Monthly Archives: September 2011

When I was five, I started Kindergarten at the local Public School. There, I made my first friend. We went over to each others houses as much as we could and confided all our secrets to one and other. My friend brought spanking up first: otherwise, I don’t think I’d have ever mentioned it, due to the deep sense of shame and secrecy surrounding my spanking thoughts and desires from the very start. My friend, however, was spanked at home, and she asked me if I was. I answered yes, because I believed that was the answer that would lead to the most conversation on the subject. We exchanged stories about the spankings that we had received, mine, of course, being entirely fabricated. They were easy to create, though: I had a thousand stories I’d made up floating around in my head. 
Up until very recently, I was afraid to even think about spanking in the presence of others. Although it concerned me in no other situation, when it came to spanking, I was afraid that there was a psychic nearby who would violate my mental privacy and know my deepest, darkest thoughts and desires. Once I began school my home life became more complicated and I no longer had long hours to pass alone in my room whacking teddy bears, but my spanking obsession was not satisfied by the conversations my friend and I shared: instead, it increased tenfold. I began a habit of lying in bed before I fell asleep and in the safety and privacy of my dark room, making up complex spanking fantasies. This practice never left me, but now I generally relive the events that took place during one of my favorite spanking memories instead of making up a new story. 
My original stories, like my pretends, included plenty of the elements that I still identify as my favorite aspects of a spanking, but they were otherwise rather bland. I knew that I had no desire to be spanked by my family members; the very idea of it made me uncomfortable. This left me with a large problem: I had no one to spank me in my fantasies. I solved this problem by creating the most boring characters ever. The Tops in my stories were faceless, they had very generic names and they existed exclusively to deliver spankings to girls like me. The spankings themselves were extremely formulaic: I actually knew very little about what a spanking was: I knew that they were generally delivered across a lap and to a bared bottom, that they hurt and produced redness, struggling and tears and that they were primarily a disciplinary act. Because the idea of spankings with an implement had not yet crossed my mind, the main variation that I could create in my stories was the “set up”: I indulged in creating complex situations why I (or my clone character) would receive a spanking. I focused on the “before” since the actual spanking scene was almost always the same and I didn’t really have much sense of an “after.” The spanking ended and the story stopped being interesting. 
While making up stories about ways in which a clever girl like myself could get into trouble and be spanked was quite fun, I eventually grew bored of the repetition. It was from this boredom that I first began to create interesting characters to provide the spankings.
It was at this point that I invented an interesting character to deliver spankings, and it was also around this time that the stuff I was making up became truly memorable.The first character I created was a male teacher. I don’t remember what his original name was, but it was something rather silly–– I was not good at making up names. At first, I focused on school and education as themes in my stories and fantasies very strongly when I was young because I had an unsatisfactory home life and I very much saw the world in terms of a home/school binary. Plus, I was heavily addicted to reading and loved, as I still do, almost all parts of academia. The Teacher was friendly and fun, but became instantly serious when the occasion arose. It was in the stories involving this character that I first associated caring or affection with spanking: The Teacher lead his class with a heavy hand, but it was out of a sense of some sort of love and a desire for what was best for a girl like me. He spanked me and the other girls firmly but fairly, and always with a somber attitude of regretting having to punish us at all. 
The second Top character that developed came from a rather old idea of mine: as a child, I wanted to grow up to be the assistant of an Evil Genius. I’m not *entirely* sure where this whole thing started, but I’m sure it has to do with the fact that I spent a considerable amount of time reading comic books as a girl. I’ve always enjoyed the dark, brooding characters, and I love the idea of finding a way to worm my way into the heart that they so long denied existed. I imagined going to work for some Evil Genius who was bitter and mean and hell-bent on taking over the world. Why? Because he’s Evil! (This fantasy clearly arose before I came to a full understanding of antagonist motivations in many of the works that I enjoyed.) The Evil Genius didn’t like me at first, and he was frequently mean to me on purpose because that’s what Evil people did for fun. Over time, after I worked hard and withstood his torments, he came to care about me, and maybe even admit it every once in a while. 
I don’t know why it took me as long as it did to incorporate spanking into The Evil Genius Fantasy, but once I did, it worked perfectly. While The Teacher was very serious and sad to have to punish a girl, The Evil Genius set me up to fail in order to have an excuse to punish me harshly and then delighted in it. He teased me and tempted me and when I gave in, he took great joy in spanking me until I cried and screamed. I didn’t realize it at the time, of course, but what I had found in this fantasy was Sadism, and my desire to be on the receiving end of it. 
During these years I had a nagging guilt and sense of shame when indulging in creating these spanking fantasies, but I was still young enough that I didn’t really worry about things too much. I did not, however, believe that I would ever actually receive a spanking. In the same way that I knew that Professor Xavier was never going to show up at my home, explain to my mother that I was a mutant and then whisk me away for training at his School for Gifted Youngsters, I was quite positive that men like The Teacher and The Evil Genius did not exist in the world and that the Spankingland of my fantasies was just as unreal as one filled with telekinetics, winged men and girls who shot fireworks from their fingertips. It didn’t stop me from wishing for spankings on every shooting star and birthday cake candle, though.

