In December, a law came into effect in the UK which made the production of spanking videos, along with a variety of other kinds of porn, illegal. There was a lot of public outcry at the time, and spankos from all over the world offered their emotional support to the UK based producers. People signed petitions. People went to protests.
Then, eventually, things slowed down and, as a community, we generally stopped talking about this. That’s what happens with all political issues: very rarely do we stop actively talking about them because something gets fixed. We stop talking about them because we’ve run out of momentum, or things to say, or ideas of how to get things fixed. Continuing to talk about it, then, makes us feel hopeless. A much worse a reason why we stop talking about things is because we get used to them. We accept that this is simply the way things are. We stop thinking about it.
Unless, of course, you can’t stop thinking about it because it directly affects you. For the average spanko, the law change made us angry or uncomfortable. But for UK based spanking and fetish producers, it changed everything. I don’t know all the producers, and not all of them share what’s going on in their lives online, but here’s a recap of the information that I have right now (if you have more information than I do, please feel free to chime in in the comments section!):
There are other producers in the UK, but I don’t have any updates on how they’re dealing with this issue. If you know any, please add them in the comment section!
Nimue and Pandora announced a little while ago that they’re doing a fundraiser for Backlash UK, an organization that, among other things, provides legal aid for producers affected by the new ATVOD law. The fundraiser started off with a goal of 500 Pounds. For each ten pound donation, one of the two would receive one cane stroke, with a maximum of 50 strokes being received per girl. When the fundraising reached 1000 pounds, the maximum amount of strokes set to be received, Rosie Bottomley stepped up to take the next 50 strokes. When THAT goal was surpassed, Amelia Jane Rutherford agreed to take an additional 25 strokes. This goal has also been passed now.
So who do the additional cane strokes fall to? Well, they fall to me, of course.
I had the rare chance to have a skype chat with Pandora this afternoon. Because we’re both always keeping busy (her especially!) and we’re 8 hours of timezones apart, we almost never get a chance to make our schedules line up, so it was wonderful that we did. When we talked today, she told me everything that was going on with the fundraiser and explained that they had raised more funds than they had models to take the cane strokes, I was both overjoyed with their success and happy to help out. I’m an American, but this law has changed my life, too, and technically speaking, I’m a producer of a traditionally UK based site now. Besides, British spanking pornography means an awful lot to me. I was happy to put my butt on the line, quite literally!
So, everyone, click here to donate to Pandora’s fundraiser! You can donate no matter where you are located in the world. Ten pounds is about fifteen US dollars, and each 15 dollar donation adds a cane stroke for me! The caning will be filmed after Paul returns to the US, and the video including Pandora, Nimue, Rosie, Amelia and I all getting caned (although not at the same time and place) will be made available to everyone for free! Really, who DOESN’T want to see me get fifty cane strokes for a good cause? That’s an awful lot! So, please donate!
When you think about it, your donation doesn’t just ensure that I’ll be getting an additional cane stroke: it helps to provide countless more cane strokes in the future by helping to make sure that British spanking pornography is able to continue on in the world. More writing on this topic coming tomorrow, but I was kind of wrestling with blogger for a couple of days, so I got behind on my posting and now that I’m participating in this fund raiser, I want to get the word out before it’s too late!
Last month, while I was in New Jersey, Dreams of Spanking released one of my favorite scenes that I’ve ever done. It’s called Playing Truant. We filmed it just under a year ago, when Pandora visited me and Paul in Los Angeles.
There are a lot of different kinds of spanking roleplay scenes that I like. I like positive scenes in which enthusiastic consent is obvious in the roleplay. I like nurturing scenes, with loving but strict discipline being meted out, preferably right before bed to a girl dressed in pajamas. I like strict and austere school scenes, full of formality, apprehension and the inevitability of punishment. I like scenes that get funny, with banter that is hard not to crack up at. And I get to experience these sorts of scenes quite regularly. Chances are, any given shoot I do is going to scratch my itch for an old fashioned, OTK spanking or a school punishment. It might not be my exact fantasy, but it gets pretty close pretty often. And when I’m not filming, it’s very easy to get people to do these sorts of scenes with me. They don’t require anything too complex, and they aren’t particularly challenging for either party to “get into.”
But there’s something else that I’ve always fantasized about, and which has become a much bigger interest of mine in terms of actual play in the past couple of years. That’s dark, non consensually themed scenes. These are scenes that I get to film very rarely, and that’s what I got to do during the shoot in question. I talked a lot about wanting to do this film in the behind the scenes footage that’s included with it, but there’s a lot more on the topic of darker scenes that I’d like to explore.
I’ve been interested in non consensual themes for as long as I’ve been interested in spanking itself. I didn’t know that consensual spanking was even an option on the table when my fantasies first blossomed. Still, because I wanted to be spanked, the characters in my fantasies didn’t offer much resistance to the punishment they were about to receive.
I don’t think my fantasies began to grow truly dark until I was a teenager. By then, I had a pretty decent understanding of the concept that I could enjoy the fantastical idea of something without in some way supporting something negative or dangerous. This is a complicated topic itself, and one for it’s own post at some point, but it was freeing for me when I came to this realization. Many of my fantasies began to center around power that is taken unfairly or used in ways it wasn’t meant to be used. These were my first fantasies to include sexual elements, and that sexuality was always very non-consensual.
When I came into the scene about four years ago, I stepped away from these fantasies for a while. They aren’t commonly portrayed in spanking media, and no one I got to know in the scene played that way. The thought of describing these desires to someone became uncomfortable to me, especially because I hold such strong opinions about consent “in the real world.” Besides, I had no practical experience combining my sexuality and my kink, and I was very uncomfortable with the concept of putting it into practice. I wasn’t sure if I would even like those sorts of scenes in reality, and I didn’t feel comfortable to share that sort of darkness with anyone.
It takes an incredible amount of trust to want to play with someone this way. Specifically, you have to trust that the fantasy you are enacting is just a fantasy, and not a real desire for someone to do harm. You have to trust that the character your partner is playing is a character, and not a revelation of their hidden, true nature. You have to trust them to use the vulnerability you are about to give them only in the ways that you’ve consented to and with your best interests in mind.
At the same time, you have to trust them not to be afraid of you. When you explain to someone that you want to do something which is dark and taboo, you have to trust them not to judge you. You have to trust them to still respect you as a strong and capable person after you’ve shown them that you want to be helpless and victimized in a scene. You have to trust them to find a balance of taking your fantasy seriously while knowing that the character you want to be isn’t the way you want to be treated outside of the fantasy. You have to trust that if you push back and protest and get angry in the scene, that they won’t be hurt or offended in real life. You have to both understand that a scene is a scene, and as long as things go the way they are negotiated, what happens there doesn’t negatively effect things outside of the scene space.
In short, it takes everything that one worries about when going into BDSM in the first place and intensifies it.
The process of building that kind of trust with Paul took place over a couple of months, as we got to know each other. We first started to play together on camera, and that was very liberating. There are clear boundaries set in terms of what is a scene and what is real life when the camera is rolling. When you call “cut!” then it goes back to the real world and you can feel assured that, if the scene is going badly for you, that transformation from scene-space to “real life” will be immediate. There’s also comfort to be taken in the fact that everyone involved knows that what you do in the scene is simply acting. I had a lot of hang ups about resistance vs. being a “good” submissive and taking whatever I was given without reaction at that time in my life, but when I was playing for the camera, none of that mattered. There were a few hiccups as Paul and I transitioned to playing off camera, where I took things too seriously, but he was always supportive and loving towards me, even before we started dating. It didn’t take long before I could just relax and trust him, and once that happened, our play really took off.
Paul and I started actually dating during a time when he was in England and I was in the US, and we were making plans to get together at a cabin for an extended visit. During this time, I watched an incredible amount of spanking porn. It was the most I had watched since I was a teenager. I primarily watched Northern Spanking, but I also watched a lot of Dreams of Spanking and, since I had recently shot for the site and had therefore received a performer account for the first time, I began to explore Nimue’s World. I remembered that Paul had done a few films for this site, so I checked them out.
One of the films which he had acted in was called “I’ve Seen You” and it was very similar to the scene that I ended up doing for Dreams of Spanking. It involved Nimue playing a school girl who behaves sluttily, and Paul being a skeezy business man who was been watching her out the window. He follows Nimue home and, when she won’t respond to his sexual advances, beats her thighs severely with the tawse.
I became pretty obsessed with this film. I even saved it to my phone so I could watch it when I was out of the house. It was pretty much the hottest thing I had ever seen in my life. In my mind, it would have only been able to be hotter if there had been actual “forced” sex involved.
I was able to communicate with Paul about what kinds of scenes I was craving before we got to the cabin, and because we have unprecedented compatibility, what we wanted was very much in line. I relaxed and was able to play without worrying about outside things: that trust had been built, and it was built in a way which was pretty unbreakable. There was one other thing I wanted, though, which hadn’t been brought up before.
