blogs per se - the first one I ever read was The Spanking Writers in 2006. But there were lots of great websites. And these websites had stories. Oh how I gorged myself on them. Some great, some OK, some not to my tastes, but all in their own ways reassuring me that I wasn't the only kinky girl in the world. And that these people understood my 'deepest, darkest desires' far better than I did myself.
I thought that these people were very generous in writing all these stories for the likes of me skulking about without as much as a comment. I didn't fully comprehend that they got just as much out of writing those stories themselves, that they wrote as much, if not more, for themselves than anyone else.
The need to understand and explain yourself through stories when words alone won't do. The thrill of crafting something out of a mere idea. The pride of your achievement. The joy of someone telling you they enjoyed what you'd written.
These were all things I came to learn when I started my own blog and wrote my own stories. Of course I've also learned the frustration that comes hand in hand with writing. Of creativity that won't materialise or the great idea that refuses to be expressed in a coherent manner. Or since writing for Winterbrook how hard it can be to develop a character and weave in plots against a long term storyline
I've written here several times that The Treehouse was one of the first sites that I visited back then and the stories on there continue to hold a very special place in my heart. I still remember using Mija and Pablo's writing to try to explain what I really wanted from my vanilla/semi-kinky boyfriend.
And it was on The Treehouse that I first heard of the group Soc.Sexuality.Spanking and the Summer Short Story Contest. Of course I never commented there either but greedy little me was delighted to have more stories to feed my habit.
Now I think it's time to finally give something back. Which is why this year I've volunteered to read and review the stories being entered into the competition. I'm very excited about the stories I've seen so far and am also thinking about my own entry. So I'd encourage you to write up a story and submit it. Details can be found here. Go on, I dare ya!
Monday, May 17
A Tale of Two Slippers
As I mentioned in my post yesterday I played with the London Tanner at Nimhneach. Amongst his hand and the razor strop, he also treated me to his slipper.
Now regular readers may recall my various descriptions of the slipperings I have suffered at the hands of HH. It is my own personal nemesis, the implement that I fear the most. Guaranteed to dissolve me into tears and howl for mercy if HH chooses to apply it for that affect. It's definitely not fun.
The slipper in question is a brutal men's size 9 tennis shoe. And unfortunately for me the London Tanner happens to own its comrade. The left hand slipper of the pair. I had been warned early in the night that he had brought it. So when the time duly came I was expecting it. In true apprehension I bent over the stool, hands on the seat, my bottom properly out on display. I was scared and I had good reason to be. He didn't disappoint.
It hurt a great deal from the start. Each stroke landing unerringly on the crease between my bottom and the top of the thighs, making me gasp and squirm. Many of the strokes made me buckle in agony. And as it continued I lost all dignity in front of the watching crowd. It was very clear I was struggling, but I wanted to take it, see the punishment through.
I was so relieved when he switched back to the stop that I kept obediently in position until we were done. It was with some awe I later inspected the resulting bruises - it's a long time since I've bruised that badly. What you can't see in the photo are the vivid scarlett bruises on my inner thighs and cheeks.
Although both slippers may be identical, the experience with their owners is very different. The London Tanner's had its laces removed, meaning there was no preamble or delay in administering the strokes. Each fell in quick succession and while horrendously hard, not full force so I could take a good number, even if I was struggling for each one.
On the other hand HH takes more time between each stroke. With ceremony he tucks the laces into the slipper, before weighing it in his hand, steps back behind me and administers each stroke with his full body weight behind him, driving the slipper upwards from thigh to bottom. It's very rare I don't jump up screaming at each one and the most I've taken before crying is probably 3 or 4. Unless I'm on an adrenalin high 12 is as much as I can take in any one go.
But either way, whether it's HH with his slipper, or the London Tanner with his, both are a force to be reckoned with. And that slipper will continue to invoke the utmost fear and respect, no matter which of them is yielding it.
Now regular readers may recall my various descriptions of the slipperings I have suffered at the hands of HH. It is my own personal nemesis, the implement that I fear the most. Guaranteed to dissolve me into tears and howl for mercy if HH chooses to apply it for that affect. It's definitely not fun.
The slipper in question is a brutal men's size 9 tennis shoe. And unfortunately for me the London Tanner happens to own its comrade. The left hand slipper of the pair. I had been warned early in the night that he had brought it. So when the time duly came I was expecting it. In true apprehension I bent over the stool, hands on the seat, my bottom properly out on display. I was scared and I had good reason to be. He didn't disappoint.
It hurt a great deal from the start. Each stroke landing unerringly on the crease between my bottom and the top of the thighs, making me gasp and squirm. Many of the strokes made me buckle in agony. And as it continued I lost all dignity in front of the watching crowd. It was very clear I was struggling, but I wanted to take it, see the punishment through.
I was so relieved when he switched back to the stop that I kept obediently in position until we were done. It was with some awe I later inspected the resulting bruises - it's a long time since I've bruised that badly. What you can't see in the photo are the vivid scarlett bruises on my inner thighs and cheeks.
