The truth shall set you free

So I bit the bullet and told another 'nilla about my secret life. Lets call her Morena. I'd been thinking of telling her for a long time. I've known her almost ten years and she's a very chilled and easy going person and one of my closest friends. Deep down I knew she'd probably be fine with it, but the doubt was always there. That fear of a negative reaction. Of being ridiculed.

Funnily it was so often on the tip of my tongue to tell her, but I couldn't get the words out. It didn't help that very early on I tried to suss her out by saying I'd met some new friends online. The friends at the time being Frank and Caroline. When she reacted by asking me was I swinging I was very much put off, believing my fears proven, she wouldn't understand.

When we met last week I hadn't planned on telling her. There wasn't even any wine involved either! But as she asked about my weekends away, both past and upcoming I was suddenly weary of all the lying. Lately I've been feeling very overwhelmed by living this secret life. As much as I try to keep the details to a minimum and share only the activities that are non-kinky, it still involves some lying on my part. (Expert lying I might add but that's another day's post.) So in this mood of wanting to be honest I told her and nervously awaited her response.

It was not what I expected. Not only was she perfectly fine with it, she was actually interested! Delighted almost. Curious certainly. And she admitted to some skeletons in her own closest that we giggled over too.

Her only issue was how I could have kept it from her for so long. It was difficult to explain the fear behind my secrecy, especially in the face of her own openness and understanding. And when I told her of my early attempts to tell her, she admitted she had suspected something kinky but not in a negative way at all.

I haven't told her many details, just that I'm into a lot of kinky stuff, some sexual and some not so sexual. That I play with different people, in roleplay and re-enactments. She urged me to go for it and do whatever made me happy, assuring me it wasn't weird at all. And was positively envious of the upcoming Regency House Party. We discussed my blog and she asked for the link but I told her I wasn't ready for that yet. Mostly because I'm not sure she understands how honest I am on here, how much I tell and whether she'd be comfortable with reading some of my more intense scenes. That most of my play is not sexual, that it's the deep emotional reaction that I crave and that I can suffer a lot of pain in the process.

Telling her made me feel wonderful, not only to have told her but to see her react so positively. I felt the two sides of me fused a lil bit more and gave me hope that one day I won't have any secrets from my close friends. Something I dearly wish.

So now I think I may tell another one, but not just yet. Carefully does it and all that. Still I'm emboldened by Morena's reaction, even if she did get slightly upset when I called her vanilla. Oooops!

All in the preparation

Lord Fawcett's annual Regency House Party is merely days away and I am very excited! I'm also a little hassled as I finish my preparations for attending. Of course I only have to sort myself out so can only imagine what Jessica's stress levels are like as she sorts everything and everybody out, I am in awe!

My hassles are mainly cos I either can't find the stuff I did have or realising I don't have everything I should have. That's despite Bex and Jessica lending me all my dresses and the fact I've been shopping for months! I still had to run around town on Saturday buying last minute bits and pieces. Making my luggage even heavier, and my purse much, much lighter. But I couldn't resist one more pair of stockings, and two more hairpieces, and just another pair of gloves and a third pashmina...

Then there was the great shoe debacle where I couldn't find my shoes for my green ballgown. Two days, a trip home to raid the sister's wardrobe, an unsuccessful shopping trip and much cursing later I finally discovered them hidden in the back of my wardrobe. (Although Lord knows who put them there???!) Today's drama was over not having a big enough suitcase for all of the above. *SIGH*

Now, I only have a few outstanding chores to do. Some light sewing, just a few minor alterations to my dresses. Then there's deciding which of my hundred pairs of underwear I need to bring with me.

And lastly, but very importantly I have to brush up on the history and manners of the period. Lady Grace is not a blue stocking by any means but she must have some idea of the politics of her day. She did live in Ireland in very interesting times with the Act of Union and all that. Then there's the manners of the day to swot up on.

To this end I'll be studying a Brief Guide to the Regency that Jessica helpfully supplied. As well as watching Pride and Prejudice. The BBC drama version. You know, six hours of Colin Firth being all domly, mmmm. The lengths one must go to in the name of being prepared...

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:

'I spilled your vintage champagne Elaine? Oh well, if you will leave it in my way.'

'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!'

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.