Yesterday, I posted about how I relate to the origin and history of the BDSM community. Today, I want to start a series of posts that will explore my personal origins and history as a spanko. To begin this adventure, we have to go all the way back to the beginning of my existence: my oldest brother recently told me that when I was just two years old, he saw me spanking my stuffed animals while playing with them. I don’t think I even remember being two, but I remember thinking about spanking and playing pretends that involved spanking from as early as I can remember: probably around the time that I was three. 

Having two older brothers, until I went to school and made a couple of female friends I generally engaged in two kinds of play: I either rough-housed with the boys as much as I was welcome or I played alone in my bedroom with my toys. It was during this time when I was alone and isolated (since my bedroom was the only one on that floor of the house) that I engaged in acting out my spanking fantasies. I always looked around to make sure that no one had snuck into the room to observe me before I flipped a doll or stuffed animal across my lap and smacked its bottom. Stuffed animals were more fun for me to spank because I didn’t have to worry about breaking them or making a strange noise, but dolls came with the added excitement of flipping up skirts and pulling down panties. 

This particular bear spent a lot of time over my lap when I was a girl. 

When I first started toy-spanking, there was no pretend, no roleplay and no details. I simply grabbed a toy and began to spank. As I grew older and I acquired a few Barbies, I began to create story lines and situations involving reoccurring characters. The spankings that my Barbies gave each other (and sometimes my other toys) were punitive: they occurred because of some silly doll offensive and included scolding, which I only expressed in my mind for fear of being overheard, and on occasion, corner time.There’s something about remembering this which fascinates me: I grew up in a household where no corporal punishment was used. I don’t even know how I became aware of spanking. I’ve almost felt as if I was born with basic spanking knowledge. When I first spanked my toys as a three year old, I held them across my lap and bared their bottoms. Within a year or so, I was putting Barbies in corners. I’d never been sent to a corner before. I interacted extremely little with the media and I have no memory of ever seeing a spanking scene in a movie. The only book I remember including spanking was “Bedtime for Francis,” in which the spanking was only threatened and therefore it did not include an illustration. Yet I knew all these things, quite a few of the details that would remain important and near to my heart for the rest of my spanking life, before I began to interact with children outside my family. 

The most logical answer to this question is that I somehow learned these things, through a story told by a family friend maybe, or some book that I do not remember, earlier than I can remember. Whatever it was, I don’t believe that it created this fascination and desire in me. The potency with which spanking began to occupy my mind, even when I was so young, suggests to me that it awakened something that was laying dormant in me (but only lay for a very short time). This is a large part of the reason why I find my identity as a spanko so core to my general sense of self: I remember a time before I knew most of the things about myself. I can even vaguely remember not being able to read (I learned to read at a basic level when I was three), yet I can’t remember a time before spanking mattered to me. 

Another aspect of my relationship to spanking which was, unfortunately, part of my life from the very beginning was embarrassment and shame. I knew that I toy-spanking was something that was only to be engaged in when I was alone, and I felt a sense of guilt and an idea that I was in someway strange or wrong for indulging in my thoughts. There was no time when I was without the heavy burden that my spanking desires were in some way immoral, harmful, dark or just plain wrong. The struggle to combat these feelings and accept myself began in my early childhood, and would come to be a defining feature of my experience as a spanko for many years. 

As I mentioned in my last post, I headed up to Folsom Street Fair last weekend with three of my friends from the Los Angeles scene. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing, but I’m very glad that I ended up going. For those who are not familiar, Folsom Street Fair is the world’s largest BDSM gathering and is held every year in San Francisco. It has a very heavy Leather focus and is largely (but by no means exclusively) attended by gay men. I was warned in advance that San Francisco’s kink scene in general, and especially the fair, had a much stronger presence of Old Guard practices and high protocol. 
In order to explain why attending this event was a rather big step for me, there are a few things that need to be established first. I identify as a spanko, and I didn’t really see Spankingland as being a subset of the BDSM community. I’ve always viewed it as a similar but parallel community that often gets lumped together with BDSM due to said similarities. At my worst, I can get downright snobby about the differences between spankos and “regular” kinksters. I’ve often felt slightly out of place in the general kink community. My move to Los Angeles and my involvement in the scene here, however, changed some of these feelings. I discovered that not only did I have a place within the scene, but I was able to become a group leader and event organizer. I even went so far as to get myself involved in local Leather politics on the side of female submissives with male Dominants. Despite these things, I still felt very ill at ease around anything stemming directly from the Old Guard tradition. It’s a tradition that was founded around something very specific which has nothing to do with me. Protocol has always felt to me like it was trying to force the wide world of kink into a tiny, black leather box. I want my relationships, my experience and what I participate in my community to be my own, with everything tailored to my needs, desires and comforts.
Still, no matter what other feelings exist, I love the people I’ve become close to through the scene in Los Angeles. Whenever I’ve felt like an outsider, or like I don’t truly belong, the people have kept me coming back. I headed up to Folsom mostly because of the people: I wanted to have an adventure with my friends. In a way, though, it was a quest for better understanding of the larger kink community and whether or not I belong within it. 
We had a good time driving from Los Angeles to San Francisco. We had fast food, we chatted, we had a passionate sing-along rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” and we honked the horn all the way through every tunnel. We rolled into San Francisco after dark and checked into our hotel, then showered and got ready to go to The Citadel, one of their local Play-Spaces. We met up with a friend’s (scene) Daddy and Mommy and headed over with them. 
I’ve only played in BDSM Play-Spaces a handful of times, and I’ve never played anywhere that allowed sexual contact, so seeing the amount of straight out sex that was happening at The Citadel made me slightly uncomfortable. It isn’t that I’m any stranger to sex, it’s simply that sex and kink simply do not mix for me. My brain kept coming up with error messages as I observed a latex clad Mistress pegging a man in a sex swing right next to a man whipping a nude girl in high heels. Eventually, though, I got more comfortable, although I don’t think I would ever be comfortable being spanked in a setting like that. The dim lighting, the fancy, intimidating looking bondage furniture and the industrial soundtrack were cool, but they certainly didn’t “do it” for me. 