Although both slippers may be identical, the experience with their owners is very different. The London Tanner's had its laces removed, meaning there was no preamble or delay in administering the strokes. Each fell in quick succession and while horrendously hard, not full force so I could take a good number, even if I was struggling for each one.
On the other hand HH takes more time between each stroke. With ceremony he tucks the laces into the slipper, before weighing it in his hand, steps back behind me and administers each stroke with his full body weight behind him, driving the slipper upwards from thigh to bottom. It's very rare I don't jump up screaming at each one and the most I've taken before crying is probably 3 or 4. Unless I'm on an adrenalin high 12 is as much as I can take in any one go.
But either way, whether it's HH with his slipper, or the London Tanner with his, both are a force to be reckoned with. And that slipper will continue to invoke the utmost fear and respect, no matter which of them is yielding it.
Saturday, April 10
Early morning alarm!
It's long been a rule that when I visit HH I have to get up at a reasonable hour in the morning. Despite the fact that I might be very tired or indeed very annoyed, HH insists on waking me up in the most cruel ways. And when I inevitably get grumpy at this unwelcome start to the day, I get into even more trouble.
Except for my recent visit over Easter, where I was so deeply asleep that the spanking was long over before I was conscious enough to reach a state of grump. In fact I didn't reach that state until lunch-time. And how very odd it must have seemed to the others to witness me descend into sudden grumpiness.
Now just in case people think HH is a horrifically cruel man I must confess I had gone to bed early the night before and we had all agreed that we would rise and shine at 8am to leave the house early enough to get through all of the days activities. (You know: eating crumpets, visiting a grand country house, drinking Pimms, beating me etc.)
But the thing was it took ever such a long time for me to fall asleep that I felt quite justified in switching my alarm off. So I slept right past the appointed rising hour. Right up to 8:50 where an alarm in the shape of HH and his wooden paddle burst into my room.
Waking up suddenly I looked at him very sleepily, observed the paddle in his hands and closed my eyes again. Even as he put me across his knee lecturing about everyone else being up since 8 waiting around for me etc., I was still half asleep. So much so I made no protest as the paddle smacked down on me. At one point I tired to close my eyes and have another snooze, but that proved impossible with the painful attention my bottom was receiving.
And when he did pause and it seemed that we were done I obviously hadn't woken up fully as I then started to complain that I couldn't have woken at 8 seeing as my alarm had been turned off. The next volley of smacks, duly administered for having been the one to turn the alarm off in the first place, were much more painful and I was relieved to be finally allowed up.
After an all-too-short cuddle from HH I gave my bed one last longing-look and made my way downstairs where Abel and Haron gave me lots of hugs and sympathy. Alas HH had very little sympathy for me at all, but he did let me have another hug. Unfortunately he caught on very quickly that I was actually trying to sleep standing up whilst hugging him. And so the day started.
Oh well, one day he might learn it's best to let me sleep in. Or equally I might learn it's best to just get up on time. Who knows which of us will break first!
I do like this pic that Abel took at the time though, I feel very like a little girl in it...
Here's a close up of my poor bottom, startlingly pink for that time of morning!
Except for my recent visit over Easter, where I was so deeply asleep that the spanking was long over before I was conscious enough to reach a state of grump. In fact I didn't reach that state until lunch-time. And how very odd it must have seemed to the others to witness me descend into sudden grumpiness.
Now just in case people think HH is a horrifically cruel man I must confess I had gone to bed early the night before and we had all agreed that we would rise and shine at 8am to leave the house early enough to get through all of the days activities. (You know: eating crumpets, visiting a grand country house, drinking Pimms, beating me etc.)
But the thing was it took ever such a long time for me to fall asleep that I felt quite justified in switching my alarm off. So I slept right past the appointed rising hour. Right up to 8:50 where an alarm in the shape of HH and his wooden paddle burst into my room.
Waking up suddenly I looked at him very sleepily, observed the paddle in his hands and closed my eyes again. Even as he put me across his knee lecturing about everyone else being up since 8 waiting around for me etc., I was still half asleep. So much so I made no protest as the paddle smacked down on me. At one point I tired to close my eyes and have another snooze, but that proved impossible with the painful attention my bottom was receiving.
And when he did pause and it seemed that we were done I obviously hadn't woken up fully as I then started to complain that I couldn't have woken at 8 seeing as my alarm had been turned off. The next volley of smacks, duly administered for having been the one to turn the alarm off in the first place, were much more painful and I was relieved to be finally allowed up.
After an all-too-short cuddle from HH I gave my bed one last longing-look and made my way downstairs where Abel and Haron gave me lots of hugs and sympathy. Alas HH had very little sympathy for me at all, but he did let me have another hug. Unfortunately he caught on very quickly that I was actually trying to sleep standing up whilst hugging him. And so the day started.
