Getting what I need

As I wrote last week, HH and I had been discussing the idea of real discipline. Not ongoing discipline for everyday life, but me being disciplined for something done in his presence that he didn't approve of. We agreed that he now had my consent to take appropriate action if he had reason to and left it at that. The main thing was that I would not misbehave on purpose or do anything bratty, as that negated the whole idea of being properly disciplined.

Despite having discussed this, when it actually came down to it I was very unprepared for the emotions I felt on finding myself about to be disciplined. I felt stomach churning fear, reluctance to go through with it and a real dread of the pain to come.

Despite having played several scenes built around real life misdeeds, they were all just excuses for a spanking. Varying degrees of heaviness in the scene but all enjoyable and leading to a high afterwards. I'd never thought it through before, but on processing afterwards I realised for me there were two key differences between this, my first proper punishment spanking, and all the other play I've done.

For a start it was unbelievably painful. HH warned me he intended to be harsh and so he was. But I've played very hard before and this was no more than equal to my hardest scenes. The difference in this case was that I didn't fly. There was no adrenalin to get me through. No achievement in surviving, no bravery. Only shame to be in that position and relief when it was over.

And then there were all the emotions that went with it, of knowing I had hurt and disappointed HH to the point where he wanted to properly punish me. That was very hard to deal with.

I'm too ashamed to admit what I actually said to earn the punishment, except to say in giving HH feedback on a recent scene I was overly critical and hurtful in my words, saying something in the emotional heat of the moment purely to score a low blow to upset him.

He said nothing for a long time, just let me cool down and then repeated my words back to me asking was it really necessary to speak to him that way. I was immediately sorry and not because of an imminent punishment, the thought hadn't even entered my head at that point. I was just properly sorry that I had been so awful to HH and was therefore completely ashamed. On accepting my apology we hugged close and we chatted about the scene properly, where I gave my feedback in a more civilised manner.

I couldn't let it go though, my mind whirling over what I'd said. I'm a huge believer in the bottom taking as much responsibility as the top for a scene and here I was making a mockery of that by blaming him unfairly for what was really a minor detail in the scene. Worst of all what I said wasn't even something I believed, so how could I have said it to to him at all.

He hugged me close and for once I was silent, at a loss for anything meaningful to say. Understanding how I was feeling, he finally he told me this was something I should be punished for, as much for me as for him. He had already forgiven me but knew I needed to forgive myself.

Not forcing it, he just let the issue hung in the air, as I digested it. How easy it'd be to say 'no this is far too intense to punish me over, let me wallow in my guilt' but then there was the thought that I deserved it, that I needed it. Eventually I told him I agreed I should be punished.

Feeling sick at the thought, I clung to him, both wanting to get it over with and never wanting it to start. He told me quietly that it would be harsh, that I deserved nothing less and I nodded. I expected that from him. One final reassuring hug before taking me gently by the hand and leading me up the stairs. I followed him like a little lamb, completely subdued.

The dread churned in the pit of my stomach. Over and over I thought 'I'm about to get punished because I deserve it and it's really going to hurt and HH is not happy with me right now.'

Upstairs he placed himself on a very high stool and called me to him. Seeing the heavy hairbrush in his hand it was all I could do not to run away. My least favorite implement by far, so not a surprise that he'd chosen it. It remained unspoken between us that there'd be no safeword. I knew he expected me to take the punishment fully. No tantrums, no storming off, no angry frustration, just acceptance.

Gently he told me he wasn't angry at me but that I needed to realise how hurtful my words could be. And reminded me that once it was over it would all be forgotten, and I could forgive myself.

Then lifted me over his lap, my hands and feet well clear of the ground, and swiftly pulled my knickers down to my knees. The heavy brush rested briefly on my bottom before he slammed it down beginning his assault. I really tried to be brave, to not kick or wriggle, to show him I was sorry, but I couldn't. The brush cracked down hard, over and over and over all across my bottom, along my crease and down the tops of my thighs at an unrelenting pace. Three strokes in I was crying, silent tears at first, eventually giving way to sobs. I clutched his leg in vain trying to take it without begging him to stop until I couldn't help myself and started wailing 'I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...please..'

Finally he stopped and set me down. A short lived hope we might be done, but deep down I knew we weren't. I wasn't anywhere near forgiving myself. I was guided to the corner and given a short respite from my thrashing. He told me to think about why I was being punished and how much my words had hurt him. With that the dam burst and I dissolved into body wracking sobs as the shame and pain in my bottom melted into one.