None of us really ended up playing at The Citadel, but it was interesting to get to observe another city’s scene. Aside from the sex, it really didn’t seem that different than what I’ve observed at Play-Spaces in Los Angeles. There seemed to be a pretty even mix of men and women, and I didn’t feel any different attitude towards protocol or tradition. Maybe, it occurred to me, I was worrying about nothing. We got back to the hotel fairly late and I was too sleepy to go with my friends to Denny’s, so I went up to the room and fairly immediately fell asleep. I woke up later to eat the french toast they brought back for me with my hands, then fell immediately back to sleep. I love sleeping.

It was a gray day at first.

The next morning, we got up, spent a while getting dressed and then headed down to the fair. On our way over, we stopped at the store Mr. S Leather. Let me tell you: “unacceptable” does not even begin to cover my feelings towards the implements they sell there. They had metal canes, paddles covered in corse sandpaper, paddles made entirely of some kind of awful, dense rubber that made my rubber “running track” paddle (which is up there on the list of things that make me cry) look positively snuggly and things that they called “slappers” but I’d call “excessive force for riot control.” I also got to handle something that I’ve long considered “unacceptable”: a wooden paddle with a piece of tire tread set inside of it. I left there with a strange set of warm and affectionate feelings towards all of my implements ;). 
Upon entering the fair itself, I felt rather uncomfortable by the variety of people representing their various niches that surrounded me. There were a ton of gay leathermen, naked people, people in medieval garb, furries, ponyboys and girls, those in corsets, those in latex… the list went on and on. While at first I found myself looking around to see if there might be even one other spanko in the crowd, after I got more comfortable with my surroundings I came to an interesting conclusion: there were no two people in this crowd who had exactly the same kink experience or desires. The community was a fragmented group of people who were all okay with each other. There were people from Old Guard Leather groups next to young women with pigtails and their boobs out. There was a shibari booth just down the way from a group into puppy play. There was a free HIV testing clinic next to a booth about barebacking it. 

There was even a girl dressed like this 😛

There was an incredible variety of vendors there. There were corsets and jock straps and fur tails and butt plugs. There were solid metal paddles and rubber canes that could take (if I remember properly) 32,000 pounds of force. There were wooden paddles that I wouldn’t bother buying because one scene would leave them in pieces. There was even a t-shirt that was appropriate for me:

I think it’s on the back so it can be read while I’m over a lap, where I belong 😀

I also suspended my sense of self preservation for a moment and bought this unacceptable thing:

I mean, seriously, that’s like, what a panda eats. It just feels dull when tested but after the lag is full of ache and bite. Have you seen how thick that is? Is that even legal? Why do I DO these things to myself? Also, my face is amazing in that photo. I just need to point that out. 

What’s more important, when I wandered off on my own part-way through the day, I was able to have one on one conversations about the history of the SoMa (or “South of the Slot”) scene with a number of older men who had been around for a long time. I found it a great honor that they would choose to share their oral history (please, no puns!) with a young girl from a very different niche than them. I found my feelings of prejudice practically melting away and my respect for what all of us do growing. Folsom Street Fair taught me that there is no right and wrong in the community as long as it doesn’t harm anyone and everyone gives consent. I always knew this in my mind, I always believed this for myself, but I feel like the community validated this for me. The Spanking Community is my home, but I feel very OK with my home being a subgroup of a big, crazy scene full of all types of people and activities. 