Asking someone for something like a dark, non-consensual scene with a lot of resistance and themes of forced sex isn’t the easiest thing to do. However, I had a wonderful tool in starting this conversation: porn. Specifically, I had the scene that he had done with Nimue. When I got up the courage to talk to him, all I had to say was “Remember that really dark scene that you did with Nimue?” Paul, of course, remembered. “I want to do something like that,” I told him. And so we did. Like that. It was magical and perfect, and it became something we can do when we want to.
When Pandora came to visit us last year, Paul and I both shot scenes for Dreams of Spanking. I don’t remember how the conversation came up, but I decided that I wanted to do a scene like this on video. Doing it on video was different only in that I had to worry about what people would be comfortable seeing. I was a little worried that people would be unsettled by some parts of the scene that I wanted to do, but I also kind of give 0 fucks about the limits that other people want to put on my sexuality and figured that Pandora would give viewers fair warning that the film included edgy, consensual non-consent situations.
Before we filmed the scene, Pandora interviewed both of us fairly extensively. This is important when showing people who aren’t familiar with us as people or as a couple a film that has these extreme themes in it, and the fact that I knew Pandora would do this is part of the reason why I felt so comfortable doing this scene for Dreams of Spanking. We both talked for a long time separately, and then together. I feel like it was one of the rare times that I was able to be articulate when being verbally interviewed, although at one point I got a little emotional and teared up when talking about what it’s like to be in a relationship where I’m loved as much as I am in this one.
The entirety of this interview is available for free on youtube. Oh, look, I embedded it for you!
This video is basically a 20 minute documentary on our relationship, which is a pretty special thing to have, when you think about it!
After we finished the interviews, we filmed the scene. In my opinion, it was one of the hottest things that ever happened in history. It was made more hot by the fact that I was aware that I was being filmed, that Pandora was watching this unfold and that Ten was in the other room and could hear us. I imagined strangers on the internet watching me in such a vulnerable state and the thought excited me. I felt wonderful to take what had felt like my ultimate taboo activity and put it in the public eye. It was freeing and liberating.
At one point, while we were in the middle of filming the scene, there was a knock on the door. Paul left me lying naked on the couch and went and opened it. I was afraid that it was the police: I had been yelling and protesting while he was beating me for the past several minutes, after all. Instead, I heard a meek voice say “We are missionaries…”
Paul didn’t break character at all. “That’s nice. Bye,” he said, slamming the door. As he walked back over to me, I realized that he still had the tawse in his hand. No missionaries have come to our house ever since. 0_0 I’m kind of disappointed that Pandora turned the camera off before Paul opened the door. It was pretty epic.
The scene itself was epic, too, and it ended with the implication of forced sexual activity (no, there is no actual penis in the film). This was my idea to include, and the negotiation of it was making it something that Paul was comfortable with filming. I love the fact that this is included in the behind the scenes, too. I think it’s important to show that Tops’ limits are equally as important as those of bottoms.
After a scene this intense, I needed a lot of cuddling, although I wasn’t upset by it. I was actually very joyful, but slightly disoriented from all the endorphins. If you watch the behind the scenes footage, you’ll hear me talking in my happy, childlike voice and giggling as I snuggle on Paul’s lap. That’s another thing that I think is important for people to see: that everything about this scene had a positive effect on me.
The whole point of Dreams of Spanking is that it’s about the women and their gaze, instead of the women being objects for men to view. Every scene that I do is about me, but I’ve never felt like a scene was more about me as a person. This took something that I felt like I had to keep hidden from people and celebrated it. We did it my way, with my partner, in my home. All of the behind the scenes footage shows people who I am. I remember snuggling on Paul’s lap after we filmed this and just feeling good about myself.
Very few people commented on this scene, and a couple of people let me know that, despite all the behind the scenes materials, it made them uncomfortable. But I was elated to see that Girl on the Net wrote about wanting to use this scene as a negotiation tool in a post to the Dreams of Spanking blog. It was particularly exciting to me because if it wasn’t for Nimue’s World, I don’t know if I would have even known how to bring the subject of wanting to play this way up to Paul. I feel like, in a way, I was able to pay that forward with this film. I hope that people who share my fantasies will enjoy the scene, but I hope that others who don’t can still understand the importance of it. There’s nothing wrong with having taboo fantasies that you act out in a healthy, well negotiated, safe way. ❤︎
A new scene involving me was just released, and I didn’t write about that shoot when it happened (it was during the very dark time of me never blogging, which I hope I’m proving to you is coming to an end) so I’m going to talk a little about it now. 😀
The scene is called “The Other School” and it’s newly released on Dreams of Spanking. We filmed this back in April (or was it May? One of those months) when I was lucky enough to have Pandora visiting me. The time that Pandora spent visiting was extremely fun. I was very much looking forward to doing this shoot: we had me, Christy Cutie, Maddy Marks and Pandora, plus Paul topping and my vanilla partner, Rafa, helping with camera and lighting. It was a fun day of shooting (half of it was for Northern Spanking and half for Dreams) with a bunch of really great scenes. One of the ones that I enjoyed the most was this one, though.
The plot of the video is that Pandora and I go to a very strict school and our best friends, Christy and Maddy go to a more lenient one. This is made obvious by the differences in our uniforms: Christy and Maddy get to wear fairly “grown up” looking uniforms, obviously not having gotten reprimanded for shortening their skirts, and can even get away with wearing high heels. The school that Pandora and I go to is much stricter, and we wear traditional white and navy uniforms (I’m in a gym slip and Pandora is wearing a skirt and blouse) with flat shoes and have to wear ties.
After a scene showing the four of us hanging out and chatting, Maddy and Christy convince us to ditch our last period study hall to go hang out with them on Friday. They wear us down from “They will literally kill us, as in, I would be dead” to “well, I guess we are seniors now…” Maddy asks “what’s the worst thing that could happen?” and Christy suggests that we’ll get a detention another day. Of course, this is a spanking video, so I think you can guess what the worst thing that can happen is.
Obviously, this plan ends badly for Pandora and I, and in my nervousness as we wait to be caned I engage in a lot of excessive anxious hair twirling and the two of us whisper about our fears of what will happen to us next. We’re then interrupted by the stern voice of Mr. Kennedy ordering us in.
We filmed this little bit in just a couple of minutes, but it had a strong effect on both Pandora and I. When it comes to school type scenes, we share a lot of the same kinks, and this moment really played into it for both of us. Apprehension, formality, sternness, the bond between those being punished together… all these things were spot on for both of us. I remember after we filmed this bit, Pandora turned to me and said “Well, that’s most of my school kink summarized in two minutes” or something along those lines.
Maddy and Christy decide that they feel guilty that we’re probably in more trouble than they are, so they sneak into our school, peering into a door that leads to our gymnasium, where they discover that Pandora and I are getting beaten. They decide that they need to confront our headmaster and let him know that it’s their fault, too. The caning scene here was tough for me: I accidentally gotten a patch of broken skin a while prior to the shoot and it hadn’t healed yet (this is not something that usually happens to me and I was very freaked out by it) but I had still really wanted to participate in the scenes that we had planned. This one, particularly, was one I was looking forward to. Stern, formal school scenes are so close to the core of my kink, and I love doing scenes with a lot of girls in them, especially ones who I adore like these three!
Paul didn’t go easy on me: the strokes cut and burned and bit the way that canings always do. I was deeply immersed in the scene and thinking about how I had gotten myself into so much trouble and how embarrassing it was to be getting caned (if you watch the film, my face is bright red when you see the reaction shots). When Paul and I do roleplay scenes together, we’re able to slip perfectly into the characters that we’re playing. I don’t know what’s going on in his head, but for me, I’m never aware of the fact that he’s my boyfriend and I’m head over heels in love with him. That foundation creates a huge amount of trust that allows me to give up control and just enjoy whatever we’re doing, but in that moment, I’m intimidated by him because he’s my strict and fearsome headmaster. And after that moment, I’m sky high with happiness at this phenomenon.
Anyway, back in the film, Maddy and Christy explain to Paul that they feel that our misbehavior was all their fault (while both looking adorably nervous) and ask to share the punishment. I really like this whole idea. A lot of the school stories that were the origin of many of my original fantasies focused on the “codes of honor” that students shared about protecting each other, and I find hearing Maddy suggest that they should be caned as well incredibly hot on an unrelated note. Paul agrees and lessens the punishment due to Pandora and I, dividing the 12 strokes we were each due across the four girls and therefore leaving us with six each. Although I was originally getting my strokes over my panties, once the sentence was reduced we wind up having to take them on the bare. Serious ouch. Group punishment means watching your friends get punished, either while nursing a sore bottom or worrying about what will be about to happen to you! I think I got off easiest since I got the first caning, since I didn’t have to worry about my own impending beating while watching my friends get theirs:
In the end, we were a sore and well striped bunch of girls:
After we finished filming, there were cuddles all around and we enjoyed hanging out before going on to the next (and last) scene of the day. When we finished shooting, we went out to dinner to celebrate. All in all, an awesome shoot and a scene that I love. I especially appreciate that Dreams released a scene involving me and Paul right after he left: I often prevent myself from missing Paul TOO much by watching scenes involving the two of us. I can dive back into the memory of being there with him, plus, thanks to the miracle of spanking porn, I can hear Paul’s voice even on days when I don’t talk to him!
