I am not Fiona Locke

LOL, I got an email from a reader asking was I Fiona Locke?! Flattered as I am, I certainly don't write that well nor would I have the discipline to write an entire novel, let alone two. (For those of you who don't know who I'm talking about she's a writer of erotic fiction, most notably Over the Knee, which is the hottest book I've ever read).

Anyway after I stopped laughing I got to thinking, who is Fiona Locke? I've figured for a long time that it's probably a nome de plume. And have even got to thinking it might be someone in the scene that I know, who's probably laughing as they read this post.

Of course I might be totally wrong about it being a scene person. Maybe she's actually JK Rowling. There is that Scottish connection in the first book and she did come up with Snape after all...

But anyway just to be clear: I am not Fiona Locke!

Ode to Lowewood

When I was a child I made up school stories in my head. I'd spend hours thinking them through. I always picked the school name and uniform first. Once I was happy with that I'd choose my girls: their names, backgrounds and characters. And finally with the main cast in place, I'd come up with the classes and the teachers. I have no idea how many versions of the same school I came up with over the years!

I very rarely got to any plots because I spent so long on the detailed set up. Everything had to be just so. Every character had a birthday, a favorite colour and foods they liked or hated. I knew which lessons and sports each was good or poor at. Which were friends. Who was a good girl. Who was a naughty girl. I have always been a major fan of detail!

So in September when I first discovered Lowewood Academy it was the detail that really attracted me. Somebody (somebodies) had taken my school fantasies in all their detail, given my characters a much needed make over, added in a whole lot of CP and some hot sex and made my dreams come true!

I'm not exaggerating here. When I first read Lowewood I felt like I'd hit gold. At that stage I didn't have a clue who the writers were but I thought they were kindred spirits. I loved the characters, especially the variety of them. All different. Some I liked more than others, some I didn't like at all. Obviously no one person could have written them all. The creativity of the plots and punishments also thrilled me, but it was the consistent quality of the writing and frequency of updates that really blew me way. How was it possible for normal people with real day jobs to produce this? And all for free. Were they crazy or just as wonderfully obsessed with it as their readers appeared to be?

By then Lowewood was already in its third year, but not content with reading a synopsis of the previous two years I went back to the start and read each post in order. It took me two weeks and the loss of much sleep but my obsession was already born. From then on, every day at 12 I was on my phone checking for the latest update. Don't tell anyone but I once read a Lowewood entry in church. Or that at my first day at the real Lowewood Academy I was reading that day's update in class!!

And although I'm a very kinky girl and am turned on both by being punished and reading about such punishments, there were times when I was reading Lowewood and hoping the girls wouldn't get punished. I loved their achievements and victories even more than their punishments. Often I had to remind myself that they weren't actually real, and that I was meant to enjoy them getting whacked, not scream at the unfairness of it all.

Now the writers of Lowewood have decided it's time to call it a day. And while understanding that it's the right thing to do, I'm very, very sad. I feel like I've lost a good friend. I'll miss the antics of the characters, laughing at the audacity of what they get away with, delighting in their achievements and wincing along with their punishments. But all good things must come to an end and I love when things end on a high. Lowewood will leave all its readers wanting more, just as it should.

So if you've never read Lowewood before head on over to the first post and enjoy it all from the beginning, you lucky fecker. Or like me if you've been a fan for a while sure go over anyway, enjoy the sign-off post and then buy the team a drink for all the hours of entertainment and pleasure they've given us. Certainly well deserved!

Relaxing, kinky style

I've had a very dull and stressful vanilla week, with barely a kinky thought. Sometimes life gets like that. Work gets busy and I don't have the time or inclination to day dream as much as I'd like. And I was also off to spend the weekend with some vanilla friends. Although looking forward to it I knew there wouldn't be much time for kinky thoughts then either.