I’ve long felt spite about the fact that women were not included in the scene for a very long time and that prejudices against them still exists in some Old Guard circles. I expressed this to an aging man that I met at one of the quieter booths when he asked me about how my experience was as a young woman in a place where there are still a few “Men Only” signs. What he said almost brought tears to my eyes. He said:
“I regret the way we treated the women, especially the dykes, early on, but it’s true: we didn’t make the scene for everyone. We did it for ourselves. We did it because it was in our blood. We did it to create the first place where we could be free and safe. We did it to protect ourselves. We did it for love and passion. We did it because we had to. Now that everything is said and done, I want nothing more than for everyone to do the same thing for themselves. Do what you have to do to be happy, but for God’s sake, don’t get AIDS.” (This is paraphrasing. I did not tape record any of the conversations I had during this hour or so that I spent exploring and asking questions, since I didn’t really plan on taking oral history, but I really wish I had and I intend to next year.) 
I showed the man my bandage from where I had just been given a rapid HIV/Hep screening and told him that I tested negative. I saw in his eyes the pain of being a survivor when your friends are dead or dying from a horrible illness. I wondered about the people he was thinking of as his eyes glazed over for a second. I, too, thought of the people I’ve lost to AIDS already and those that I’ve been slowly losing over the years. 
I know it is off-topic, but it is extremely important to me. Know your HIV status. Practice Universal Precaution. Teach your friends how to stay negative. Test even if you don’t think you have any risk factors, especially if you play in public spaces. Those men in our community that died of AIDS in the 80’s and 90’s (including the philosopher Foucault, who I am in love with on an intellectual level) simply did not have any way of knowing what they were up against. There was no research. There was no education. With the information, prevention strategies and prenatal treatment options that we have now, there is no reason for anyone new to be infected. We have the power to let education spread more quickly than the virus. 
When I finished these conversations, I felt taken aback and very introspective. I didn’t talk to anyone about them until today: I came back to my friends and kept what I’d been doing to myself until I had time to process it. I then had some fun messing around with awesome people at the SoCal Shibari booth, then my friend’s daddy took us to get Indian food and introduced me to Mulligatawny soup, thus changing my life forever. Seriously, it was the best thing I ever ate. I ate most of it, even though it was supposed to be for sharing >_<.  Then we helped pack up the our friends’ booth and headed home. The drive home always feels a lot longer than the trip there, but we got into a lot of important and frank conversations about our lives and histories. I got home feeling too tired to move, but the experience was one of the most educational ones I’ve ever had. It’s a beautiful thing to observe your own mind opening. 

I wrote the story that I posted to my blog the other night shortly after the scene took place, but only recently decided to share it. So that night, as I was getting it into blog-post form, I decided that I needed to add a photo of Warren to make things complete. I got up from the bed where I was working and went to the closet where I keep my implements to retrive it for photographing. I looked around, but was surprised to see that Warren was not there. I shoved stuff around, looking under other implements and even under the clothes and shoes on the next shelf over, but I didn’t see it anywhere.

Had I lost Warren? I had taken it, along with a handful of other implements, in my suitcase when I went to shoot with Lily Starr. I hadn’t ended up needing them, since Lily had a bunch of awesome/unacceptable stuff, so I hadn’t been thinking much about the fact that I brought them when I was leaving. Had I left Warren in the hotel room?

For all the times that I had joked about wanting Warren to get lost forever, when the possibility that it had actually happened arose, I was not happy with the development at all. The first issue that came to mind was the fact that it seemed unlikely that anyone would believe that it really was an accident, given how vocal I’ve been about wanting it broken into eight million splinters or burned in the fires of Mordor. I was fairly confident that my Dominant would believe me, for he knows me as no one else ever has and I believe would recognize that doing something like that on purpose is extremely beyond my character. Still, I don’t think he’d have been happy about it, and I didn’t want anyone to go around thinking that I lost toys I dislike on purpose. I had a hairbrush with which I had a fairly antagonistic relationship stolen at a munch one time, and I got a lot of flack for the fact that it “disappeared” from a couple of my friends and it had made me feel really awful.

Eventually, I found Warren. It had fallen from the shelf and my cats had piled a bunch of my clothes on top of it (perhaps trying to protect me?) when they were screwing around in the closet. It was the only time in my life when I looked at that implement and felt happy and relieved to see it :P.

Hugging a spoon is hard and awkward.

The whole experience reinforced an idea that my scene with J. had reminded me of: that in the end, no matter how much part of me hates something, no matter how many awful things I can say about it, the part of me that wants to be pushed and wants to submit will always win. It doesn’t make it untrue that I despise Warren and think it’s a truly evil, wicked creation. It’s just also true, and perhaps more worth my focus, that when I thought for a few minutes that I’d never again experience the agony that it creates, I felt a genuine sense of disappointment and sadness. As much as I hate it, my appreciation for its effect is stronger and more important to me.

Are there any spanko bottoms out there who have actually intentionally lost or destroyed a feared or disliked implement? Have you even just hid something? What was your particular motivation? What happened in the end? How did it make you feel? The fact that I could never bring myself to do such a thing and wouldn’t want people to think that I did doesn’t mean that I am judging anyone who has. We’ve all got different feelings and motivations for WIIWD and I’m curious to hear other perspectives. Tops, have you ever had a bottom hide/lose/destroy your stuff? How did you react? If you haven’t, how would you if it did happen? Do you feel that falls under acceptable bratting play, or does it cross a line to you?

In other news, I’m leaving to head up to Folsom Street Fair today with some awesome Los Angeles scene friends. I expect it to be full of epic win, and I shall tell you about my adventures upon my return, so look for that post!

Finally, I’ve updated my blog layout a bit over the past couple of days. Apparently some people didn’t understand that the background was meant to be Alice in Wonderland themed, (you know, to play off the name of the blog?) so I added that adorable little White Rabbit graphic and changed the background color to echo the blue color traditionally associated with Alice’s dress. I think everything looks brighter and more cheery now, too, so I hope you like it.

Note: This post is really long. I hope you enjoy it anyway. I tend to be a bit verbose, especially when writing recollections. Also, I’m posting this right at the end of Erica Scott’s birthday. Erica is one of my all time favorite people in the scene, and I’ve long admired her writing style, her wit, her perfect butt and, most importantly, her confidence and sense of self. I think the world would be a much better place if it had more women, or people in general, like her in it. She’s the kind of woman that I aspire to be, and I hope she had an awesome birthday and many happy returns <3. 

Ok, on to the story! 