As you all know, in the past year and a half or so, I’ve become really shitty at updating my blog. There are tons and tons of reasons for it, which I think I often explain when I’m talking about this. There are two main ones, though.
The first is time. I’m a busy girl, and I’m glad to be. I pack my days full of doing administrative work for myself, shooting, sessioning, house keeping, cat cuddling, writing, visiting friends and working on two projects that I don’t want to mention until they are finished but are very time consuming. I spend half of my year with Paul, visiting with him for three months at a time before he’s gone for another three. This ends up meaning that when Paul *is* here, I get wrapped up in wanting to spend all my free time with him, which I honestly think is totally legitimate. And in addition to Paul, I’m lucky enough to have Rafa and Z nearby, and, in case I haven’t mentioned it here, to have Z as my girlfriend again (we dated, broke up around the time that I was moving to South Dakota and recently started to date again). Having three significant others in one city means that I spend a lot of time with at least one of my partners. I have to learn how to build blogging into my daily activities once again, and it’s been a slow process, but I’m going to keep trying!
The second reason is vulnerability. When I started this blog, I was happy to sit down and just talk about everything that was going on in my life. This was something that slowly changed. My ex didn’t want me to write about certain parts of my life. Others seemed off topic. Others seemed to personal, too vulnerable. Things got to a point where my style changed and I only wrote encapsulated little stories or thought pieces. I love writing those things, and really, they’re always going to be my best posts, but I’ve decided that I want to start writing about my day to day life more.
There are some things that I strictly won’t talk about: what happens during sessions, for example, is strictly confidential, even if it’s funny or poignant. Similarly, I won’t share stories that aren’t mine to share: I won’t talk about things that are going on in my friends’ and partners’ lives unless I have their explicit permission to discuss it.
But, after that header, I’m ready to launch into talking about things. So, in other words, very little of this post is actually about spanking, so you might possibly find it boring.
Paul went back to England on Monday. The last week of him being here was mixed between trying to get as many things done as possible and me wanting to spend about 90 percent of my time like this:
Paul didn’t mind, of course. He wants to cuddle me just as much as I want to him. We snuggled and he spent a long time reassuring me that everything is, of course, going to be alright. I do require a lot of that, and it makes me feel silly sometimes, but that’s just me. Paul also spent a lot of time sitting in the yard and reading. The weather has been warm recently, even for Los Angeles and it had been sunny. He said that wanted to load up on sunshine to save for the long, gloomy winter in England that he had ahead of him, and I told him that he was being like Frederick the mouse. He was unfamiliar with this story, so I told it to him.
On Sunday, Paul obviously had plans for me. He had woken up earlier than me, as usual, and I laid in bed longer than I needed to listening to the sounds of him moving around the house. I was keenly aware that soon, I would we be waking up to quiet, and I took comfort in the reminder that he was there with me for at least a little while longer. When I got up, I discovered that he had laid a school uniform out for me. It was one of the ones from the Northern Spanking wardrobe, complete with a cute pink and blue striped tie. I hadn’t made the bed that morning because The Baby Monster was sleeping on it, and he looked particularly cute and I didn’t want to disturb him. Not making the bed is one of the most common reasons for us to segue into a play punishment spanking scene, and so it began, with Paul pulling me over his lap and lifting my rather short and form fitting navy blue skirt.
He began to spank me with his hand, no harder than the usual for fun spanking, but within a few moments, I burst into tears. I was in a state of total and complete vulnerability, and I couldn’t handle very much playing. He spanked me for a while, letting me cry out what really should have been all my tears. When he finished, he pulled me up into his lap and cuddled on him desperately. “How do you feel?” he asked me, as has done from time to time since the very first day that we played together off camera. This time, for the first time, I didn’t have an answer right away. I did feel happy to have been spanked, and to be existing in the comfortable bubble of being taken care of. At the same time, though, I felt sad. That was the only word for it. I was sad. I knew that Paul had to go, and I really didn’t want to make him feel guilty about it. I just couldn’t keep myself together, as much as I wanted to be able to put everything away.
Paul had planned to spend most of the day playing together, but he altered this plan when he realized that I just wasn’t up for it. Instead, he spent the time looking after me, and doing everything he could to make me feel safe and secure. We decided to go out to eat at one of our favorite spots (Curry House, for those of you who want Los Angeles restaurant recommendations from me and like Japanese food). Before we ate, we went into the Japanese bookstore, where Paul looked at some historical books and I found the section where they keep the “non nude erotic art”, which is essentially tease erotica, mostly focusing on school uniforms and upskirts. The first book I had purchased from that section, School Girl Complex, didn’t actually include any pictures with panties in it, much to my disappointment, but it was incredibly suggestively erotic and very beautiful artwork. This time, though, I found one that while it didn’t include any explicit nudity, had lots of underwear photos in it. I happily showed it to Paul, who said “That’s coming home with us.” I would take a picture of the book to show you, but Paul took it with him to England.
Dinner was delicious, as always. We always have the exact same meal there: hamburger curry for and a fruit punch, chicken breast katsu curry for Paul, and a Sapporo. My mood was significantly lighter as we ate, and I focused on the fact that we’d get to talk a lot and that I would keep myself very busy while he was away. Once we’d finished eating, we stopped into the local market, where Paul bought me candy and a Re-ment raccoon figure for my collection of little chumbly animals. From there, I noticed that one of my favorite stores was still open, and dragged Paul over to it. If there’s one store where the majority of my dresses comes from, it’s this one. Besides selling cute, girly things, they have a cat in the shop, and I always want to go in and pet him. It’s a very good business technique, really. I’m friendly with the shop keeper, and we ended up talking for a while. She knows that Paul is my boyfriend and that he goes back and forth to England, and we talked about this for a while. She asked how old we both were, and we joked a bit about our twenty year age gap. I’ve been coming to this store since the first time that I lived in Los Angeles, so over five years. The store keeper told Paul “Before, she was really miserable. You could see it in her face. Now she’s always smiling, look at how happy you make her.”
It’s true. Even when things aren’t easy, I feel so overwhelming lucky to be so in love– and so loved! I ended up buying a cardigan with cats on it (obviously) and then we headed home, where we had some “alone time” and then snuggled up for bed.
The next day, I made us brunch before we had to leave for the airport. I had worried that I was going to come completely undone, but I was alright. Paul had successfully brought me back to feeling secure and focusing on being loved, not on the distance that was about to separate us. I was surprisingly fine as I drove home. I was maybe a little bit numb, and I took the evening to myself, fucking around and playing video games while wearing my bunny suit (because that’s what you do when home alone, right?)
The next day was a busy one: in the morning, Maddy Marks and I went hiking, then we met up with her boyfriend, Siq, to go get lunch. After lunch, Maddy and I went to get our nails done, which made me feel tidy and pretty again after having felt slobby for a couple days while I had broken nails. Maddy hung out with me right until I had to leave for a bondage shoot, and after shooting I went out for delicious sushi. I was overjoyed and well fed, and I came home, where I did a bit of work and then went to bed.
Except it didn’t work. I have spent most of my life with circadian rhythm issues. For whatever reason, despite having a sternly enforced bedtime, it’s very hard for me to go to bed if there isn’t someone else there to remind me to. When Paul is here with me, he doesn’t even need to tell me to go to bed a lot of the time: I just tell him that I’m feeling sleepy and go get ready, sometimes before my bedtime. But for whatever reason, in an empty house I just don’t get sleepy. I grow tired and weary, but my brain remains awake. I was still awake when the sun came up the next day. I ended up dozing a little bit, then getting up and making myself something to eat, after which I pretty much immediately decided to go back to sleep. As soon as I got there, though, missionaries knocked on my door and woke me up. I hid under the blankets. Eventually I fell into a weird, groggy sleep full of strange dreams (those have been plaguing me recently) and I got up around 3:00 PM. I woke up with a headache, thinking it was caused by my weird sleep pattern. I soon realized it was a garden variety migraine, though, and medicated myself accordingly. Eventually, I perked up and got a bunch of work done.
Besides being sad about Paul heading back to England, I’m melancholy this time of year because it’s the time of year when my brother passed away three years ago. LOL day made me sad: I remember writing my first LOL day post while my brother was in hospice, just a couple of days before he left us. I’ve accepted that he’s gone and moved on, but that doesn’t mean that my heart will ever stop feeling like part of it is dead, too.