When he called me back to him I was placed face down over the whipping bench. With terror I noticed the thick tawse in his hands. Of all implements in his armour, HH is scariest with straps and tawses. And he didn't disappoint. His first crack of the tawse made me scream out and reignited fresh sobs, the second was just as hard, burning stripes of pain across my bottom. Again and again they landed as I forced myself to stay down for them.

I have no idea how many he gave me. In between all the searing strokes on my bottom, he landed perfectly aimed low ones across my thighs, knocking the breath from me completely, too painful to even release a scream.

Each stroke was horrendously painful but the ones across my thighs made me beg for mercy. Finally he promised just 3 more, the last landing again so low down, I knelt up rocking from the pain. I prayed we were done.

Pushing my hair back he lifted my face up gently, told me we were nearly there. Just the paddle to go. 6 he said. I wanted to beg and plead that I'd had enough, couldn't take any more, but I knew I had to take all that he prescribed.

Reluctantly I lay down again and braced myself as best I could. But still screamed as the paddle landed full force on my bottom. He wasn't holding back and I didn't expect anything less. Clinging for dear life I struggled through all 6, distinctly remembering that with 3 to go I didn't think I could make it. Then waiting for the final one knowing it would be the worst yet. By the time he'd administered them all, I was almost cried out, heaving dry sobs and almost collapsing with relief at finishing.

He picked me up off the bench and pulled me close. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. The very picture of misery, eyes puffy and red from crying, hair flattened to my head with tears, all dignity absent.

We cuddled for a long time afterwards. My bottom and thighs throbbed painfully but all I felt was relief, catharsis and closure. And a deep and real desire to never have to experience that again. Ever.

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!

Real discipline

I've written before that discipline is at the core of my kink. Which is why punishments like mouth soaping, hand tawsing, standing in the corner, being sent to be bed early (ideally with no supper!), the threat of being dealt with in public and having to write impositions are so hot for me. Not at the time of course, but just the actual thought of them, either in fantasy or looking back after the event.

A couple of years ago I was in a long-term relationship with a guy who was semi-kinky. Between us we developed a kinky relationship that worked for us both. Lots of hot and kinky sex (primarily for him but I wasn't complaining!) and lots of role play and discipline scenes (all for me.)

When I think back now I find it hard to believe the type of relationship we had or how we made it work for so long. We were functioning almost on some domestic discipline level, but only as and when I felt like it.

I very much controlled things from the bottom, giving him clear signals on what he could punish me for and when I was in the mood to be dealt with. It was a very tricky situation for him, trying to read me properly. While it was horribly frustrating for me as I had to resort to telling him when he should punish me, or that he had missed an opportunity to do so.

In the end we came up with the discipline diary. In it I had to record all the things worthy of punishment and an appropriate punishment for them. Each week he would look at it, express disappoint and give me the exact punishment listed for the week!

I found this diary buried amongst a lot other rubbish when I moved house. Once of the entries was as follows: Tuesday - missed two lectures = 12 whacks with hairbrush

Looking back now I can admit it was a preposterous charade of discipline. In all honesty it was just an extended roleplay scene that manged to make me feel like I was being disciplined although I wasn't really. But I guess it worked in a fashion, at least for a while.

In the past year I've played with many people and had countless wonderful scenes. Mostly roleplays of schools and reformatories and what not along with some very light spur of the moment scenes where I've been a brat or been getting into mischief with other brats.

While I truly love this type of play I still want to explore 'discipline'. And I don't mean domestic discipline or the fake roleplay discipline of above. But discipline for real life things, punishments for me, not a crafted scene with Emma Jane or one of the many other alter egos. Being sent upstairs to be dealt with for some infraction, as and when it happens. Not a role play. A proper punishment that the top wants to administer for more than the turn on of playing. The desire to change something in my behaviour. And I don't mean punishments that results from bratting to high heaven. Cos that's not discipline, that's a fun game!

This subject is one I've been chatting through with HH lately, in advance of my visit this weekend.

In one of my mails I told him:

I'd also like to do more real life stuff, but not with me bratting you majorly, just for things that you'd prefer I didn't do. My mind is in a real need to be disciplined place right now...

His reply showed that as usual he understands where I'm coming from and what I need. But also acknowledges that what I'm asking for is not easy to do and there is a risk involved, on both sides. So we've agreed that it's something we'll explore.