The day after my shoot with Assume the Position, I felt very sore. My butt was visually healing extremely quickly, but it still had a lot of deep ache from all of the larger wooden implements I was spanked with, and I was a bit swollen and very tender. I was lying on my stomach in bed reading in the early evening when I heard someone coming into the apartment to see my boyfriend, R. Within a few seconds I was pleasantly surprised to recognize who was there: it was my favorite local play partner, J. 
J. works with R. and is one of my spanko friends that I met through vanilla channels. While drinking one night, he confided in me that he liked to spank girls and I was more than willing to tell him that I was fond of receiving! Since then, we’ve been getting together for scenes whenever we’re able to. He was out of town for a few months, and since he got back, I’ve had two chances to see him. Both times he spanked me, and both were mild, pleasant hand spankings. 
I’ve always called J. my “nice spanker”: we’ve always had a very fun, light hearted energy and he’s more likely to make me laugh and giggle than cry from a spanking. He’s good at what he does, but we rarely play so hard as to leave me feeling sore the next morning. I truly appreciate this variety: sometimes, I just want to have fun. Plus, he’s charming and sweet and he makes me feel mushy inside. My heart went aflutter just hearing his voice in the hallway.
I sort of scampered out into the living room to greet him. After he finished talking to my boyfriend about some work related materials he was dropping off, he pulled me into a hug and lifted me off my feet. 
“Let’s go into your bedroom, Alex,” he said. “I wanna see what your bottom looks like after your big shoot.” I agreed. There was no reason I couldn’t show him my bottom in the hallway, but I would gladly head alone into a room with him any time. We walked in and he sat down on the edge of my bed very purposefully. I felt my stomach do the little flip-flop that it always does when I realize or confirm that I’m about to be spanked. Sometimes it’s excitement, sometimes it’s nervousness or fear, but most of the time, it’s a mixture of the two. Generally, I feel nothing but happiness when I have the chance to be over J.’s lap: he’s never disciplined me or given me particularly challenging spankings. Today, though, something felt a little different. My bottom was very sore, and he seemed far more determined than usual. In many situations, that would be called a “bad combination”. 
Still standing a bit of a distance from him, I turned around and lifted my skirt, then pulled down my panties. I had told him what implements I was spanked with via email, when I shared my photos with him. He poked the most bruised area of my bottom very firmly, making me give off a sharp “OW!” 

See that bruise? That’s what he was poking!

“Is that from the wrap on the belt?” he asked. I nodded. “What did you think of it?” 
The scene I shot was the first time I’ve played with leather implements in a long time. I’d had a few spankings from Serious_Face with a strap, but that was back in England, over a year ago. The day before was also my first belt spanking. “I liked it a lot!” I told him. “It was sort of… just right. It was an enjoyable mix of sting and a very light thud.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll have to give you a belting someday. Not today, though.” 
Oh! I thought. Maybe he’s *not* going to spank me today. 
“How does your bottom feel right now, girl?” he asked. He calls me “girl” fairly often. I wouldn’t like it from most people, but the way he says it with his Texas accent just makes me all swoony. 
“It’s very sore,” I said, honestly. J. smiled.
“I’ve never had a chance to spank you when you already had a sore bottom, you know.” Usually, in this situation, I’d jump at the chance to ask for a spanking. I had stopped pretending that I didn’t want to be spanked a long time ago. Yet this time, for some reason, even though I very much wanted to be over his lap, I felt the need to stall and to play the game of trying to get out of it a little bit. Maybe it was because I knew I could get away with it. Maybe it was because I’d been thinking about how to be bratty in roleplaying in case it ever came up for a video. Whatever it was, instead of jumping into my favorite position, I pulled my panties back up and turned around slowly.
“The last time you spanked me I was still a little bit sore from visiting Malignus,” I said hesitantly. 
He shook his head. “Oh come on, Alex. You weren’t really sore anymore, then.” He smiled, and then said in a fun, playful way (not in a domly, “do what I say” kind of voice): “Come here: I’m gonna give you a spanking.” I shivered a little.
“But my bottom really hurts!” I complained, putting my hands back protectively. It sounded strange and alien to hear that sort of protest in my own voice. I felt very slightly embarrassed by it, but J. was smiling and I knew that he enjoyed this sort of play. 
“I know it does. That’s the point.” He beckoned me with one finger. “Come here.” 
I backed away a little more and shook my head “no.” 
“No?” he asked, sounding surprised. “Alex says ‘no’ to a spanking? That’s gotta be one for the books right there.” I made a scrunchy face. “Alright,” he said, standing up, clearly playing the game. “If you don’t want a spanking, then I’ll go say goodbye to your boyfriend and head home.” He started to walk toward the door.
“Wait!” I cried, worried that he might actually leave. He looked at me expectantly. I suddenly realized that he’d backed me into a corner: I now had to ask for my spanking directly. Usually, asking wasn’t much of a deal anymore. Asking to be disciplined was still incredibly hard (I’ve still only managed to do it a few times) and asking for something like a thigh spanking was never going to become particularly easy, but in general, just admitting I wanted to be spanked had gotten to be fairly routine: during my second visit to Malignus’ place, I asked to be spanked at least once every day. Still, there was something that seemed particularly bitter about asking for something that one had just denied wanting. I swallowed my pride as quickly as I could. “Would you please spank me, J.?” I asked in as confident of a voice as I could muster. 
“Oh, you changed your mind?” he teased. I nodded. “Did your bottom stop hurting all the sudden?” I made another scrunchy face. 
“I do want you to spank me,” I reiterated. 
“You’re sure?” he asked, laughing at me a little. I gave a vigorous “yes!” “Alright,” he said, sitting back down on the bed. “Go get me the spoon you brought back from South Dakota.” 
I made this face: 0_0. “WARREN?” I asked with genuine concern in my voice. “Oh, J., you don’t want to spank me with Warren!” For those who are not familiar, Warren is a good sized, weight bearing, sturdy, wooden spatula with a fairly large spanking surface that Malignus insisted I take home with me. It became my sole property after I bled on it, but I tried very hard to get it to remain at Malignus’ house instead of coming home with me. In the end, I lost that battle (as one would expect) and it was sitting in my closet with my other spanking toys. Warren is not a nice implement. It has mostly been used for discipline or for particularly challenging, submission driven spankings: the exact opposite of the kind of spanking I expected to receive from J. 