Fortunately, I’ve got a lot of stuff going on in the next few days to keep me distracted.
PS- when I went to label this I was overjoyed to discover that there was already a tag for “bunny suit.” I’m the best. 😛
In all my years (ok, all three years) of my spanking modeling career, there was one thing which I had never done: a video depicting a real life domestic discipline punishment from someone with whom I had that relationship.
That wording sounds a little specific, and it’s meant to be. Nearly all the videos that I do are discipline or punishment themed, but most are obviously roleplayed, creative scenarios. I’ve done a number of videos in which the thing that I’m being spanked for is something which I really did, but this mentally different than actually being punished for something. In order for a punishment to work, there must be two things in place. First of all, the person being punished must recognize the authority (even if temporary) of the person punishing them, and secondly, the person being punished must be sufficiently vulnerable to allow themselves to feel chastised. Most of the time, if a scenario is punitive, these two things aren’t in place.
Now, I specified that I had never done this with someone with whom I was in a real life relationship. I have done one video which was undeniably a real discipline video. It was between Robert Wolf (of Lily Starr Spanking) and myself years ago. Even though Robert and I don’t have a normal disciplinary relationship, I consider him to be an “off chart boss of me”: he’s one of the people whose authority I respect in general, and I’m quite likely to listen to what he says. We’re very close friends and we have a relationship based on mutual respect, so I have a lot of trust for him. In this particular situation, I was frustrated with myself, incredibly vulnerable and feeling the need to be punished, so all the key pieces were there. It was a super intense experience, but I only ever felt like it was the right situation to do this the one time. If you’re interested, you can get that clip here.
On the subject of Lily Starr and Robert Wolf, they got married the other day. They had a small but wonderful ceremony of mostly vanilla people, but Paul, Amoni and I attended, too, Amoni taking (let me just say gorgeous) photos for them. We had an awesome time, and it was a really special occasion. At one point during the reception, though, I got flustered by all the excitement and ended up saying something really rude to Paul. Since we were in vanilla company, he just gave me a look, but I knew entirely what it meant. I may be frequently naughty: making little bits of mischief, whining, stamping my foot and putting trash in Paul’s pocket when we’re out and I don’t have pockets of my own, but ultimately, I’m still very good. There’s a distinct difference between “fun trouble” and “real trouble.” I actually had never gotten in trouble for being disrespectful to Paul before. I DO respect him, and I want him to know that. I want to be polite and show him that I appreciate all the love and care that he gives me. I felt immediately distressed by my own behavior, but I put it away and got back to having fun (and soon, cake!) with my friends.
We got home fairly late that night and were all tired from a long day, so Paul told me that he would punish me the next day. We were also planning on filming clips for Kitchen Sink Spanking the next day, and as I went to bed I thought about what we were going to do for it. Kitchen Sink has always meant to be a representation of (if not our real lives) then our real personalities and styles of play. Sometimes the scenarios are goofy and cute and other times the scenes are severe enough to make me really cry and still others are sexy, but none of them had ever brushed on our actual punishment scenes. I came to the conclusion that this was something that I wanted to try doing. I’ve always felt like discipline was something very private. Sometimes, I don’t want to talk about my punishments explicitly online because I don’t want to share what I did wrong with everyone. In the past, when I was dating my ex, I felt like I couldn’t share my disciplinary scenes because “others wouldn’t understand” or they would be judgmental about the harshness involved (I partially felt that because my ex directly told me this, and partially because they actually were overly harsh and lacking in a certain kind of affection). But now that I’m with Paul, my feelings about this are very different. It’s “hard enough” and certainly very stern, but the whole proceeding is very loving. There’s something special about it. I decided that I felt ready to share this with the internet.
Interestingly enough, I didn’t get a chance to bring this up to Paul because he brought it up to me, and we talked about it briefly. One thing that I’ve always been afraid of when it comes to filming real punishments is that having a camera on would change the way that the actual punishment and aftercare would go, and after talking about it, I felt sure that it wouldn’t. We agreed that we would simply do things the way that we would if there wasn’t a camera. Since Amoni was here, we asked her if she would want to watch and be in the video and she agreed.
Paul set up the camera and left the room and Amoni and I sat on the bed, talking. This is the only part of the clip that seems a little bit contrived, because I knew that Paul was about to come in and punish me, and I think I probably look nervous, because I was. Soon, he came in and scolded me, inviting Amoni (or “Ami” because “Amoni” doesn’t really sound like a name) to watch: since I was rude in front of her, I could be punished in front of her. He was carrying the tawse. I’m sure I’ve talked about this before, but of all the reasonable implements in the world, this is the one that “gets to me” the most. I have long regarded it as being particularly scary, and because it’s an implement that I’ve primarily only had applied to me by Paul, it also carries a lot of emotional weight. And it really, really hurts. It’s heavy and horrible and biting. The design is so simple yet so effective and so unforgiving. I can hardly say the word “tawse” and I feel a little shiver just to type it now.
He directed me over pillows at the edge of the bed and lifted the skirt of my dress. I grabbed Amoni’s hand. Then he gave me the first stroke. I felt particularly vulnerable because I was being watched. However, I was more focused on the fact that Amoni was watching me than the camera, so it was probably a good idea that we had her there (I also really appreciated her hand holding). It only took three strokes to make me burst into real, genuine tears. Why? Because it hurt, for one thing, and the strokes were being applied without any warmup. More importantly, though, I felt horrible for my behavior and I knew just how badly I needed to be punished. I was very, very vulnerable. I felt small and young. I also felt a serious sense of security. There’s security that comes from knowing that if I mess something up, Paul isn’t going to get mad at me or ignore me or push me away. He’s going to punish me, hard, because he loves me, and he knows that I can and will do better than this. The whole thing makes me feel very cared for and safe. I can easily let go of my inhibitions and cry myself out, which is exactly what I did. If you watch the video, it might seem like my reactions are a little over the top. That’s just the way I am when I’m in this headspace. I feel everything strongly and I react the same. Besides, if I haven’t said so before, that horrible thing hurts like nothing else.
By the time we were finished, I was a sobbing mess. Paul sat down on the bed and scooped me up into his lap for cuddling and forgiveness. I continued to cry on his shoulder for quite a while as he assured me that everything was alright and that I was very loved. Honestly, this is the part that I’m happiest to be sharing. I think that the world needs more tenderness in it, especially the spanking world. While I might not feel entirely proud of the way I took the punishment (there’s a lot of wailing) I feel very proud to share this special moment created by my vulnerability and his love for me. Really, this is what Domestic Discipline is all about.
I feel very pleased with the final product of the film. It’s pretty much the most intimate thing that I’ve ever done on the internet, and I love how it shows the whole range of emotion that we go through when doing this.
Will I do more videos like this in the future? Probably. It honestly felt good to be able to share this. It didn’t change the way things went in the least. There’s something wonderfully exhibitionistic about it.
I hope that you’ll consider checking it out if you’re interested. It’s now my favorite spanking video that I’ve ever made. You can see the clip here.
It’s been a long time since I wrote a “Kink of the Week” post. KOTW, in case you don’t know, is run by the blog Kink and Poly. It’s an open discussion where everyone is invited to write about their personal experiences, opinions, thoughts and fantasies relating to a particular kink. I used to write KOTW posts all the time when I was a more active blogger. After I stopped being able to put as much time into writing, KOTW went on hiatus for a while, but now, it’s back! There was one topic before this one that I missed (just because I didn’t have a lot to say on it) but now, there’s a topic that suits me extremely well and I’m excited to write about: school uniforms.
School Uniforms are one of the things in the world that I fetishize the most. It can be an important part of a spanking scene or fantasy to me, but I also enjoy wearing them on their own. Like I sometimes do, I’ve created this visual aid to describe my feelings towards spanking and school uniforms:
I’ve created a venn diagram which shows my interest in spanking and my interest in school uniforms, and how they overlap. I’ve scaled the the two circles in order to properly show the way they relate. While scenes involving school uniforms take up a fairly big chunk of my spanking fantasies and play, they certainly aren’t taking up anywhere near all of it. However, the bigger piece of my school uniform related activities involve spanking. It’s also scaled down because it’s less of a significant kink for me, although it’s still one of the most important ones for me.
Besides being something that I enjoy playing with a lot, school uniforms have been on my mind for a long time. Although I almost feel like I was born with an innate interest in spanking, I wasn’t interested in school scenes at all until I got to be a little older. My original fantasies were all domestic. The kind of schools that would later become my fantasies didn’t exist for me yet. I went to a very relaxed public school, where none of my teachers were stern or serious and I could not imagine corporal punishment being used there. We did not wear uniforms. I don’t remember when I even became aware of school uniforms, or when I began to desire to have them. I do, however, know that when I was still in elementary school, I had obtained my first school uniform, which I sometimes wore like regular clothes despite it not being required at my school. It was a navy blue jumper (pinafore) with a pleated skirt and a white blouse underneath. I absolutely loved it, but it made me feel strangely like I was being naughty or inappropriate when wearing it. Wearing it lead to all sorts of complicated fantasies about being sent away to a very stern and serious school where spankings were given out regularly!