Oh well, one day he might learn it's best to let me sleep in. Or equally I might learn it's best to just get up on time. Who knows which of us will break first!
I do like this pic that Abel took at the time though, I feel very like a little girl in it...
Here's a close up of my poor bottom, startlingly pink for that time of morning!
Saturday, February 27
It's not how good you are...
I had a great day hanging out with my girlies. There was shopping and drinks over the rugby game (we beat England, woohoo!) and then a lovely dinner out.
During the course of the shopping I bought a book. This book to be precise:
I'm hoping to learn valuable excuses to get me out of situations where toppy types are trying to punish me for some little thing or other as is their want to do. I particularly love the title: "It's not how good you are, it's how good you want to be". That will be my first line of defence: 'I didn't mean to be naughty Sir, I honestly wanted to be good.'
As you go through the book it gets even better though. A key philosophy is that "it's wrong to be right". That being right is indicative of closed-mindedness and arrogance. So the book promotes being wrong as in "it's right to be wrong".
I shall enjoy trying that one out next time a toppy type is telling me I'm wrong and must be punished. 'No, it is right to be wrong and wrong to be right and therefore it is you toppy type who must be punished, so there'
The idea "the person who doesn't make mistakes is unlikely to make anything" is perhaps more subtle and might be even more useful, and certianly less confusing, than the right/wrong argument. 'We learn by our mistakes, and one cannot be beaten for acquiring knowledge right?'
But I think my favourite is: "You can achieve the unachievable" It gives me hope that someday I'll be able to have a lie-in at HH's without getting tawsed out of bed!
Yes, I like my new book very much. Hope the toppy types in my life appreciate the efforts I go to to keep them on their toes...
During the course of the shopping I bought a book. This book to be precise:
I'm hoping to learn valuable excuses to get me out of situations where toppy types are trying to punish me for some little thing or other as is their want to do. I particularly love the title: "It's not how good you are, it's how good you want to be". That will be my first line of defence: 'I didn't mean to be naughty Sir, I honestly wanted to be good.'
As you go through the book it gets even better though. A key philosophy is that "it's wrong to be right". That being right is indicative of closed-mindedness and arrogance. So the book promotes being wrong as in "it's right to be wrong".
I shall enjoy trying that one out next time a toppy type is telling me I'm wrong and must be punished. 'No, it is right to be wrong and wrong to be right and therefore it is you toppy type who must be punished, so there'
The idea "the person who doesn't make mistakes is unlikely to make anything" is perhaps more subtle and might be even more useful, and certianly less confusing, than the right/wrong argument. 'We learn by our mistakes, and one cannot be beaten for acquiring knowledge right?'
But I think my favourite is: "You can achieve the unachievable" It gives me hope that someday I'll be able to have a lie-in at HH's without getting tawsed out of bed!
Yes, I like my new book very much. Hope the toppy types in my life appreciate the efforts I go to to keep them on their toes...
Sunday, February 21
Not the only perverts in town
When I visit my kinky friends, we don't just do kinky stuff all the time. Man cannot live by kink alone and all that! Plus it'd be a pretty poor friendship if we couldn't pass the time happily in non-kinky ways too. So we find ourselves chatting and cooking and reading and if I can get away with it, sleeping in!
However one of my favourite things to do is go and explore the surrounding area. Visit a stately country home, or nice gardens or wander round a little town or village or some other such attraction of interest.
Over the weekend HH and I spent a nice afternoon doing just that, driving around the countryside and stopping at places that took our fancy. At one such stop we were exploring a re-modelled cottage that came with a child's bedroom all kitted out with toys. Of course I gravitated straight towards the lovely doll's house in the middle of the room. HH smiled indulgently as I oohed and ahhed over it.
But when we opened it, what a sight met our eyes. For it seemed the dolls in this house were very naughty indeed.
Upstairs the young teenage doll is being spanked by her mother. No doubt for having brought a boy doll into the house; her attempts to hide him in the bath being futile. I'm sure when her mother is finished with her, she'll be a sore and sorry little doll indeed.
And down in the dining room the youngest dolls are being lectured by their father. Have no idea what they've been up to but surely it was something very naughty. The little boy doll has been stood to face the wall while his sister gets a good talking to. I bet they both know that Daddy is holding a slipper behind his back and they're dreading when they'll have to go over his knee for a sound smacking. Soon all the children in the house will be crying but there'll be peace at last.
The funny thing about this set-up is that neither of us did anything to the dolls house! It was exactly like this when we found it and HH just had to photograph the evidence. I'm pretty sure all the other kinky culprits we know are at the other end of the country so looks like we're not the only perverts in town ;)
However one of my favourite things to do is go and explore the surrounding area. Visit a stately country home, or nice gardens or wander round a little town or village or some other such attraction of interest.