Suffering for their art

So Eliane and I duly met with Jon Thorn to act out some Winterbrook scenes. Here's a brief overview of what we got up to.

~~~

Charlotte and Lucy duly attended for their appointment with Sir George and he was terribly harsh with them. Firstly Charlotte was given her punishment for leaving the house without permission. He did not readily believe that she had just gotten lost in the search for a different quality of air. Oh how he spluttered at that one.

10 hard strokes rained down on her bottom, with not even a hand spanking to warm her up.

Then Lucy was punished for her lack of manners and oh how she made it worse by her continuous answering back. Charlotte despaired for her.

But it didn't end there. Sir George decided a punishment imposition was called for. Each were given several pens and a sheet of paper along with a list of precise instructions for writing the essay the title of which was "The efficacy of Corporal Punishment in instilling virtue and manners in a young lady"

1. The essay shall cover one side of one sheet of paper.
2. You will rule a left margin, in green, of exactly one inch..
3. The title shall be doubly underlined in blue.
4. The rest of the essay shall be written in pencil.
5. Your name shall be written in the top right hand corner and the bottom left hand corner.
6. There shall be no mistakes in spelling, grammar or layout, no crossings out or corrections.

Immediately Charlotte was in trouble for writing her title before ruling her margin. A swift spanking over the knee ensued. Then it was unlucky Lucy who wrote her title in blue instead of underlining it in blue. She too got spanked.

After many false starts and interruptions for whispering and making mistakes, Charlotte managed to finish her essay. Unfortunately writing one big sentence in large letters across the page was not well received with Sir George. Another spanking for her now tender bottom. Cruelly he continued to spank her until Lucy finished her own essay, but that didn't pass muster either.

Poor Charlotte and Lucy thought they might be there all night but Sir George also despaired of that and decided to thrash them both soundly. And so Lucy got a paddling and then 40 with a strap.

Then Charlotte, as the elder, who should really have set an example to her wayward little sister, got a lengthily and hard caning. Such a red and sore bottom she had, 85 strokes later....

Method writing

We little band of writers at Winterbrook are such perfectionists about our writing. Not only do we agonise for ages over what to write and whether it's worth reading at all (well at least I do anyway!) but we feel the scenes must be as realistic as possible.

OK so we may not be always historically accurate or write in exactly the Edwardian language of the time, but we do try.

But where we can ensure we are being as true is possible, is to describe the punishment scenes realistically. Unfortunately for us, the only way for that to happen is to play out the scenes with each other. Yes, we need to experience very sore bottoms indeed in this quest for accuracy!

Therefore it is with some reluctance (well actually no reluctance at all!!) that Charlotte and Lucy are presenting themselves to Sir George today to taste his cane for real.

I do hope our dear readers appreciate the sacrifices that Eliane and I make for our writing.

Having the last word

When I'm not doing very intense, serious scenes as described in my last post, I do tend to have a lil fun during my play. Admittedly that doesn't happen that often with HH. We're both deep headspace players and prefer to play that way with each other. I keep bratting to a minimum, unless there is somone else around to spark off and even then I don't go too far, as I know he doesn't like it.

But the other morning as he was unsuccessfully trying to get me out of bed (hey I was tired and it was only 10am!) my brattiness surfaced. Upon hearing he was going to give me a gentle wake-up spanking, I pouted and turned away muttering grumpily that I didn't care, it still wouldn't wake me up.

Upon hearing that my gentle spanking had just been increased to something more severe I still pouted brattily. And even when the horrid slipper was raining down on my bottom, I tried to pretend I was still asleep. Of course I counted myself very lucky that he was whacking me at close range. It still hurt, but no comparison to when I'm bent over and he throws his full weight behind it!

It was actually kinda nice, even if it did sting. When he'd done he leaned over for a hug and we cuddled and that's when I tried to get the last word in, telling him I hoped he'd learned his lesson, that'd he think twice about waking me up again, that the grumpiness was hardly worth it.

His resulting laughter lulled me into a false sense of security and I grinned at him cheekily. Even when he got off the bed I didn't suspect anything until he returned, with a cane! The pure evilness of it all shocked me to the core. Oh the injustice.

Over the pillows with my knickers down I had to go and endure several sharp cuts of the cane. Although I must admit it did little to improve my grumpiness, but I took it bravely. Some might say defiantly. Still I was glad when he was done and ready for a proper hug.

But oh no, apparently I was now sufficiently awake, but still too grumpy for his liking. I watched him set the straight backed chair in the centre of the room and tried not to throw a tantrum when he picked up the heavy hairbrush. I was genuinely confused how I came from a gentle hand spanking to this (via a caning and slippering!).

Thankfully he kept it relatively short and I decided to give up the grumpiness and brattiness for a while. Bloody hairbrushes are my undoing and well he knows it. Still, I like to fantasise that I indeed had had the last word and that it was him that learned his lesson, not me. Hmmm a girl can dream...

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.