My interest in everything school related only got stronger as I aged, and I played complicated school pretends, set myself play-homework assignments and imagined strict punishments for any failings on my part! It was sometime during this period of my life when I discovered Roald Dahl’s autobiography, Boy. Within a few minutes of picking up the book I had learned about caning, and my fantasy world was forever changed. Once the English school fantasy was introduced to my mind, it took over like an invasive species. It was instantly at the top of my mental food chain. A large part of the fantasy for me involved the uniform, and the specifics of it. Unlike the short and suggestive skirts that I often prefer to wear nowadays, I fantasized about a very conservative uniform with lots of details: special socks and panties, shiny black mary jane shoes, a plaid skirt, a starched white shirt with every possible button buttoned, a tie, a blazer with a fancy, heavily embroidered insignia, a hat. A large part of the fantasy was the aspect of having multiple girls in matching outfits. It felt like we were unified and all on the same team. I think it also appealed to a desire for a sense of equality with my peers, as I was a strange, outcast girl who sat alone on the edge of the playground reading books. In my fantasies, I was equals with every other girl in my school and was often a ringleader in creating trouble, although sometimes I instead was the teacher’s pet.
As I became a teenager and then a college student, my interest in this only intensified. I now had the means to actually buy the things that I wanted, and I had discovered both internet spanking videos and spanking story sites: Mary Catherine Whitney’s St. Francis School For Girls story series had a huge impact on me. She seems to share a lot of my feelings about uniforms, and reading her descriptions made my mind wander in all kinds of wonderful ways. I also began to have privacy in my life, and I experimented with simply wearing as complete of a school uniform as I could find for myself. It was different than it was when I was a child. My feelings had become much more intense and I had grown increasingly shy and private about my spanking/school girl fantasies. Dressing in school girl clothes had started to feel far more taboo. I couldn’t “get away with it” anymore. And as I got older and the clothing I wanted to wear stayed the same, I began to notice a gap between the age I wanted to pretend to be when “playing school” and the age that I actually was. I took comfort in this slightly regressive play. It felt safe and somehow made the fantasy stronger.
Now that I’m actually playing on an extremely regular basis, and have been for years, school uniforms haven’t lost any of their significance. These sorts of scenes can create a lot of different emotions for me, depending on which aspect of the kink they focus on. Here are some of the things that I enjoy about this kind of play.
Formality: There’s a difference, in my mind, between a caning given to me when I’m wearing regular clothing and one given when I’m in a school uniform. The second seems more formal, and in my mind it becomes inherently more severe. It’s also hotter. I find the feeling of formality and even austerity that comes into play in most of my school roleplay scenes exciting and yes, erotic. When someone is being cold and harsh with me, especially when he or she is also dressed formally, it makes my knees shake. These formal school scenes are the core of my school fantasy, and they’re made even better when I’m playing with someone like Paul who has excellent technique as a Top. It’s clean, calm and precise, but oh so painful. Call me by my last name. Touch me as little as possible to do what you have to do. Send me away when you’ve finished. Yes.
Vulnerability: Depending on my character or the intended age of my uniform, playing this way can make me feel much more vulnerable than the average scene. This is the age play aspect: when I’m dressed this way, I’m just a helpless young girl. My misbehavior might be small, my punishment might not even be that severe, but it’s a very big deal. I find myself reacting more to spankings when I’m in this headspace, crying easily and apologizing profusely. Sometimes, my vulnerable feeling can be met with the formal attitude, making both of them feel ten times stronger, but other times, in this mood, I want to be punished by someone who has more tender, personal feelings for me. This tends to lend itself well to roleplays where I’ve been sent home from school for something and I’m being punished at home (although still dressed for school) by a guardian figure.
Sexuality: I cannot lie: I find school uniforms sexy. I especially find other girls in school uniforms sexy. Especially if we’re wearing the same uniform. It makes me feel like we’re teenagers, and that we’re exploring our sexualities together. That which is meant to be common place is suddenly extremely erotic. I can’t keep my hands away from her white, cotton panties under her school skirt, and she has her hand slipped in between the buttons of my blouse… Oh my, I could go on. I have a particular fetish for sheds. I know this is weird. I like the idea of hiding out behind a building in an institutional setting, being someplace where we aren’t meant to be and having sexy things happen. Of course, we’re likely to get caught and severely punished for this sort of behavior, and that only adds to the excitement.Taboo: Sometimes, I want to do a school scene which is incredibly dark. I don’t want someone to be formal with me: I want them to be harsh with me. I want them to be cruel to me. I want to be shoved around and man handled. I don’t want to be spanked, I don’t want to be punished: I want to be beaten. I want my uniform stripped off me: if pulling my shirt makes the buttons come off, then I don’t care, I’ll sew them back later, maybe still in character, sitting alone and sniffling. I want this to happen to me for no reason at all, for me to be entirely innocent and not deserving of these horrible things. I often want these scenes to include sexual consensual non consent. It’s dark and awful, but I love it. I take delight in it. It makes me incredibly aroused. Part of this probably developed because a lot of things that used to feel taboo to me just don’t anymore. I can talk about spanking openly in the grocery store and not blush (getting a swat, however, still makes me horribly embarrassed, but that’s a different story). Darker stories like this give me that same sort of rush. Also, I only like to play this way with someone that I love and trust (so, pretty much, I only play this way with Paul, although there are a couple other people who I would play this way with). I’ve mentioned it before: there’s something really hot to me about pretending to dislike someone you actually adore in a scene. It let’s you become someone totally different, and let’s us do things we normally wouldn’t do.
Naughtiness and fun: When school roleplays involve other girls, they often end up being incredibly wild and wacky. We play off each other. We get into mischief. We pass notes. We make faces behind the teacher’s back. We do explicit hand gestures. It’s fun. I’ve spent so much of my kink life trying to be a good girl, and it’s a blast to entirely abandon any semblance of that and just soak up the enjoyment of being a bad little girl. My beloved friend, Bad Alex brings this out in me more than anyone else. Put us together and get us in uniforms and suddenly we’re whispering very rude things, or making “field trips” to the liquor store!
Camaraderie: It doesn’t matter how they all feel about each other or whose fault it was: when a group of girls is all in trouble, there’s a sense of camaraderie that can’t be denied. I *love* big, mutli-girl school scenes because of this. Like I mentioned before, once we’re in uniforms, we’re all peers. We’re all the same. It’s a unified group. And when one of us is in trouble, or worse, when all of us are, we feel for the other girls. In these sorts of scenes, I get to experience the emotional ride of getting in trouble and being punished over and over again as I live vicariously through my peers. We get to comfort one and other, holding hands while taking our discipline, maybe, or just sending empathetic glances. You know that your friends know how you feel.
Exhibitionism: I mentioned earlier that not all of my school uniform play is spanking play. Sometimes, I like to go out in public dressed in my school uniform. That’s the entirety of the scene: going to Target or a diner (or a liquor store) while dressed up like a school girl. It gives me a huge, exhibitionist rush. I wonder if people can tell that I’m an adult or not. I wonder how they feel about me. I wonder what they think I’m doing. I feel embarrassed, but also exhilarated. During our first vacation together, when we first started dating, Paul had me wear my full school uniform to breakfast at a restaurant with him. I lingered in the car for a moment before getting out, and hoped I wasn’t blushing too much as I walked in. The gusty wind that kept blowing my school skirt up didn’t help me to feel any better. I felt incredibly excited by the whole thing, though, and couldn’t stop squirming in my seat!
I’ll have to make a second post later describing all the kinds of uniforms that I like: fancy ones, plain ones, jumpers, skirts, summer dresses, PE kit, school shoes, school bags, notebooks, bows, insignias and much, much more. American ones, English ones, Japanese ones. You got to see a good sampling of them here, though, and there will surely be more to come!I hope you guys enjoyed this KOTW post. You can check out all the posts on the subject here:
Want to read my other KOTW posts? Check these ones out:
Punishment: The Real Kind
Punishment: The Fun Kind
Experiments with Bastinado
Protocol: Accepting the Concept, Enjoying the Reality
Understanding TicklingWelcome back KOTW! There will be many more in my future. 🙂
I just finished a busy week. I shall now tell you about it, bit by bit.