Over the weekend HH and I spent a nice afternoon doing just that, driving around the countryside and stopping at places that took our fancy. At one such stop we were exploring a re-modelled cottage that came with a child's bedroom all kitted out with toys. Of course I gravitated straight towards the lovely doll's house in the middle of the room. HH smiled indulgently as I oohed and ahhed over it.
But when we opened it, what a sight met our eyes. For it seemed the dolls in this house were very naughty indeed.
Upstairs the young teenage doll is being spanked by her mother. No doubt for having brought a boy doll into the house; her attempts to hide him in the bath being futile. I'm sure when her mother is finished with her, she'll be a sore and sorry little doll indeed.
And down in the dining room the youngest dolls are being lectured by their father. Have no idea what they've been up to but surely it was something very naughty. The little boy doll has been stood to face the wall while his sister gets a good talking to. I bet they both know that Daddy is holding a slipper behind his back and they're dreading when they'll have to go over his knee for a sound smacking. Soon all the children in the house will be crying but there'll be peace at last.
The funny thing about this set-up is that neither of us did anything to the dolls house! It was exactly like this when we found it and HH just had to photograph the evidence. I'm pretty sure all the other kinky culprits we know are at the other end of the country so looks like we're not the only perverts in town ;)
Friday, December 25
Merry Christmas
Seeing as it's Christmas I thought I'd share the photo below, I hope you enjoy it!
In a new departure for me it wasn't taken as part of a roleplay and is my first attempt at posing for photography. HH, who took it, is far more practised than me and took some great shots.
Although we weren't roleplaying, I was in quite a submissive headspace when Abel and HH suggested I christen the pedestal in the garden. Normally I wouldn't even entertain the idea. Especially if it's cold!
Haron followed us out in the chilly, snowy day somewhat amused,wrapping herself up snugly in her coat and hat and scarf, while I prepared to disrobe entirely.
While I never thought I could do something like this I actually quite enjoyed it. And afterwards I was flying from the thrill of doing it. But moreover quite proud that I could put aside those insecurities that we all have about our bodies and take such pictures and actually even like some of them!
In a new departure for me it wasn't taken as part of a roleplay and is my first attempt at posing for photography. HH, who took it, is far more practised than me and took some great shots.
Although we weren't roleplaying, I was in quite a submissive headspace when Abel and HH suggested I christen the pedestal in the garden. Normally I wouldn't even entertain the idea. Especially if it's cold!
Haron followed us out in the chilly, snowy day somewhat amused,wrapping herself up snugly in her coat and hat and scarf, while I prepared to disrobe entirely.
While I never thought I could do something like this I actually quite enjoyed it. And afterwards I was flying from the thrill of doing it. But moreover quite proud that I could put aside those insecurities that we all have about our bodies and take such pictures and actually even like some of them!
Saturday, December 19
St. Trinian's Dilemma
Dear readers I have a bit of a dilemma and I need your advice.
The eagerly awaited second St Trinian's film is out this weekend. Yay!And seeing as I'm spending the weekend with kinky friends I thought it might be cool to all go see it together. Happily HH, Abel and Haron are as keen as I am to see the delights of naughty young ladies in delicious uniforms. (Perverts, us?)
Except there is one teeny, tiny, lil drawback. HH says I can only come along if I wear my school uniform. As in full, proper uniform: white knee socks, tartan skirt, crisp blouse, tie and cardigan.
Eeek how much of a real life pervert will I look amongst the teenagers and parents with their kids. Not to mention it's the weekend so why would anyone be going to the cinema in uniform if they weren't a kinky so and so.
And of course HH will insist on exemplary behaviour for a school girl in his charge or else there'll be awfully embarrassing (and painful!) consequences while out and about. While Abel will surely cane me before we leave the house at all so I can feel the stripes burning into my poor bottom as we watch the film.
What is a girl to do? Stay home and miss all the fun? Or go out to the cinema in my uniform, nerves stretched to breaking point as I try and behave to HH's terribly high standards!
Tuesday, December 8
Blast from the past
I made a startling discovery during my last visit to HH. You see HH is an avid collector of books. The vanilla kind and the kinky kind and the in between kind. I.e. the ones that a fellow pervert would recognise as a kinky book masquerading amongst the vanilla ones but unless you're from the same predilection you wouldn't notice.
So in HH's house I spend many a quiet moment browsing the book shelves looking for the in between stuff hidden openly amongst the classics and modern novels and history books.
But on my last visit I was in the mood for something downright kinky and ventured into the secret kinky library where all the explicit books live.
And there I found the following book!
For those of you not familiar with The Mahound it describes a Scotsman's adventures in Africa where he has a harem of slave girls to cultivate and take sexual pleasure from. Any girl who displeases him or the King gets soundly whipped and the main protagonista is Mary, an English girl captured by the King's men and is routinely beaten because she refuses to give in to the King's sexual demands. In short it's a very kinky book!
And I was very shocked to see it in HH's private kinky library. Not because it was out of place there, no not at all. But because I had read that book many years ago. When I was 10 or 11 in fact (I was an advanced reader for my age)!