As he says:

I think the "realer" things can't be pushed. It's very good to have consent to explore them (consentual non-consent, of course) but the spaces where it can happen mustn't be rushed. So we will wait until the right opportunity presents itself. And then you may regret your offer...

Hmmm, that's another thing he's probably right about, I may just regret it indeed!

Self-discpline

A couple of weeks back I offered to help a friend out by reviewing a document she had written. I like being helpful and the document was of the type my real life persona would be very interested in reading, so it was no chore at all.

But as eager as I am to help out a friend I can be a bit of a procrastinator and weeks passed before she gave me a gentle reminder to look at it. So we agreed I needed a deadline which just so happened to fall today. And this morning she cheekily threatened to report me to Headmaster Higgins if I missed the deadline!

Well Headmaster Higgins is very scary at the best of times, but getting punished for real life misbehaviour is always way harder than for scene related crimes so I wasn't eager to get into trouble for that reason. Therefore this afternoon I duly sat myself down to do my assignment. To motivate myself further I decided to wear my new school skirt, acquired just yesterday. (It's a fabulous blue and black plaid one and I love it!)

So in full uniform, right down to regulation white knickers and a very tight collar I sat myself down and tried to focus on my task.Then shifted restlessly in my hard chair and tried once more. Until finally I put my head down and got to work.

Once I was done I sent it off to her, changed out of my uniform and then went out to play (well out for coffee with a friend!) completely carefree. I think that's the first time I've ever been happy to actually avoid a punishment!

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.

Remembering the very first time!

Exactly a year a go today I got my first ever spanking in the scene, courtesy of my now good friend Topcat. Up until that point I hadn't been properly spanked in several years, not since the ending of a relationship with my semi-kinky boyfriend.

It's funny since then I've had much harder spankings, much more intense scenes and played with many more people, but I can remember every single detail of that spanking like it was this morning.

As I've mentioned before, I met Topcat on Spankfinder. I'd been on the site just over a month and had been talking to several interesting guys online, none of whom were in Ireland. With one person I had started an online relationship which involved a lot of self spanking and frustration on my part. It was never enough. Back then I was only beginning to realise that my pain threshold was quite high and self spankings were never going to do it for me.

So I was tremendously excited to realise that there were other kinksters in Ireland! When I started chatting to Topcat he very quickly introduced me to his partner Caroline, and her blog. We exchanged an unbelievable amount of emails in a very short space of time, both of us tripping over our words such was our haste to chat.

I bared my soul to her, asking countless questions about the scene. She was the wise old auntie advising and reassuring, even though she is actually younger than me. At the time she wrote two fantastic posts about our correspondence under the titles of Letters to a young spanko I and II. I'd urge you to read them, as she nicely sums up my initial fears of meeting and playing with strangers and her own thoughts about me playing with Topcat. Great advice for all newbies and not so newbies!

At the same time I was also chatting to Topcat about what my kink and what I wanted to do. One of his emails showed that he understood me so much that I was almost afraid to meet with him. He said he knew I needed a 'serious, humbling spanking' and that nothing else would do.

We were all very keen to meet up but they live on the other side of the country and their next visit to Dublin to attend Nimheach fell on the October bank holiday weekend and I was out of the country. However, fate intervened and they ended up staying an extra night in Dublin than planned and invited me to call over to their rented apartment for a cup of tea on my way back from the airport.

The whole journey from the airport to the city centre I was in a state of nervous excitement. Nervous and excited to meet them, but also nervous of what may or may not happen. While we hadn't talked about playing I both hoped and worried that it would happen. But what if it didn't? Or what if worse I couldn't take it? The weight of what I so desperately wanted and needed hung over me. It was a very big deal.

Making a quick pit stop in a nearby hotel I freshened up in the bathroom, even changing my knickers. Pink and blue with dice on them, I thought they were very appropriate!

Going into their apartment my heart was beating so fast I was sure they could hear it and as usual I over-compensated for my nerves by talking nineteen to the dozen. Caroline seemed to do the same and Topcat tried to get a word in here and there. Eventually we calmed down enough to start teasing and bratting and at one stage we ended up on the floor wrestling for the remote control.

On winning it, I promptly hid it from Topcat, denying that I had it. Once he discovered I had indeed hidden it he pronounced the words that sent shivers through me. "I think you need a spanking."

