That feeling...

I've got that swoopy feeling in my tummy. You know, that squirmy, oh oh I'm in trouble, eeek feeling.

It started with a cheeky email, sent to that person, after a few glasses of fizz. It was bratty and provoking and he responded on form. Surely time to back down? Oh no, I haven't felt bratty in a long time, best to go all out, not leave him in any doubt of my intentions. Hence, I bravely declared that he didnt scare me: oh no, not a bit.

But sometimes he knows me better than I know myself. Today there was a short message: "I expect you've been regretting this. If not, you will." Not a threat, you see, but a promise. Now I'm properly scared; deliciously so. You see, I haven't felt properly scared in a long time, wouldn't let myself be. So yes, I'm worried that my bratting will be dealt with, know it will hurt and that I'll be crying regretfully. But at the same time I'm welcoming that feeling, so long absent.

And enjoying that feeling whilst still being properly scared is the delicious contradiction of consensual kink, right?

The words won't come...

I'm waving shyly at you lovely readers and hoping my absence will be excused. That's the first problem I face returning to the blog that I have shamefully neglected. Shameful not just because of the perceived neglect of the readers I've had for so long, but the neglect of myself and my need to document and process.

All I can offer is that it's been a challenging couple of months with health issues and family and personal stresses. But I feel in a better place now; not a perfect place, but a good place. Nothing is easy, but nothing is impossible either. Kink wise I'm playing with the people I love and trust the most and when play doesn't work out I still feel safe and cared for. And I'm surrounded by my friends, some of whom happen to be kinky, but it's not the defining link anymore. As ever my family are special and important.

Finding energy and space to write hasn't been a priority, yet I know I'm missing out on so much: I miss my blog and I miss my readers. But the words won't come. I want to talk about the wonderful kinky weekends and parties I've had and been too, the scenes that were great and the people I love. But the words won't come. And nor will the capacity to process the more difficult elements: the scenes that didn't work; the sudden and irrational anger, frustrations and jealousies; the relationships and groups dynamics that are tough to navigate. The words just won't come.

So here are some pictures to keep you close to me and let's all hope the words come back, when they're ready, when I'm ready.

I celebrated my 30th birthday recently and had a party with a London Blitz theme - the house was decorated in blitz style and all our guests wore 1940's costumes, and thanks to Lucy, all had perfect 1940s hair too. Below is just one of the many decorations and posters my dear Catherine Thomas made for the party! And the fabulous cake Kinky Ella made (using all her ration for months to do it!). Of course I went as an evacuee, determined that EJ's girly spirit was just as strong, even in my 30s ;-)

I've been trying to improve my overall health by getting fit and having a better diet. HH and Abel are very supportive of this, so much so they delight in over-seeing my training. This is all for my own good you see; as is caning me as extra motivation. Nothing whatsoever to do with their sadistic natures, apparently.

The last two are from a recent weekend away in the darkest countryside with HH and Abel - a weekend where I was their play thing, abused and used for their pleasure. Abel has written a great post about it here, for those of you who would like more detail. But I think these two pictures tell it all: the submissive girl, birch in hand going to meet her fate and the broken girl, sore and sobbing but yet feeling comforted and safe by those who know her best.

Happy New Year!

I couldn't decide which photo to use on Christmas Day and in the end I took the lazy option and decided to share the other picture with you today.

It was taken by HH, at Kinky Towers; a fabulous venue hired by Abel for a kinky weekend with some of our closest friends. This was just one of the amazing rooms in the house; a medieval kitchen with huge fireplace.

I love how vulnerable I look, shivering naked in the fireplace, a little girl in the enormous room. This was taken just after a particularly severe scene with Abel and HH, which I intend to blog about later, but it's enough to say that the redness of my bottom and thighs only tells half the story!

I hope that my Kinky 2012 will have the same ingredients as this picture has: sadistic partners, pain, humiliation, great friends and fabulous weekends of pure escapism. Happy 2012 everyone!

Merry Christmas!

Thank you, dear readers, for your support again this year; particularly in the past few months where I've been distracted by real life and not blogging as frequently as I'd like to.

As I said in my last post, I see my blog as a safe place where I can be me. From the start I've loved processing aloud, sharing my thoughts with you all. But, increasingly, I'm also enjoying sharing the photographs that capture the spirit of me.

This year's photo was taken by my good friend Master Retep during a visit to Camden Town over the summer. It's very fitting as this year's photo, symbolising the main change in my life this year - the move to London. But also showing EJ's cheeky, girly side that lurks within the confident career girl who more regularly travels on the London Underground.  And the faint blush of a smacked bottom reminds me that I'm never too far away from my next spanking.

I hope you love this photo as much as I do. To my surprise and delight, Abel had it printed on canvas for me and it now proudly adorns my bedroom wall.

Merry Christmas to you all and I wish you lots of love and good fortune in 2012!

Safe Places

When I was little my Grandmother’s house was a safe place; a refuge from the world of alcoholic parents screaming at each other, and being the eldest child who grew up very quickly. A place where I didn’t have to be in charge and where I was unconditionally loved.