Warren, like his sister, Jenny, is horrible in every way and will never be loved by anyone. 

“Didn’t I just say I did?” he asked. He was still smiling and bantering. I decided to try one more time:
“But, you don’t understand! Warren is…”
J. cut me off. “One of the three worst things ever. Part of the Holy Trinity of Hurt. I remember, Alex. Go get it for me.” 
“What about a hairbrush? I have hairbrushes you never…” 
“Spoon!” he ordered, his voice suddenly filled with an authority that I’d never heard from him. In many situations, hearing someone say that word as a command would be simply ridiculous. In this one, my whole body felt like it was turned to jelly. The game was over: I’d lost. I was going to get a real spanking now.
J. is not my Dominant. We don’t have any sort of D/s dynamic. Still, the feeling of his sudden authority wasn’t threatening or uncomfortable. I didn’t feel pressured into something I didn’t want. I felt safe and submissive. I felt a tiny touch of the most wonderful feeling in the world: belonging. 
I went to the closet and got down Warren. I handed it to J., and he looked it over for a moment, then slapped it against his hand a few times to feel the weight and speed of it. 
“This does seem mean,” he said, friendliness returning to his voice, but with a serious undertone that did not remove my anticipation. He set it behind him on the bed. “Pull your panties down and get over my lap, now,” he ordered. I did as I was told without hesitation. “Good girl,” he said, praising me for my speed in obeying. Sometimes, it makes me feel awkward when someone other than Malignus or Serious_Face calls me that. Here, nothing could have felt more right. I got cozy in my position while he gently rubbed my bottom. Just his soft touch hurt a little bit. I tried to relax and accept instead of letting myself panic at the realization of just how sore I already was, but nervousness was mounting and I could already feel the prelude to tears building in my throat.
J. started spanking me with his hand. It was a nice warmup; firm, but not too painful. After a minute or so of spanking, he spoke to me: “So, you’re trying to get out of spankings now, huh?” he asked. “Where’d you pick that up?” 
“I dunno” I muttered, half into the blanket that I’d bunched up near my face. J. responded with a very firm smack to the back of my thigh. “HEY!” I cried. “Treaty line!” I was referring to The International Thigh Protection Treaty, a now extremely outdated document that just about everyone seems to disregard.
“Was that too forceful?” he asked. He sounded genuinely concerned that he might be pushing my limits. I thought about it for a moment. I could ask him not to spank my thighs at all. I had that right, and the part of me that would prefer him not to was no small section. Still, I was really enjoying the way this scene was playing out. 
“It’s okay. You can spank my thighs some if you want to.” He signaled his understanding by delivering a few fairly hard smacks there. 
“Where did your brattiness earlier come from, Alex?” he asked again, after a few more moments of firm, fairly slow paced smacks. 
“I guess I was just experimenting a little bit,” I told him. 
“It’s okay to play around sometimes, but you better not make a habit of that.” 
“I won’t!” I promised. “I’d only do it if I thought it was okay!” He kept spanking me for another minute. Suddenly, I felt genuine concern. Was I really being scolded? Had I actually been a bad girl? I turned that idea over in my head for at least another minute, all the while receiving firm but manageable smacks to my already sore bottom. 
“Hey J.?” I asked when I felt like I had a clear grasp on what my worries were. “Are you really mad?” 
“No,” he said. “I don’t want you to go around making backwards progress because it seems fun at the time, but I trust you to know what you’re doing. I’m not angry at you. I’m not trying to discipline you. It’s just a spanking.” There was a pause in the spanking. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked. 
I shook my head “no.” “Please don’t,” I told him.
“Do you not want me to spank you with the spoon? I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want.” 
“Are you okay with me crying today?” I asked. 
“I am. What I’m asking is what you want, though.” I thought for a moment. 
“Okay,” I said, attempting to accept my fate.
“Not good enough,” he scolded. “I’m only going to do it if you want me to. Not just if you’re gonna accept it. If you want it.” 
It was a hard place to be. Part of me did not want to be spanked with Warren for any reason, and certainly did not want to get an “unnecessary” spanking with it.  My instincts for immediate self preservation wanted nothing more than to say that I did not want him to use Warren on me. I knew, however, that was not the most honest part of me. I was frightened by the idea of how much the spanking would hurt, but waiting beyond that were wonderful feelings. Contentment. Stress release. Safety. Pride. I truly wanted to be brought to the place that I knew a spanking with this implement would bring me, and I knew I’d be horribly disappointed in myself if I backed away from it. 
“Please, J.,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. “I want you to spank me with Warren.” I felt more relaxed as soon as the words were out of my mouth. J. stroked my face for a moment and I basked in the comfort of his touch.
“Okay,” he said firmly. “I’m gonna start now.” I put my face in the pile of blankets at the end of the bed, trying to relax my body into calm acceptance. It occurred to me for a second that maybe Warren was not always all that painful, that maybe it was just particularly well suited to Malignus’ fast, hard, ridiculously stingy spanking style. Maybe it wouldn’t be so…
My train of thought was interrupted by the first spank. Nope! I was wrong! Warren just hurt a lot. Each smack bordered on being intolerable. It couldn’t have been more than a dozen before I was whimpering and crying out. It hurt! Oh holy hell, it hurt. He went relatively slowly and nowhere near as hard as I was used to being spanked with the implement in the past, but each smack still made me feel a white-hot world of pain. Before I knew it, I was freely crying. I started to sob and sniffle. J. put his left hand on my back and rubbed it in a gentle, affectionate circle. “Good girl,” he said. “Whatever you’ve got, just cry it out.” Even though I’d just had a spanking that ended in tears the day before, I found myself deeply appreciative of the chance to cry. I felt safe and warm and emotionally comfortable. My sobs got more and more desperate as the spanking went on. I knew I probably seemed pretty pathetic, but I didn’t care. I stopped fighting it as well as I could and I accepted and appreciated the spanking that I was clearly getting because I was cared about. Still, when J. asked: “Are you ready for me to stop?” my answer was “yes!”
He gave me five more hard swats, then set the spoon down and focused on rubbing my back. “Shhhhhh,” he comforted me. “You’re such a good girl.” After a few minutes, my crying stopped and I climbed up onto his lap and snuggled for a little while, feeling peaceful and content. 