Retreating to my chair I processed the words, trying to figure out if it was a threat or an promise. When he placed a straight backed chair in the centre of the room and looked at me sternly I realised it wasn't just a threat and I was paralysed. I hadn't a clue what to do, both wanting what was coming and not wanting it either.

Caroline thinking my sudden silence was to do with her, promptly took herself off into the next room, but in my head I was begging her not to leave me. Topcat ordered me over his knee and when I hesitated threatened the hairbrush if I wasn't over it by the count of 3.

That served to make my legs work and I propelled myself to his side. I made to go over his knee but he stopped me, telling me to take my trousers down. I did so quickly before throwing myself over his lap, keenly feeling the humiliation.

Pulling me further across his knee until my legs left the floor, I felt very, very small and awfully exposed. Then his hand cracked down and I squeaked in surprise. Even over my knickers that had hurt. I didn't have time to savour the first smack as several more fell in quick succession. I grabbed the legs of the chair and tried not to squirm too much.

It wasn't long before he reached back and pulled my knickers down. I was suddenly very conscious of the fact I was bare bottomed over this guy's knee getting spanked. It was such a mind fuck. The spanking became inconsequential as my mind tried to process what was happening. Over and over I silently screamed "Oh my God I'm getting spanked, I'm actually getting spanked. I'm over his knee, with my trousers and knickers down and he is spanking me!"

At some point Caroline returned to the room and remarked that we looked like we could go on all night. And it was true, while the spanking stung it was quite bearable.

I was ordered to stand up and I did so, shyly adjusting my knickers. So that was it, my first spanking was over. A lil bit of me was disappointed. But before I could think about it fully I was told to fetch the hairbrush from the bag on the table.

It was a further humiliation to enjoy, hobbling across the room with my trousers down at my ankles, as I fetched the brush. It felt heavy and scary and the nerves came back again.

Once more I was settled across his knee and he tugged my knickers down without any ceremony. The first whack of the brush made me jump, no comparison to his hand at all. Having already got the measure of what I could take he laid them on fairly hard and gave me 20 in fairly quick succession. Despite my best efforts I was yelping and squirming across his lap praying he would soon stop. I had no time to over-think it, this bloody hurt.

Finally we were done and I was more ready to stop this time. We hugged and I thanked him very nicely for my spanking. Caroline laughed at me as I winced sitting down, but my bottom throbbed deliciously. Then we went back to having tea and biscuits as civilised as you like, as if I hadn't just been spanked. But despite my outward calmness I was as high as a kite.

When I got home that night I excitedly pulled my knickers down and examined my bottom in the mirror for ages. I had a beautiful set of bruises on both cheeks. No-one could deny that I had been spanked and I was in my element. I was already addicted and wanted more, more, more.

Time management

Just woken up and spent a few minutes wondering why the time on my phone is different to the time on my computer. Sleepily I figured it out, daylight saving and all that and the happy upshot is that I now have an extra hour to play around with.

So what to do with the hour?

I could and perhaps should, email all those people who I haven't got round to replying to over the past few weeks when I was sick and then working flat out at work to make up for being sick (it's a recession don't ya know!)

Or I could get ahead of myself and write some posts for Winterbrook. Although so far I haven't found it overly difficult, but I know it will get harder as the novelty wears off somewhat and ideas get scarcer. But right now my characters write themselves. One of them in particular just jumps off the page and I wouldn't dare try to edit her strong will!

The funniest thing I found about writing for it, and I think Eliane will agree, I got so caught up in writing their stories and were so into their characters that it became very hard to let them be spanked. Poor Jon Thorn had to have endless patience convincing us to allow our characters be punished at all, let alone perish the thought we would write an actual spanking ourselves. (Is that not the point of a kinky story blog I hear you ask?)

It did happen eventually though and now I'm over the trauma, I could probably do it again so perhaps with this extra hours I'll write another punishment scene.

Hmmm or I could take out all my kinky clothes and play dress up for upcoming playdates. That would be so much fun. I could put on one of my regency dresses and bloomers and pumps and waltz around the house pretending to be Lady Grace and ordering imaginary servants about. Maybe I could even go to the shops and confuse the poor tourists who are always in abundance around here.

Or I could take out my little porn library and read up on a few favorites. Except that might make me a lil bit excited and want to do other things. So maybe I should just let my mind wander and see where it goes. Yes, I should just give up on trying to do anything useful with this extra hour and have a nap, a naughty nap...