It belonged to my Mother and was one of many similar books I discovered hidden at home over the years. And the long held and deeply buried suspicion that my Mother is kinky came bubbling to the surface again. Causing me to have a miniature freak out.
I really don't want to have my suspicions confirmed!
So in HH's house I spend many a quiet moment browsing the book shelves looking for the in between stuff hidden openly amongst the classics and modern novels and history books.
But on my last visit I was in the mood for something downright kinky and ventured into the secret kinky library where all the explicit books live.
And there I found the following book!
For those of you not familiar with The Mahound it describes a Scotsman's adventures in Africa where he has a harem of slave girls to cultivate and take sexual pleasure from. Any girl who displeases him or the King gets soundly whipped and the main protagonista is Mary, an English girl captured by the King's men and is routinely beaten because she refuses to give in to the King's sexual demands. In short it's a very kinky book!
And I was very shocked to see it in HH's private kinky library. Not because it was out of place there, no not at all. But because I had read that book many years ago. When I was 10 or 11 in fact (I was an advanced reader for my age)!
It belonged to my Mother and was one of many similar books I discovered hidden at home over the years. And the long held and deeply buried suspicion that my Mother is kinky came bubbling to the surface again. Causing me to have a miniature freak out.
I really don't want to have my suspicions confirmed!
Saturday, November 14
Under the influence
I'm a very excitable girl, both in real life and kinky life. If you've met me you'll probably confirm that. Most of the time I'm all energy and sometimes that energy converts to mischief, either at work or out with vanilla friends or with my kinky friends. And if I'm playing I'll be even more hyper and energetic. But mostly this is all good. People invite me back to things so obviously they like me either for or in spite of this!
One thing I've very conscious of, after 10 years of being me, that my natural energy or hyperness can be seriously compounded by alcohol. After only a few glasses of wine I'll be dancing on the tables, doing an eight-hand reel, challenging everyone else to a shot drinking game, setting up an impromptu game of rugby etc. etc. And again, my vanilla friends mostly indulge me in these lapses of good behaviour. Some go as far to even encourage me, but that's another discussion.
Getting into to all the kinky parties and events I've been very careful not to consume too much alcohol at them. For a start it's not safe when playing with people you can't trust to be careful, like playing with strangers or clubs, or people you've never played with before.
But really I don't need the alcohol. I'm generally buzzing off the people and atmosphere around me and getting high on the play. I was always a little afraid of what might happen if I did have a lot of alcohol and was around this high energy group and then played as well. Would it be explosive?
Eliane's party last weekend for Graham the Girl (TM) was the test for me. As has been noted on other blogs it was a very fun and merry party and I was one of the most merry there (although Eliane was not far behind me!). In our defence, a weak one at that, we did start drinking ages before anyone else, and champagne goes straight to our heads!
Actually I was horrendously drunk at the party, to the point of not remembering much the next day. I know I had a great time. I know I danced in my underwear, I also know that I was not the only one and suspect I was the ringleader in this. I know I had lots of long and rambling conversations with the girls, that there was lots of girly cuddling and such and I know that I played a few scenes.
The scary thing was having to be reminded what those scenes were. Conversations with Eliane and Graham went something like this:
One thing I've very conscious of, after 10 years of being me, that my natural energy or hyperness can be seriously compounded by alcohol. After only a few glasses of wine I'll be dancing on the tables, doing an eight-hand reel, challenging everyone else to a shot drinking game, setting up an impromptu game of rugby etc. etc. And again, my vanilla friends mostly indulge me in these lapses of good behaviour. Some go as far to even encourage me, but that's another discussion.
Getting into to all the kinky parties and events I've been very careful not to consume too much alcohol at them. For a start it's not safe when playing with people you can't trust to be careful, like playing with strangers or clubs, or people you've never played with before.
But really I don't need the alcohol. I'm generally buzzing off the people and atmosphere around me and getting high on the play. I was always a little afraid of what might happen if I did have a lot of alcohol and was around this high energy group and then played as well. Would it be explosive?
Eliane's party last weekend for Graham the Girl (TM) was the test for me. As has been noted on other blogs it was a very fun and merry party and I was one of the most merry there (although Eliane was not far behind me!). In our defence, a weak one at that, we did start drinking ages before anyone else, and champagne goes straight to our heads!
Actually I was horrendously drunk at the party, to the point of not remembering much the next day. I know I had a great time. I know I danced in my underwear, I also know that I was not the only one and suspect I was the ringleader in this. I know I had lots of long and rambling conversations with the girls, that there was lots of girly cuddling and such and I know that I played a few scenes.
The scary thing was having to be reminded what those scenes were. Conversations with Eliane and Graham went something like this:
'I spilled your vintage champagne Elaine? Oh well, if you will leave it in my way.'And the more that these incidences that were recounted to me, the more my shame grew. Oh whatever about being drunk and making everyone else dance in their undies, or not remembering plans that were made for the next day, or giving senseless advice to a poor darling that hardly needed it or even having a little weep cos I was too drunk, sure I can live with all of that. But not remembering some amazing and hot scenes, that's unforgivable.