On Monday, Paul and I drove out to Topenga (a more “rural” area on the edge of Los Angeles where one can experience some much needed fresh air!) in the early afternoon. I was meeting up with Pandora Jones, Samantha Grace and Odette Delacroix later that day in order to shoot a custom video, but Paul and I had wanted to try and find some places to shoot outdoor spanking content for Kitchen Sink Spanking, so we decided to do that first while we were already out of the city. It may have been the end of April, but the weather in Los Angeles was already feeling more like summer time: it was warm, sunny and bright out. We found a little park and took a walk until we were under a big oak tree. I was pretty obscured from the street, but it was still close by: if I turned my back, I could see the cars rushing by. I didn’t feel comfortable getting spanked so close to the road, but we did film a panty fetish video there, since it’s a lot harder to notice that someone is flashing her panties than it is to miss the very distinctive sound of a spanking. As it was, that level of exhibitionism was fun and exciting without making me too nervous, but I did run into one small “filming in the countryside” snafu. While Paul had been setting up the camera, I had leisurely leaned my back against the tree. After a few minutes, I felt something tickling my arms and looked down to see red ants crawling all over me! I’m sure it was comical to watch me flailing around and trying to shake the ants off. It’s a pity we weren’t already filming :P. For a while after this, I kept noticing one or two ants crawling on my body, and had to pick them off. Paul seemed to think that this was a bit prissy of me, but these were red ants, and I was convinced that they were going to bite me. Red ants are not common in the area where I grew up, and they’re the enemy in Sim Ant, so I tend to be distrustful of them.After abandoning antville, we planned to walk back to the car by way of a path which looped around and drive on to find another park. Instead, I found a path that lead off in another direction which I wanted to explore. This was a good call: it lead down into a little gulch which held a much bigger, older tree. The branches formed a canopy around it, and we had to push them aside to go into the little “room” formed there. Inside, we found a rope and board swing hanging from one of the branches. This is exactly the kind of secret hideaway that I love. It was a private little space away from the rest of the world, and I happily climbed onto the swing (after testing it for safety, of course). Paul filmed me swinging while giving peeks at my panties for a bit, but then announced that it was time for me stop playing, as I was in need of a spanking. Why? Because the space was perfect for one. It was definitely true. No one could see us and the branches made me feel cut off from the rest of the world. It felt like we were in a private universe there.
Setting the camera up on some rocks or something, Paul directed me to bend over the swing. I did this by laying over it like it was a lap, so that my stomach was against the wood and all my limbs were sort of hanging. Paul explained that this wasn’t actually a very effective way to spank me, and suggested that I stand up, bend over and grab the seat of the swing. This *did* make more sense. The other pose probably looked a bit silly. It was one I had done many times before, though: when I was younger and first fantasizing about spanking I liked to drape myself across things to imagine that I was in the OTK position, and I used the swings on the playground to do this pretty regularly. Fortunately, no one had ever asked me what I was doing.
Under the tree, Paul lifted my skirt and began to spank me. Even though it wasn’t cold out at all, the fresh air made the smacks seem to sting more. Maybe it was psychosomatic, but I yelped pitifully from a simple hand spanking.
When he pulled my panties down, I felt particularly exposed. I protested that a squirrel might see me, since that was pretty much the only way that I would be observed. I knew it was silly, especially since I do plenty of fully nude tromping around outdoors when modeling, but I felt tremendously vulnerable. “Squirrels have seen everything,” Paul responded, which is a strangely sage sentence, when you think about it. I wiggled and whined throughout the rest of the spanking. Once he had finished reddening my bottom, Paul asked me how I was enjoying my day out and all I could do was scrunch my face. I was enjoying it very much, but I felt strangely camera shy when asked to comment directly, especially since I’ve put a lot of effort into training myself not to look at the camera during spanking videos (a concept I had difficulty grasping until more recently than I’d like to admit). I think I ended up blushing and bashfully looking at the ground and saying “I guess.” That’s me. The queen of articulation right there! You can watch this spanking sometime soon on Kitchen Sink Spanking. It’s not available yet, but will be before too long.)
I spent a while working on another project under the tree, and then spent a little bit more time swinging just for fun before we climbed out of the branches and back into the real world. We got back into the car and drove to a piece of civilization where we found a cafe to eat a late lunch, which was extremely delicious. Soon, it was time for me to go shoot my custom video, so Paul stayed in the town to hang out while I drove off up a big hill. The place which Pandora (Jones, not Blake) had found for us to shoot was a strange but magical little hippy commune nestled in the hills. She’d rented two little houses there. Odette and I arrived around the same time and went off to find Pandora and Samantha, but we got distracted by a treehouse on the way. Odette climbed up and I snapped a picture:
I like being around Odette because she’s one of the only people I know who is more eager to do fun (ridiculous) things than I am, even if hanging out with her does make me feel like a giant.
We met up with the other two girls, and I gave Pandora such a giant hug. She’s the lady who helped me do my first ever kinky shoot, the first person who ever tied me up and has been a beloved friend for years, but I haven’t seen her since before I left for South Dakota. She’s living on the East Coast now, but was visiting LA for a little bit. It was so good to be back around her, even if we only got to see each other for a couple of hours. It was awesome to meet Samantha. I’d seen her work for a long time, and was glad to get to work alongside her! She’s even prettier in person and relaxed, friendly and down-to-earth.
Before we filmed, Odette showed us her Google Glass, which she’s using to make the ultimate POV experience these days. I knew very little about them, so she explained a lot of what they can do and I was very impressed. We then filmed the custom pretty directly, then spent a little while hanging out. I couldn’t stay and talk for as long as I would have liked to, but it was great to have the time that we did.
I had parked on a dirt road which was also a hill, which made getting out of the commune tricky. My car slid down the hill and ended up in a pile of leaves and debris off the edge of the road. Somehow, I didn’t panic, and instead put the car in neutral, got out, cleared the brush away from the back wheels and then pushed the car back onto solid terrain. Ha! Such a grown up!
I then went and picked Paul up and we headed home, where I made us a pot roast with roasted carrots and potatoes for dinner and we spent the rest of the night catching up on work before it was time for snuggles and bed.
PS- Yes! I’m back! Except more posts soon! ♥
The day after Paul arrived back home happened to be Valentine’s Day. It was positively joyful to wake up in the morning next to him, knowing that he was really here and that we’d be spending the whole day together. The day was beautiful out: sunny and warm. I made breakfast and we spent the morning and early afternoon relaxing and cuddling. At dinner time, we headed downtown to go to a favorite restaurant.
Now, I hadn’t been spanked for non-professional reasons the entire time that Paul had been gone: about three months. I was antsy for as much attention as possible, and I couldn’t help but let this show in acts of naughtiness while we were out. I didn’t do anything serious, but I was obviously a bit hyperactive, and I pushed tiny boundaries: I ran from the car to the elevator in the parking lot. I pushed all the buttons in said elevator. I was impatient to get inside and get to dinner (all due to excitement, of course!) and I may have whined a bit. While I didn’t act out much in the restaurant itself, about halfway through our meal, I discovered that the table wasn’t exactly even, and by leaning on it, I could make it shift. It wasn’t enough to spill anything or disturb anything, but Paul told me to stop it. So I did. But then I did it again– entirely by accident, of course! And the third and fourth and fifth time were by accident, too. I was very accident prone, until he leaned over and whispered in my ear:
“You’re going to get spanked for being so naughty when we get home. If you keep this up, you’re going to get spanked here.”
I doubted that he would actually spank me in a restaurant, but since it was my favorite place, I didn’t want to risk it. Despite feeling a bit squirmy after this scolding, I sat quietly through the rest of the meal and pushed only one button in the elevator on the way back down.
Once we got home, we snuggled up on the sofa for a while. I continued to talk a mile a minute to catch up on all the things that he had missed while gone. Eventually, the subject changed to my earlier naughtiness.
“I think you need to be spanked for making such mischief, and for disobeying me,” he told me, pulling me over his lap as he sat on the sofa and lifting my short, heart-printed dress. I was wearing white cotton panties with pink hearts on them, and he rubbed my bottom gently for a while: it was still slightly tender from having been spanked so thoroughly the night before. Then, he started to spank me. The sound rang through the room, sounding incredibly loud, and I let out a sound which was not just caused by the sharp sting. He continued, slowly and firmly, and I cooed, purred, whimpered and wriggled. I wanted more. I wanted to be spanked even harder, and I wanted it to be faster. He teased me for a few moments, but the spanking grew, and it got exactly that: hard and fast. Soon I was gasping, overwhelmed, unable to process each individual sensation until it grew into one big, all encompassing feeling and I slipped, as if underwater, into a delicate, passive place. I was flushed with arousal and entirely content. After a few minutes, he stopped and leaned in to whisper to me again: “I don’t think that spanking you is enough. I’m going to beat you.” He stood me up and pulled my dress all the way off, enjoying the site of me standing in my panties for a moment before giving me an instruction: “Go get my cane.”
I padded off to the kitchen, blushing in the way that being sent for an implement tends to make me blush. My heart was dancing in my chest: I hadn’t been caned in a long time. Besides, I hadn’t been caned by him in months, and that experience is a different thing than playing that way with anyone else. It’s not just the fact that we tend to play harder together. It’s an emotional thing: I’m far more vulnerable with him, and I was in a state of particularly high vulnerability. I was apprehensive, but in a positive way.