I missed a couple of posts already! I was supposed to update on Saturday, but I was off shooting with Lily Starr Spanking, so I didn’t get one up that day. Then Tuesday brought a visit from a favorite play partner and by the time I was settling in for the evening, I entirely forgot my self-created responsibilities. Tisk, tisk! Certainly, things will be easier once I get more used to my posting schedule (and get extra content scheduled in advance :P). A bit over a week ago, I did my first spanking modeling shoot with Assume The Position Studios. I was extremely excited about it, and a little nervous, since I wasn’t sure what effect the camera would have on the atmosphere of the scene. I met Photodave at a coffee shop near the studio where we’d be shooting where I consumed a coke and a strawberry cupcake (I hadn’t eaten anything yet that day, and I find that I respond better to spankings when I have sugar in my system. Or maybe it’s just a positive emotional connection. Either way, it made me happy!) We walked over to the studio after chatting a bit and going over paperwork and then started going through my wardrobe. We hadn’t created any scenes in advance: it hadn’t really occurred to me that I should have been thinking about that. We ended up selecting a pair of panties and some knee socks for a few cute, glamourous, pre-spanking photos.

After that, I changed into a school girl dress and we got ready to do the scene. It’s fortunate for me that the appropriate way for me to be acting for the character I was meant to portray was nervous and unsure: since it was my first video, it took me a little bit to get “warmed up,” especially since a lot of the ways that I need to behave for a spanking video are different than the way that I’d act if I was just playing for my own purposes. The major thing is hiding my enthusiasm–– there have only been a few times in my life when I *haven’t* wanted a spanking, so playing a reluctant character requires quite a bit of acting on my part. What did not require acting, though, were my cries and squeals: the scene begins with me OTK (my favorite place to be!) and right away, the spanking was very firm and it certainly hurt. I don’t want to give away all the details (since I would, ideally, like you to buy the videos :P) but we moved through a considerable amount of implements: a hairbrush which met it’s untimely demise on my bottom, many beautiful, painful paddles from Kitty’s Exotic Paddles, the belt, a cane, a large and intimidating looking strap and finally a heavy wooden “ruler” that was very, very mean! During the final segment of the video I reached the point of sobbing: this is not particularly uncommon for me in any intense spanking situation with a “serious” atmosphere (even though it was a roleplay). My tears are never a sign of true distress, and I love sharing them. I was extremely excited that two photos (one posted by Dave and one by me) from this scene made Kinky and Popular on fetlife. 

I was especially pleased that the photo depicting my tears did: the fact that I cry frequently is still an area where I expect (or fear) that I will receive judgement, so it was really positive for me to be able to share that and get such a good response. I look forward to shooting with Assume The Position Studios again in the future: I felt extremely at-ease when on set, and the spanking was blissfully painful. It left me sore for several days, especially on my sit-spot. Even though the spanking didn’t carry any emotional significance for me (besides the pleasure of being my first spanking modeling shoot) I was left in a relaxed and cheerful mood for a while. It seems that while I didn’t have a *bad* attitude before, it was adjusted to be even more pleasant by participating in my favorite activity. 

Additionally, after the shoot we went to eat at a Ramen shop and it was for the win. Delicious food eaten while sitting gingerly is always a good thing! 

I’ll be posting again later “today” since it is already Midnight. Keep your eyes peeled! 