Uni was my next safe place. Living away from home, making new friends, getting involved in things that interested me and for the first time feeling it was all about me. 

In myrew up very quickly. r ng the eldest chidl ld  kinky life my blog became another safe place. Where I processed my new experiences and grew up in the scene.  Amelia Jane put it best when she said her blog is her sitting room where she invites you in to sit down for a chat, but it’s her place and you are a guest.

I feel like that about my blog. It’s my personal place where I talk about what’s important to me in the scene and in my kinky life, sharing with other like-minded people.  But I have been reluctant to let too much of my real life invade this safe place. I preferred to record and live my kinky life only. I’ve never even talked about why I like discipline and rules in my kink, as so many others dissect. The truth is: I’m text book Freud; I grew up without either, I’ve always felt an adult in my house and I love to regress to be without responsibility. In my real life I am organised, controlling and at times domineering.

Apart from discipline and submission I love the catharsis of play. When I’m feeling vulnerable and emotional in my real life I find it empowering to play dark and abusive scenes, where I immerse myself fully and come out the other side having survived.

In roleplay I also get to act out another life. Caoilfhionn is the smart, sporty girl that’s uber confident. Lucy Plackett is the bitch I never was, even if I was capable of it. My Regency ladies are pretty, accomplished  and composed; the equal of everyone else.

And sometimes my EJ is petulant and moody. Sometimes she says things that aren’t nice. But luckily people who care about her don’t let her get away with it. The residual guilt that being nasty leaves me, is effectively dealt with through punishment. 

But despite those intentions real life is creeping in. I can’t explain where my head is at without giving real life context. And where my head is at, influences my play. Which is why back in May I blogged about losing a member of my family; I needed to process the link to roleplay and feeling disconcertingly disgusted by my kink.

Once again I find myself dealing with another family trauma; this time it’s my Grandmother. She’s dying of cancer and I am scared of losing my safe place.  As I come to terms with it I am leaning on my friends who are staying with me, despite the tears, rage and irrationality; a tantrum of epic proportions.

All my friends are being so supportive it’s humbling. Whilst both HH and Abel are offering shoulders to cry on, hugs for when I’m cried out, gentle admonishments when I’m out of line and discipline when the subsequent guilt sets in. The most powerful of which happened at Kink Towers, when HH strapped me for being a bitch and Abel observed. When I petulantly asked why was he even bothering if I was such a nuisance, his patient answer made me cry before the strap landed.

I’m hoping that opening up my blog to these things won’t take away the safety of it. After a couple of years in the scene I thought I didn’t have anything else to learn. The past six months have taught me I can’t pretend kink and real life can be kept separate. I can’t switch one off when I please; they both clamour for my attention and both insist on impacting the other.

Just as my friendships can no longer be defined as kinky or vanilla. They are simply friendships and how we met is now irrelevant. And the ones that have prospered the most are those where all aspects of our lives intertwine, easily and beautifully. I have found another safe place.

Getting over my 'difficulties'

My past few visits to HH have seen me arrive in an odd mood; last weekend was true to form. Despite looking forward to the visit and the weekend of play, despite having discussed scenes in advance, despite knowing on this occasion I was due a punishment as soon as I arrived (and had been worrying appropriately!), despite all this I refused to play. Not in a bratty, whiny way - just in a 'you must be kidding' type of way.

So we chilled for the evening and before bed I got a firm hand spanking which I just about coped with. The next day my punishment was duly delivered and I was as contrite and well disciplined as you can imagine. I had stopped being 'difficult', for a while at least and I felt at peace.

It lasted until bed-time, when HH reminded me that bed time spankings on the day of a punishment are always given with a hairbrush, hard. I tried not to be rebellious about it; I tried to be accepting. But as the hairbrush rained down so hard, biting my skin, I got angry: at the pain, at him, at the world. And semi intentionally went quiet, channelling my anger and frustration into breaking him into stopping. A few more whacks and I was let up. I had succeeded. If I was a clever girl  I'd have been very contrite, realised I got away slightly lighter than I should have and breathed a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately I'm not a clever girl: I stood up in a huff and pulled my knickers and pj bottoms up, without asking permission. (As you may recall from a previous post of mine, the asking of permission is a big deal in our play.) When he sat me on his knee and patiently told me off for being difficult I caved in - admitted that I knew I could manipulate him into stopping, that I was increasingly trying to top from the bottom.

He nodded, then put me back over his knee and hair-brushed me til I begged him to stop. Then hair-brushed me some more, until I was crying limply over his knee, not resisting anymore. To drive the message home he caned me on my thighs.

I really hoped that was the end of my being difficult. Discipline and obedience is my core kink - I can't allow myself to undermine HH's authority (that I imposed on him!) or we'll lose the dynamic that works in this type of play. And in other role pay we do, where I give myself totally to him and get lost in the depths of those feelings.