In the white cabinet in the kitchen where the implements are kept (AKA the “Cupboard of Awful”) there are four canes. These can be divided into two categories: “every day” canes and “special” canes. There are two lightweight rattan canes of different lengths which are the “every day” canes. These are used when filming, during sessions, when playing with other people, when traveling and, very rarely, during our personal play. The two “special” canes are fancier, denser, scarier vintage canes. The smaller one is the cane that we use nearly all the time in our personal play. The larger one has never been used: it’s reserved for very serious infractions and I’m somewhat terrified of it. It’s thicker and denser than the cane that Paul usually uses during our personal scenes (both playful and disciplinary) and that cane is incredibly heavy, dense and thick. It also has a lot of emotional attachment, and this mental side of things has a strong effect on me. Without being told, I knew to select this cane, and I brought it back rather awkwardly, thinking about how much it was going to hurt.
Paul took the cane from me and bent me over with my hands on the seat of the sofa. Bent over positions feel more formal to me (as opposed to prone positions, which feel more intimate) and the mix of the formal positioning with my vulnerability and arousal, as well as our seriously intimate emotional connection worked for me. It brought me back to very old fantasies, and I quivered with anticipation. “Open your legs,” he instructed, and I did so, rather sheepishly.
“I’m not going to beat you because you were naughty tonight,” Paul told me. “I’m going to beat you because you’re mine.”
“Yes, Paul,” I affirmed, floating off into a place where I was focused on belonging and couldn’t feel safer.
Then, he began to cane me. The first stroke made me cry out: a mix between a wail and a sharp exhale. It bit and stung, and the pain was growing rapidly. I expected a long pause, during which I would squirm and whimper and then finally calm myself and wait for the next stroke, which would follow. I was taken by surprise when the next stroke followed rather immediately after the first. The parallel pains blossomed, and Paul gave me a short break to catch my breath before landing another pair of strokes. I tried to adapt to this new pacing, but it left me trembling. At one point, after about six or seven strokes, I whimpered out “How many?” In the past year or so, I had become very attached the idea of knowing exactly what was going to happen before it started. Paul didn’t hear my question, I don’t think, and I realized I didn’t actually want to repeat it. I didn’t need to know. I could let things be entirely out of my hands, and just trust him to give me the right amount for what I needed. I found doing this very freeing. Paul and I developed our relationship in the wake of me getting out of something which had stopped being emotionally healthy for me, and I’ve struggled with fears, insecurities and anxieties about things which used to seem simple to me. Paul has been incredibly patient: never pushing me too hard and always making me feel safe. It was rewarding to be able to bask in this safety without some of the nervousness that had been gnawing at me. As such, neither of us know how many strokes I actually took, but I know it was a lot. He continued in this paired fashion, and I cried out and wailed, but didn’t actually break into tears. I was too happy to be in that moment, too filled with adrenaline, and too aroused to go to that place.
Finally, after what seemed like a very, very long time, Paul said “I’m going to give you six more strokes.”
“Six?!” I gasped. I was expecting that he would say one or two, maybe. For a second, this many more strokes seemed impossible, but I quickly accepted it, and I took pleasure in the thought that I would take them as well as I could. Paul instructed me to shut my legs, and I knew that this meant that at least some of these strokes would be on my thighs. I braced myself for this, focusing on the feeling of belonging, of this being something decided by him for me, and of being out of control. I felt another sharp shiver of excitement course through my body. It was followed quite quickly by the first of the six final cane strokes, which landed across my thighs. I shouted: it was shockingly painful. All six of these strokes happened with fairly quick pacing, and I found myself wiggling, squirming, wailing, jumping up and down in a way which was probably rather ridiculous to look at and, all in all, struggling. They were very hard, and I could feel how swollen my thighs were already. I felt each welt rise as I gritted my teeth together, trying to bear the red hot agony that they brought. Then, it was over.
Pretty immediately, I collapsed into his arms on the sofa. Paul held me close, and I felt wrapped up, tiny and very, very loved. I thanked him for beating me, and he stroked my hair and cuddled me as I came down from my endorphin high. Finally, I stood up and gently felt the welts. They felt pretty obvious to the touch, and I wondered how it looked. I suffer from an inability to show just how severely I have been spanked sometimes, and I was afraid that this would look less spectacular than it felt.
“Do I have lines?” I asked Paul. He looked carefully.
“You have a few,” he told me. “If you go look quickly you might be able to see them.” I was disappointed. This was ALWAYS the way it turned out. My stupid bottom not marking up the way it should! I grumbled as I walked to the mirror, where I turned around and saw this:
He then helped me document them in a couple of different lighting situations:
Last Thursday, I got up in the morning after having hardly slept at all. I’d gone to sleep at my bedtime like a good girl, but I found myself just lying there, unable to relax into the sleep I knew that I needed. When I got up, it was going to be a busy day, and I needed the energy, but I was pulsating with excitement and could hardly lay in one position very long. The next time I went to bed, it would be with Paul. How could I possibly sleep when I knew that it was down to the HOURS before I’d see him? It’s annoying, the way that my body responds to excitement. If I could have just slept, the ten hours I ended up staying in my bed for would have flown by. My boyfriend from High School used to describe sleep as “Time Travel.” He’d intentionally sleep as much as he could leading up to things he was looking forward to. Me? I tied my covers in knots with my tossing and turning and looked at my phone to see what time it was every five minutes. Finally, around 7 AM, I fell asleep.
When I woke up at 10:30, I had the worst sleep-eyes I’d ever experienced, and hardly even looked like a human. This called for some teabags soaked in ice water resting on my closed eyes for fifteen minutes. Now, I’m someone who has stood in corners for long periods of time rather habitually, and I’ve waited in other boring, unpleasant ways, too. This time passed impossibly slowly, though. I thought that my timer was broken about eight times. In about the twelfth minute, there was a knock on the door. I was expecting mail, so I answered it. It turns out that it was a couple of people wanting to talk religion. They asked if my parents were home, and I told them they were not (in fact, they’re very far away!) so they left. I suppose the teabags must have worked, if I was being back to being mistaken as a child.
After this, I got to work doing housecleaning. I’d been preparing for Paul to come back in various ways ever since he left. I had set up a garden area in the back yard, complete with plants, yard chairs, a small table and a little outdoor fireplace (inspired by the fact that Paul had mentioned several times that he missed sitting by a fire in the evening, since few homes in Los Angeles have fireplaces, it seems). I had done lots of cleaning and organizing in the house, adding little touches here and there to make it feel more put together. And for the past month, I’d been coloring a “Welcome Home” sign for him, working on it a little bit each day. I’m not really “good” at arts and crafts (the thing I’m best at making is a mess!) but it came out very cute. It’s quite obvious that I drew it, and I think that’s what counts. Anyway, I wanted the house to be as spotless as possible, so there was tidying done, laundry and dishes washed and put away, floors scrubbed, the bathroom cleaned and so on. When it was finally done, I cut some flowers that were growing in an area that I consider to be part of my yard (there has since been some debate as to whether these were technically not mine) and filled vases with them. I set the sign on the bed. Things looked perfect, and I was very pleased.
Next, it was time to make myself presentable, since I pretty much looked like some kind of cleaning wench at this point. I ran myself a bath, where I quickly washed my hair and face, then put a hair mask on my hair, wrapped it up in a towel to sit, coated my face with a delicious smelling treatment from Skinfood (mmmm, strawberries!) and added a fancy bathbomb to the water. To make thing more interesting, I added a Crayola tablet which turns the bath water colors, so I was soaking in floral scented, pink water. This, my friends, is the life.
Now, months and months ago, Paul and I had been in the drugstore looking for something else when I had come across these water coloring tablets. We had the following conversation:
Me: Paul, may I have this?
Paul: No, you can’t have that. It’s likely to stain the bathtub.
I’m sure I then whined quite a bit about how unfair this was, but Paul held his ground. A couple of weeks ago, I had been in the grocery store looking at bath products (they’re one of my obsessions, as bath-taking is borderline fetishistic for me) when I rediscovered these colored tablets. I was already buying more bath stuff than I needed (milk-bath mixture, chamomile bubble bath AND scented sea salts) but they looked just as appealing as they had the first time I had seen them. Who doesn’t want to take a bath in brightly colored water? How fun! (Un)fortunately, this time, I was all alone and unsupervised in the store. Somehow, I managed to convince myself that Paul had meant that I couldn’t have any bath colors THEN, not that I couldn’t have them EVER. Clearly, that’s what he meant. In fact, I was sure that he said “Not today” somewhere in that conversation, which meant that since it wasn’t that day anymore, it would be just fine for me to buy them. Besides, I had been very good recently. There would be no consequences to this action. Of course not. Just fun, colored water.