'I had 35 cane strokes? Really? From who? Oh Jessica and Abel? Together, one for each cheek? That must have been a great scene? Oh it was...'
'I was counting out the strokes very disrespectfully to Abel ? One your highness, one your ladyship? Ha that must have been hilarious. Oh, it was? Hmmm wish I'd been there...'
'Jessica broke the 14 euro (actually 17!) kitchen implement while whacking someone?' Oh wow, poor bottom, who's was it? Oh mine? Right, that must have hurt!'
'Someone tried to whack another girl with the broken implement? And had to be ordered to put it down before she hurt someone? Silly girl, who was that? Oh me, again...'
'I spilled your vintage champagne Elaine? Another glass? Oh still going on about it, get over it, accidents will happen!'
Thursday, October 29
Dis-empowerment
On a recent training course I was asked in advance to think about what empowerment was, situations where I was empowered and what it meant and felt like. At the course we then had a general discussion about what we had each come up with. The common themes were being in control, having freedom, getting what you want, achievement and fulfilment.
On the flip side, we were then asked to think about what dis-empowerment was and the feelings associated with that. I agreed with my group that it meant losing control, having no privileges, being restricted, answering to someone else. But while the rest of my colleagues were saying that made them feel frustrated, angry, unloved and sad I had to refrain from blurting out that it made me feel elated, adored, safe and special.
It just wasn't the right environment to explain that I've realised allowing myself to give up control to a trusted person is the most empowering decision I ever made!
On the flip side, we were then asked to think about what dis-empowerment was and the feelings associated with that. I agreed with my group that it meant losing control, having no privileges, being restricted, answering to someone else. But while the rest of my colleagues were saying that made them feel frustrated, angry, unloved and sad I had to refrain from blurting out that it made me feel elated, adored, safe and special.
It just wasn't the right environment to explain that I've realised allowing myself to give up control to a trusted person is the most empowering decision I ever made!
Wednesday, September 23
Little does she know
Hmmm sometimes my vanilla friends say things in jest that is are true about me I have to be very careful not to give anything away with my reactions.
Like today at work. I had a very sore tooth and was complaining about it. A colleagues offered painkillers and I refused saying I'd wait and see if it got worse before taking anything.
Colleague replies "Oh like a bit of pain do ya. You're so like 'go on give me some more pain, I love it', right?"
I laughed along. "Oh yeah, I'm a total masochist me. Make it hurt so good"
Little did she know I was speaking the truth ;)
Like today at work. I had a very sore tooth and was complaining about it. A colleagues offered painkillers and I refused saying I'd wait and see if it got worse before taking anything.
Colleague replies "Oh like a bit of pain do ya. You're so like 'go on give me some more pain, I love it', right?"
I laughed along. "Oh yeah, I'm a total masochist me. Make it hurt so good"
Little did she know I was speaking the truth ;)
Sunday, September 13
Contrast
I really like these pictures for the contrast they illustrate.
The first showing where I'm a good, brave girl, holding postiton as ordered, controlling myself. Back arched nicely, bottom properly presented, legs straight, straining on my tiptoes. The red glow of my already sore bottom just visible.
And the second, where I have lost control. Sagging almost to my knees after the final hard stroke fell, gasping for air as I try to deal with the pain. No dignity here, open and exposed.
.JPG)
The first showing where I'm a good, brave girl, holding postiton as ordered, controlling myself. Back arched nicely, bottom properly presented, legs straight, straining on my tiptoes. The red glow of my already sore bottom just visible.
And the second, where I have lost control. Sagging almost to my knees after the final hard stroke fell, gasping for air as I try to deal with the pain. No dignity here, open and exposed.
.JPG)
Thursday, September 10
Chalk-tastic
My lovely friend Chalk has quite a way with words and often delights us with her brilliance. I've posted one such piece from her below, which made me laugh out loud.
Simply titled 'A poem on Fetlife during work', I can just imagine her all serious in front of her work colleagues, but quietly writing this:
It is with much procrastination
that I face the bank reconciliation,
cannot resist the temptation
to add to my fetish list.
I lack the motivation
for financial navigation;
instead add to the population
of my fetish list.
This unseemly aberration
from my employer's just expectation...,
when called for explanation...
Should I produce the fetish list?!
Though can't deny the education
of my list's declaration
it's with much fascination
that I seek to fill my fetish list.
on time for accounts' presentation,
an excuse begetting admiration
that avoids my fetish list!
And I thought having kinky fantasies at work was naughty!
Wednesday, September 2
Look at me, look at me!