So when I got home from work on Friday I took a short nap to reconnect with my kink and relax myself. I closed my eyes, aimed my thoughts kinkwise and let my mind wander. This is where it took me:

'I was sent to my room to await punishment. Warnings had been given but not heeded. The stern tone enough to brook immediate compliance. This wasn't going to be a gentle reminder to behave. As I made my way out of the room he told me how he expected to find me.

In my room I quickly removed my clothes, putting them away neatly. Then knelt on the bed with my knees apart. I leaned forward with my elbows flat on the bed and head pressed down, leaving my bottom up high in the air. Vulnerable.

He didn't make me wait long. As eager as me to get this punishment over with. He didn't stop to lecture me. Knowing by my quiet submission I already repentant. I felt nervous and exposed. It's always harder for me when he doesn't speak. When I can hear him fetching an implement (or was it implements), but having no idea of what's in store. His disappointment hanging heavy in the air.

The first stoke lands without warning and I struggle to hold onto my position. A tawse. Heavy. Painful. Another lash just as hard. And another. And another. I fight to stay in position. The more I submit and take it, the sooner it will be over. Again and again it lands and I concentrate on not moving. The burn intensifies and my cries increase from whimpers to yelps. He moves it up and down my bottom. Sometimes landing 3 strokes in a row on the same spot. Agonisingly painful.

But I know worse is to come. He waits until I'm crying before moving down to my thighs. The first blinding lash makes me sit up. And I give way to sobs. In defeat I get back down again and suffer the onslaught on my thighs as best I can. I'm squirming on the bed, no longer at all brave, not at all obedient. Every muscle in my body hurts from trying to hold still.

By the time he stops I'm distraught. The pain and shame has overwhelmed me. I collapse on the bed and he waits in silence until I control my tears. I know we're not finished. I know he's waiting. I get back into position, arching my back, presenting my bottom. He stands behind me, hands gently stroking me, reassuring me. I take a deep breath and surrender to him.'

Don't you just love when your mind takes you to such hot places?

Technical glitch

Watersports are certainly not amongst my list of kinks. No surprise really considering I am very squeamish about bodily fluids in general. Even the thoughts of them make me gag.

So when I dropped my phone down the toilet recently it was very reluctantly that I fished it out and threw it in the bin. If I thought I could have just flushed it away, I would have, trust me. But I have a conscience and that won out.

I quickly got set up on a temporary replacement phone. But it doesn't do half the tricks my old one did; I can just about read and send mails. Once I got over the trauma of watching my phone come to such an unfortunate end, reality hit home. What an earth was I going to do without my super fancy phone that connects me to my kinky life 24/7?

And I mean 24/7. That includes the wee hours of the morning where I wake, check my mail, read any new blog entries and then go back to sleep. Or if I've had a particularly interesting kinky dream or thought I'll write up a draft blog entry.

And during the day at work when I can grab a spare few minutes I like to catch up with all my blogs. Not being able to read my daily dose of Lowewood has been particularly upsetting this past week. How can I be kinky without my on demand kinky literature? Not to mention what I'm going to do with so many vanilla weekends away, as well as a week long vanilla holiday coming up. I'm terrified of being out of the kinky loop.

Unfortunately I've had to resign myself to going primitive for a few weeks until our mobile providers sort out the paper work and send me a new one. The only light at the end of the tunnel is that my new phone will be even more shiny and super and gimmicky and addictive. And hopefully I'll be back to 3am blogging in no time.

So do excuse any lapses in communication in the meantime. Normal service shall be resumed as soon as possible.

Endurance Sports

Rebecca has signed up to run a half marathon. In case you didn't know that's 13.2 miles to cover. Isn't she brave? Or else a total masochist altogether!

Reading her post I was reminded of the time I completed a half marathon myself. I wasn't out in the scene or doing anything kink wise at all, but even then I remember thinking that I was behaving like a masochist. I ran 4 evenings a week for 3 months and mostly the only enjoyment I felt was when I'd get the run over with.