When we discussed scenes to play the next day this was heavy on my mind. I told him I wanted to be scared, to understand how fully in his power I could be, to beg for mercy and really mean it. I wanted to play with the disobedience and disappointment; my feelings, not his. My kink swings may frustrate him but he didn't feel he needed to make a point of it. Nor does he require my obedience because he wants it, but because he knows it's what I need.

To make it work on that level I wanted to be me in the scene: EJ. However, I knew this would cause a dilemma for HH, as he can't really be truly evil unless he's role-playing someone else. Therefore I suggested that I was to be sent to a master disciplinarian to be taught a lesson - that HH had sent me away to be broken and returned to him with a new attitude.

This led to a very interesting dynamic - I really felt that it wasn't HH I was paying with, especially as he taunted me about 'HH' during the scene. During the final pain and humiliation I actually begged out loud for HH; it was scary and weird all at once.

As he prepared the play room for the scene, I lay on the bed, worrying. I was trying to prepare myself for the pain ahead. Trying to talk myself into an accepting space. I knew if I got angry or defiant in the scene at all the consequences would be horrific.

When the time came he ordered me to strip naked. As I watched nervously, he attached cuffs to my ankles and wrists and a posture collar to my neck. The latter forced me to look up which was particularly cruel; I couldn't hide from his derision.

Upstairs the sight of the wooden pony made me feel ill. For those of you unfamiliar with it, below is an excerpt from the last blog post I wrote about it:

A narrow plank of wood suspended from the ceiling. One at a time we were placed straddling it, legs held apart with a spreader bar, wrists cuffed to an elastic rope above. As the plank was winched higher, our legs were too strained to support us and the pressure between our legs became unbearable.

The elastic above gave false hope. The more you pulled the lower it would drop down giving no relief.

At first the wood between my legs was bearable, eased slightly as I tried to sit back, leaning on my bottom, whilst he twisted and whipped my nipples and breasts. But then he made me sit less comfortably, by attaching clamps to my nipples and dragging me forward. This was the first of many times in the scene that I begged.

I tried hard to bear it - closed my eyes, bit my lips, tugged on the elastic above my head. Until I couldn't stand it anymore and the pain swelled to unbearable depths. (I really have no tolerance for nipple clamps!) At the point my begging became near hysterical he counted down from 20 so slowly it felt like each second was a minute. Finally he released each nipple by pulling the clamp off sharply, to a piercing scream from me; I sobbed pitifully.

When he raised the pony even higher a whole new wave of pain overcame me, my legs straining to tiptoe higher, my arms desperately pulling on the elastic. By the time he let me off the pony he had already broken me. What followed next was just gratuitous pain.

He lay me on my back on the bed, my legs suspended in the air with my ankles chained to the beam above. My thighs were completely exposed, pulled tight and at his full mercy. As he picked up the bean paddle I whimpered in fear. I hate the bean paddle. Imagine a small scale oar, the head about the size of a regular paddle with a longish handle. The head is thin and whippy and very shiny and it feels like the worst combination of a thin leather strap and a wooden paddle.

My fear was not in vain, the paddle whipped down on my thighs and crease until I screamed and sobbed and then could only whimper. In between his hands probed and hurt me with smacks raining down between my legs, on the front of my thighs, my breasts, my face - everywhere was game and I was powerless to stop him.

The final six with the paddle left me a hyperventilating mess. I had to count each stroke but the garbled words could barely be understood. This merely made him laugh. When he stopped he grabbed my face and asked me would I be a better girl for HH in the future. I swore I would, then begged with all my heart to go back to him.

But he wasn't finished yet - one last abuse executed without compassion, that left me under no illusion of who was in charge. My last tears fell quietly as I tried to pretend I wasn't there, that it didn't hurt, that he wasn't destroying me completely.

I eventually got 'HH' back for some much needed cathartic tears and cuddles, and needless to say I wasn't a bit difficult for the rest of the visit. I dread the thought of having to revisit this man, but feel reassured knowing he's there if needed, to help me get over my difficulties...

A painful review

As those of you who are regular readers of The Spanking Writers will know, Abel is somewhat of a collector of implements. In one of his recent posts he listed a helpful Implement Rollmaker of Honour. Two of the entries in particular caught my eye.

The first was the Claire's Accessories hairbrush which seemed incongruous amongst the others:

"For hairbrushes: it just has to be Mason Pearson – although, bizarrely, I found the most gorgeous cheap brush in Claire’s Accessories when Emma Jane and I were on holiday in Belgium last month, which was very robust but not too severe, and worked rather beautifully"

I had to agree with Abel's assessment, and as you can see below it's a very cute and girly brush, but packed quite a sting and reddened me very nicely!

The second was the list of cane makers:

"For canes: Prysm, Maui Kink, Can-iac and Quality Control. Jack’s Floggers are also recommended (although try finding them at places such as the LAM; I never managed to get a reply to my requests to buy their canes online)."

It reminded me I still hadn't tried his new canes from Prysm.

On my next visit we put that to rights, with six strokes of each swiftly delivered, as blogged by Abel. And then once my favourite (read most painful) one had been established I got many more until a full sixty striped me all over!

I hope you readers appreciate the pains I go to to provide detailed reports on new implements!