Seriously will you just look at what some genius has done to my blog?! I am in awe. Miss Jules take a bow, and another and another :)
A present for my 100th post, I think you'll all agree it's a fantastic one. It looks and feels right for me and my writing. But most fabulous of all is the beautiful drawing of me that she sketched herself from my blogger profile pic. (I shall be taking the bigger version and framing it!)
Of course I'm not the first to be so wonderfully pimped by Miss Jules, she's also done a fab job on Graham's as well as her own blog. So if your blog is in need of a makeover and like me you haven't a clue about HTML or java or even how to download a header (me too Graham!) then I'm sure Miss Jules can help you out for a small fee.
As for me I'm just going to spend the next hour staring at my screen!
A present for my 100th post, I think you'll all agree it's a fantastic one. It looks and feels right for me and my writing. But most fabulous of all is the beautiful drawing of me that she sketched herself from my blogger profile pic. (I shall be taking the bigger version and framing it!)
Of course I'm not the first to be so wonderfully pimped by Miss Jules, she's also done a fab job on Graham's as well as her own blog. So if your blog is in need of a makeover and like me you haven't a clue about HTML or java or even how to download a header (me too Graham!) then I'm sure Miss Jules can help you out for a small fee.
As for me I'm just going to spend the next hour staring at my screen!
Wednesday, August 12
I told you I wasn't Fiona Locke!
Well I said it before and I'll say it again, I'm not Fiona Locke!
But I do know who is. None other than Niki Flynn, who's just come out on her blog and fessed up. As she explains herself she had lots of reasons for writing under both names.
I will admit though that I did know Niki was Fiona all along. And this idea to create mischief with guessing her identity was inspired by me telling her about some of the theories out there! I hope no-one minded the fun and I'm glad to be able to reassure you that I'm not in the habit of conducting witch hunts and trying to reveal people's identities!
Although I am an Internet stalker. Well at least I used to be before I started writing my own blog and that's mostly kept me too occupied to stalk anyone! But being the stalker I was, meant I worked out who Niki was before I met her, or HH or any of her friends.
It all began when I read Over the Knee and was surprised that Fiona didn't have an online presence. No blog and no commenting anywhere. But she was surely someone in the spanking scene. She wrote too realistically not too be. And her acknowledgements referred to people who I knew of in the scene.
Then when I went online to buy On the Bare, Fiona's second book, Amazon suggested Niki Flynn's Dances with Wolves so I ended up buying both at the same time. And reading both at the same time. In fact I read each a chapter at a time, alternating between the two books. I'm greedy like that and didn't have the patience to finish one over the other!
And my mind whirled. Similar writing styles. Almost the same acknowledgements. Then I went to Niki's blog and Fiona's webpage and started to write a 'I liked your book' email before stopping. All the pieces fell together and suddenly the thought hit me that I was writing to the same person twice. So I didn't send either mail.
I pondered the issue for a while before eventually asking a scene friend that knew Niki, if she was also Fiona. Of course they didn't confirm it for me. Friends don't do that. But they passed on my suspicions and HH (who'd just started corresponding with me!) mailed and confirmed that my stalkerness had indeed guessed Niki's secret. And I was mortified. Acutely embarrassed of having been so obsessed to spot it, worried they would think I was nuts! But Niki and HH were both very forgiving and laughed that I'd worked it out.
So now we all know who is and isn't Fiona Locke!
But I do know who is. None other than Niki Flynn, who's just come out on her blog and fessed up. As she explains herself she had lots of reasons for writing under both names.
I will admit though that I did know Niki was Fiona all along. And this idea to create mischief with guessing her identity was inspired by me telling her about some of the theories out there! I hope no-one minded the fun and I'm glad to be able to reassure you that I'm not in the habit of conducting witch hunts and trying to reveal people's identities!
Although I am an Internet stalker. Well at least I used to be before I started writing my own blog and that's mostly kept me too occupied to stalk anyone! But being the stalker I was, meant I worked out who Niki was before I met her, or HH or any of her friends.
It all began when I read Over the Knee and was surprised that Fiona didn't have an online presence. No blog and no commenting anywhere. But she was surely someone in the spanking scene. She wrote too realistically not too be. And her acknowledgements referred to people who I knew of in the scene.
Then when I went online to buy On the Bare, Fiona's second book, Amazon suggested Niki Flynn's Dances with Wolves so I ended up buying both at the same time. And reading both at the same time. In fact I read each a chapter at a time, alternating between the two books. I'm greedy like that and didn't have the patience to finish one over the other!
And my mind whirled. Similar writing styles. Almost the same acknowledgements. Then I went to Niki's blog and Fiona's webpage and started to write a 'I liked your book' email before stopping. All the pieces fell together and suddenly the thought hit me that I was writing to the same person twice. So I didn't send either mail.
I pondered the issue for a while before eventually asking a scene friend that knew Niki, if she was also Fiona. Of course they didn't confirm it for me. Friends don't do that. But they passed on my suspicions and HH (who'd just started corresponding with me!) mailed and confirmed that my stalkerness had indeed guessed Niki's secret. And I was mortified. Acutely embarrassed of having been so obsessed to spot it, worried they would think I was nuts! But Niki and HH were both very forgiving and laughed that I'd worked it out.