On the day of the race itself, I started off too fast. Between the pace and the hilly terrain (that I wasn't at all prepared for), I was done in by the 7th mile. So I ended up running the last 6 miles in severe pain and cried as I crossed the finish line. Only sheer willpower kept me going.

I love sports but my only strengths are enthusiasm and endurance. I have feck all skill (as evidenced by my netball display at Lowewood). So I've always been attracted to sports that I can succeed in through determination and stamina. That I can depend on adrenalin and endorphins to get through. Rugby in my late teens and twenties, then running and more recently kick boxing.

Always at my happiest when I can fully immerse into whatever I'm doing and push myself to my physical limits. Free to surrender to my sweat and tears until I am broken and exhausted, but content. And when I think back to the pain, the tears, the emotion and the euphoria, not to mention the satisfaction of completing my own half marathon, I can't help but compare it to a wonderfully intense scene. Liberating.

Three times the trouble

I've just had a conversation with a close toppy friend about how I'm really in for it the next time he gets his hands on me. By a horrible series of unfortunate events we haven't managed to play in ages. I feel neglected and cos it's my own fault it's actually more like I'm neglecting him (not that he is really cos the lovely Caroline more than keeps him on his toes!).

But it seems to be a particular downside of making new playmates. Yes it's wonderful. Yes I love meeting new people. But then I can't fit everyone in. I want to play with all my new playmates and play with my old ones too. Alas schedules never seem to work out to suit everyone. And there's only so much of me to go round.

But I can't help but wish I could clone myself and go on playdates with all my toppy friends at the same time as hanging out with my new kinky friends and keeping up my vanilla social life too. Then we'd all be happy and I wouldn't feel bad. Yes think I need three of me.

Now there's a scary thought, could the world handle that much of me?!

The little details

For me the little details in a scene are what it's all about and make a good scene great or unique. I try to make sure I include these details in my posts, not least because I don't want to forget them! But some details I'll never forget because they were so central to the scene, like the one below.

A few months back I was playing with my Scottish friend during one of his visits to Dublin. We were doing a school roleplay where I was a prefect sent to the Headmaster for being caught looking at inappropriate material on the school computers.

In some ways it was a very run of the mill school scenario. I was dressed neatly in one of my uniforms. He was the typical stern and imposing Headmaster. He lectured me gravely on my misconduct; I was suitably chastened and repentant. There was a caning bent over his desk, skirt up and knickers down. There was corner time. There was a letter home. All perfectly normal to any school scene.

But there were two things he included that really got to me. For my Scottish friend had been carefully noting things I had said in emails with the intent of introducing them in this scene. And they both happened in the opening 5 minutes.

First off I was lectured on my disgraceful behaviour. Nothing strange there. Until I was reminded of my standing in the school. A senior prefect, captain of the football and basketball teams, captain of the school quiz team and member of the debutantes committee. He read the list out and I had to confirm my position. As he knew well, each and every one was a position I held in my senior year at my own school. I was mortified that he remembered but even worse my instincts screamed at me to clear my name. I burned at the thought of ever having to be sent to my own Headmaster, that a good girl like me would ever have been caught misbehaving so badly.

After shaming me and making me squirm back to my own school days he then did something even worse, that brought me to the point of tears. He ordered me to remove my school tie. He told me I was in disgrace and wasn't allowed the honour of wearing the prefect's tie. I have never felt like safewording as much as I did then. Knowing I'd have to complete the scene without being fully armoured in proper uniform almost undone me.

If you know me at all, you'll know that the tie is my favourite part of my uniform. I don't feel complete without it and it has to be worn neatly at all times. For me a schoolgirl without her tie is a disgrace. I'd rather have been told to strip naked than give up that tie. But with shaking hands I removed it and gave it to him, keenly feeling the shame of having to do so. I silently applauded him at having so expertly derailed me and prayed the caning would soon start before I lost it completely.

Two little details that caused me to feel more infinitely ashamed and repentent than the serious caning that followed.