I started regular, vanilla modeling when I was in my junior year of college. It began with a gig that a lot of people wouldn’t have gone for, but which I totally adored: being photographed walking around Manhattan topless. For $25.00/hour. In February. In between shots, I put my coat back on, so I didn’t die of hypothermia, and New York State has a law saying that anywhere that a man can appear topless, a woman can as well, so I didn’t get arrested, either. What I did get were pretty cool photos, bragging rights and a whopping $75.00. For someone making minimum wage by shelving books in the school library, that was a big influx of cash. I started modeling whenever I could and worked my way up the ladder: I got better at it, worked with better photographers and developed a bit of a name for myself.

The oldest surviving photo of me as a model. Hot, right? 

I won’t say it never occurred to me to do spanking modeling: it did, from the very start of my vanilla modeling work. The idea was, however, incredibly unappealing. I wasn’t part of the community yet in any real way: I was in a disciplinary spanking relationship with Serious_Face, and I had told my five closest friends about either my activities or my interest therein. On campus, it was the general opinion that I was probably kinky, but to me, saying something so general as that was far less personal than saying that I was into spanking. I still had trouble saying or hearing the word aloud sometimes. No photos existed of my bottom after a spanking, and it seemed like the most logical thing to keep it this way. 

This is the first spanking related photo of me ever taken. It’s from about five months ago, after a spanking given to me by my play partner, J.

Fast forward to the present day: an awful lot has changed. My attitude towards spanking has become entirely different. Instead of feeling embarrassed or ashamed to be a spanko, even in likeminded company, I celebrate it whenever possible in a variety of ways. I’m proud of my bruises and my tears. What’s most important, perhaps, is that I feel that I *get* something out of sharing my experiences with other spankos. Posting spanking related photos and getting a positive response is a wonderful reaffirmation for me: this is the very core of who I am. This is something I’ve struggled with for nearly my entire life. People get it. They don’t judge me. They think I’m awesome for what I do.

When I had some difficulties in the vanilla modeling world, I started to think about spanking modeling as an option for the first time. I’d gotten nearly obsessed with showing off post-spanking photos and telling stories of awesome scenes to my friends. I was flashing likeminded strangers my bruises at munches. I felt good about every aspect of my spanko life, and I wanted to share it wherever it was appropriate. Plus, I needed money. Money always helps. 

So, I scheduled my first three shoots: I shot with Assume The Position Studios on Monday, will be shooting with Lily Starr Spanking this weekend and will be shooting with a well known pay-site in about two weeks time (I’m not sure if I’m allowed to publicly announce where before the shoot, so I chose to err on the side of caution). A couple other production companies have contacted me about shooting with them, too, and I’m trying to hammer out details there. 

I hate to make a shameless plug, but if you’re looking for lovely models who can take one hell of a spanking, you know how to get ahold of me. 😉

To everyone else, I hope you look forward to seeing more content from me in the future, because there’ll be plenty! 

Hello, readers! My name is Alex. Welcome to my adventures in Spankingland! I’m a twenty-four year old girl living in Los Angeles. I’m a college graduate, a polyamorist, an atheist, a professional model, an obsessive domestic, a hopeless academic and a cat person. More relevantly, I’m a die-hard spanko. Some of my very first memories involve thinking about spanking, and I took my first trip across a lap just a month and two days after my 18th birthday. Having met my first Top in vanilla society, I remained fairly isolated from the rest of Spankingland for nearly five years. In the fall of 2010, a photographer I had worked with and I got close enough for me to tell him that I was “a little kinky” and he pointed me in the direction of I got drunk one night, created an account and moved through the process of lurking, to occasionally posting and then, eventually, blossoming into a full-fledged member of the online community. 

I’ve grown and changed an incredible amount in the past nine months that I’ve been exploring Spankingland, and I’ve already had my fair share of remarkable adventures. I’ve gone to all sorts of kinky events in Los Angeles, forged deep and honest friendships with spankos from all around the world and gotten some amazing bruises. I’ve also come to terms with myself as both a strong, powerful woman and a submissive: I’ve discovered that these things are by no means contradictory and instead feed each other in a seemingly endless cycle of growth, empowerment and happiness. My D/s dynamic is now one of my primary relationships and one of the most enjoyable ones I’ve ever had, of any flavor. 

There are so many things out there for me to explore still: I’ve never been to a spanking party, I haven’t met many of the wonderful friends I’ve made online and there are tons of implements and spanking atmospheres that I haven’t experienced yet. I recently did my first shoot as a spanking model, and I’m excited by all the opportunities that lie in that direction. My spanko life is only getting better and more exciting as I open up to new experiences.

I hope you take the time to keep up with this blog. I’m excited by the prospect of sharing my thoughts and experiences with the blogosphere and hopefully making some new connections. It is my intention to update each Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, so be sure to check back regularly. Welcome to my Adventures in Spankingland!

Oh, Hai!


Los Angeles, California, United States

First and foremost, I’m a girl who loves being spanked. It’s at the very center of my being. I’m also a professional spanking model, which means I get to do what I love for my job. I’m twenty six years old, and currently located in Los Angeles when I’m not traveling around on my adventures. My vanilla interests include poetry, film history, academia, Pokemon, indie music, baby animals, baking and cooking, collecting vintage clothes and lots of cuddling.

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