So now we all know who is and isn't Fiona Locke!
Friday, August 7
Poor little Piglet
This picture was sent to me as an example of swine flu getting out of hand. Of course the vanilla who sent it to me didn't really understand what he was looking at. This is clearly a representation of submission and domination, cleverly illustrated through Winnie the Poo and friends.
Note how piglet is effectively restrained in the way of shibari. An expert was obviously at work here. He's also backed into a corner, right at the edge of the table. When the animals finally advance on him he'll have no place to go, no where to hide.
I can also guess what the rest of the animals are discussing. No doubt a forced medical is about to take place and Mr Bird seems to be preparing his feathers for the very act. And surely this will be followed by a whipping of some sorts. They certainly look very purposeful, and Piglet looks very scared.
As well he should be cos Christopher Robin ain't going to save him this time!
Note how piglet is effectively restrained in the way of shibari. An expert was obviously at work here. He's also backed into a corner, right at the edge of the table. When the animals finally advance on him he'll have no place to go, no where to hide.
I can also guess what the rest of the animals are discussing. No doubt a forced medical is about to take place and Mr Bird seems to be preparing his feathers for the very act. And surely this will be followed by a whipping of some sorts. They certainly look very purposeful, and Piglet looks very scared.
As well he should be cos Christopher Robin ain't going to save him this time!
Sunday, July 26
Masked ball descends into orgy
Grahame Bond, owner of Halswell House got a bit of a surprise when an organised party at his property turned from a Masked Ball into a full scale orgy at the stroke of midnight. The poor man was so shocked at such activity and blatant wearing of corsets, suspenders, leather and the like that he called the police. Yes that's correct, he called the police because people were having sex and obviously enjoying themselves far too much. Down with that sort of thing and all that!
Of course I think it would have been much more fun if whips and canes were produced and the female attendees were made to strip off and then be punished for the entertainment of the male guests.
Although goodness knows how Bond would have reacted to that. Called in the army?
Friday, July 24
Pictoral representation of kink
Below is a diagram that a potential supplier presented at his pitch a few weeks back. He was a consultant type charged with measuring the degree to which people liked and engaged with our brand.
How it works is that you ask a series of questions which you then plot onto the graph below to ascertain a customer's relationship with your brand. So he could tell us to what degree our customers were aroused i.e. engaged with us and where the points of pleasure and pain were.
Or something along those lines, I was too busy mapping myself onto the graph to hear what he was saying. I don't know how effective it will be as a marketing tool but it sure summed up my relationship to kink.
How it works is that you ask a series of questions which you then plot onto the graph below to ascertain a customer's relationship with your brand. So he could tell us to what degree our customers were aroused i.e. engaged with us and where the points of pleasure and pain were.
Or something along those lines, I was too busy mapping myself onto the graph to hear what he was saying. I don't know how effective it will be as a marketing tool but it sure summed up my relationship to kink.
Dominated through humiliation and distress, to the point of arousal. Which then turns to powerful pleasure culminating in feelings of satisfaction, comfort and protectedness. All of which results in awe, fascination and infatuation with the kink.
Monday, July 20
Overheard in Dublin
I was out last night, painting the town red as it were, but in the vanilla sense. I.e. the only pain involved was from my ridiculously uncomfortable high heels and the only part of me throbbing this morning was my head.
But I was in good company, with Lollipop in tow, both of us looking for devilment. As we tottered from one bar to the next we overheard the funniest conversation.
A group of guys and gals were walking behind us having a very earnest discussion about the Marquis de Sade. All seemed to be aware of who he was but not all knew what he was famous for. Words like sadism and sodomy were bandied about until a row broke out over the meaning of sodomy and whether Sade came up with the actual word.
It was a very surreal situation and I was tempted to intervene and help clarify matters but got distracted by the sheer entertainment of it all. I was almost sorry when we reached our destination and had to stop eavesdropping. But as we went inside I couldn't help but giggle, it's certainly true, you can overhear anything in Dublin. (And if you don't believe me click here!)
But I was in good company, with Lollipop in tow, both of us looking for devilment. As we tottered from one bar to the next we overheard the funniest conversation.
A group of guys and gals were walking behind us having a very earnest discussion about the Marquis de Sade. All seemed to be aware of who he was but not all knew what he was famous for. Words like sadism and sodomy were bandied about until a row broke out over the meaning of sodomy and whether Sade came up with the actual word.
It was a very surreal situation and I was tempted to intervene and help clarify matters but got distracted by the sheer entertainment of it all. I was almost sorry when we reached our destination and had to stop eavesdropping. But as we went inside I couldn't help but giggle, it's certainly true, you can overhear anything in Dublin. (And if you don't believe me click here!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