So, yesterday, I soaked in the pink water happily until it was time to get out. I spent a while getting ready and making myself look as cute as I could:
Then, I went out to my car. It was only 5:45, and Paul’s flight wasn’t scheduled to land until 7:15 and then he had to go through immigration, but I wanted to be there early. I wanted to find the door that he would have to come through to get to baggage claim and pounce him with the biggest hug ever. I didn’t want to waste one possible minute that we could be being together upon his arrival. In fact, thinking about seeing him again in the airport had temporarily replaced spanking scenarios as my night time, pre-sleep fantasy. So, I would get there very early and have time to prepare for this.When I got out to my car, it had a mostly flat tire, probably caused by the fact that I had recently sort of scraped against a wall while reversing through a tight space.
Fortunately, I had time to go to the gas station and put air in, which I did very carefully as I was wearing a short skirt and had just spent about an hour in the bath, but I then had to return home to wash my hands and knees off from kneeling on the ground and touching the wheel. Soon, I was back in the car and I entered the airport into my GPS. I was reminded that portions of the 405 are currently closed or seriously delayed. The 405 would have been my best route to the airport, but I chose to take a more complicated route instead to avoid the 405.
Unfortunately, it seems, so did everyone else. It took me an hour and a half to travel a distance which usually takes me about 40 minutes, and the whole time I was worrying that I’d done the tire pressure wrong and my car was going to exploded, or that Paul would get through customs and not have anyone to greet him.
Finally, around 7:40, I pulled into the parking lot at the International Terminal. I raced down, but went in the wrong door and ended up in a part of the airport which primarily had its signage in Japanese. As I was semi-frantically running around, I got a text from Paul saying that he was outside. I had no idea where that was.For a second, “MISSION FAILED” appeared across my vision, but I managed to keep from falling apart. I felt really, really sad that he had gone all the way through baggage claim without being intercepted by my giant hug. I found a doorway to the outside world, and was attempting to text and walk at the same time when a familiar voice said “Boo!”Then Paul was standing in front of me, and I fell into some kind of confused trance, overwhelmed with feelings. I fell into aforementioned giant hug, which turned into a long, passionate kiss.
After this, I sort of bounced around, talking about many things that didn’t really relate to each other. I was in a state of giddy, hyperactive derealization. This has always been sort of a “problem” for me in my relationship with Paul (I say “problem” in quotation marks because there’s nothing actually bad about it, but I don’t know what else to call it). I sometimes interact with him in a daze because it’s difficult for me to believe that he’s really here, that a person as wonderful as him is real and that I’m actually loved the way that I am. It leaves me in a perpetual state of wonder and gleeful amazement, but then, the world felt almost unreal.But it was real. This is my life.
I apologized for not having been at the very first door I could have been, and explained what had happened and Paul didn’t seem too disappointed. In between my talking a mile a minute about whatever was popping into my head at that moment, I asked if it was alright for us to grab some groceries before going home. When I had cleaned the kitchen, I realized that the cupboards were primarily bare except for candy. File that under “the dangers of leaving me unsupervised.”As we drove to the grocery store, I chatted about all the things I had done that day to get ready for his arrival. When I got to the part of the story about my bath, there was an awkward little pause. We were stopped at a red light, which seemed as good a time as any to bring this up.
“Paul?” I asked, my voice sounding quiet and vulnerable.
“Yes?” he responded, obviously aware of what usually came out of my mouth when my voice sounded this way (either a request for something I feel shy to ask for or a confession of some sort of bad behavior).
“Do you remember the day that we were in the store and we saw those bath tablets which change color?” Paul confirmed that he remembered. “You told me that I couldn’t have any, but you didn’t actually mean that, right?”
Paul’s face was a mixture of annoyance and confusion, with traces of amusement showing through under the stern. “Why would I have not meant it?”
“Maybe you meant that I couldn’t have any just then, but I could have it another day?” I explained.
“No. I told you you could never have any, because they’ll stain the tub,” he told me, shaking his head.
“But they didn’t stain the tub! It’s fine now!” I rebutted. I reeled back for a moment, realizing that I had admitted my disobedience. Paul gave me a serious look. “Am I in trouble?” I asked very meekly.
“Yes,” Paul said, leaning in close to me. “I’m going to have to spank you for this when we get home.”
Being spoken to this way, by him, in person, for the first time in ages sent my mind spinning off into a happy place and I had to focus on driving very intentionally when the light changed again.We got groceries and then went to an all-night diner for some food, where we both ate breakfast. We sat together on the same side of the booth and cuddled. By then, I was getting sleepy from my lack of sleep the night before, and I can’t imagine how tired Paul was after his long day of international travel. We returned home, where I showed him my series of surprises: the garden area, the little touches I’d added to the kitchen and living room, the way that I’d finally gotten the study set up (as it had previously doubled as a storage room until I had tackled it recently) and then my sign. He was thrilled by everything, but especially pleased with the sign. After looking at all of this, he carefully unbuttoned my dress and pulled it off.
“You did something that I told you not to while I was away, didn’t you?” he asked me, his voice a mixture of sternness and affection. I played with my hair and looked down.
“Yes, Paul,” I whispered. He scolded me about the bath tablets (although he ultimately agreed that I could keep them, since they don’t actually stain anything) for a moment before turning me over his lap.
I know that there have been many times in my life when I needed to be spanked very badly. There have been long spells where I was strongly desiring play and just not getting it. There were also the first eighteen years of my life before spanking became a reality and when it had only been a fantasy. Still, it was hard for me to think of a time when I wanted to be spanked more. There was none of the anxious apprehension which had surrounded my first spanking adventures, and none of the guilty hangups that had come into play when I was not getting spanked due to relationship problems in the past. Everything about this was right, and I lingered in each moment.
I was shocked by how hard the first smack was. It echoed in the room and made me gasp. I was aware that my bottom was probably extremely sensitive, considering that I had been playing much less frequently while he had been away, yet all I felt were endorphins. Within a few smacks, I dived directly into a place which has often been illusive to me in my years as a spankee: the floaty, subspacey place where spanking just feels good. Everything felt amazing, and my response was to gasp and push my bottom up to meet Paul’s hand as it descended again and again and again.
I didn’t wiggle: I writhed happily. After some amount of time had passed (I have no idea how long it actually was, since it felt like both an age and a moment) he pulled me up onto his lap for another kiss, an we spent a while kissing, cuddling and enjoying each other. After a bit of this, he turned to me and said “I’m not done spanking you yet” and directed me back over his lap, where he continued to spank me very hard and I continued to offer absolutely no resistance: I had nothing to resist. It was the greatest feeling ever. I cooed and purred.
Eventually, he paused and talked to me, rubbing my bottom gently.”You belong to me, Alex,” he affirmed me, “and I’ll smack your bottom until it’s red and sore whenever it pleases me.”
I shivered with delight. There was no part of me that was focused on anything but the fact that I belong to him and love him. By the time the spanking was finished, my bottom felt hot and swollen, and as I calmed down and caught my breath I became aware of how stingy it was. I changed into pajamas (new ones that I’d been saving for his homecoming) and became suddenly very aware of how tired I was. Soon, we were curled up in our bed together, and the world was a place where everything was right and good.
It’s time for me to wrap up my Year in Review with the final few months! Hooray!
September was a funny month. Paul arrived in Los Angeles, and I was overwhelmed with joy at this. Although we were together and I was extremely happy about this fact, our lives were still very much in a transition period. We were staying at Rafa and Zeki’s place and sleeping on a sofa-bed which was not really meant for long-term use as a bed. All of my things remained packed in my car and we were living out of suitcases. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but I was still happy. We were originally going to move into the same building as them, but decided to look into renting houses instead for a bit more privacy and a heightened feeling of domesticity. We found a place and went through all the infinite hassles associated with moving, and spent the rest of the month doing things like finding appliances and furniture and doing approximately a million and ninety eight loads of laundry (since everything smelled like a stuffy car). Finally, by the end of the month, we were basically moved in.
When we first arrived in Los Angeles, our playing was at the minimum, since we were not only staying in someone else’s space, but in a vanilla home. We still did sneak in a couple of scenes, though, including this one, which has been previously unshared:
One day, I was missing Bad Alex quite a bit so I decided to say hi to her. I did this by texting her the message “Suck a dick” because this is the way that Bad Alex and I treat each other.
Bad Alex and I then had some enjoyable banter and chatted a bit. Unbeknownst to me, however, she had sent Paul a carefully worded and very formal Fetlife message letting him know that I had “suggested that she do something very unsanitary” and that she was “concerned” about my status as a good girl if I continued using this sort of language. Anyone who had ever met Bad Alex would roll their eyes and groan at her attempt to make herself sound like the good one in this friendship. Unfortunately, at this point, Paul had never met Bad Alex.
I don’t mean to say that he actually believed that I was being bad, but he certainly wasn’t going to let a perfectly concocted scenario for me to be in (not for serious) trouble pass him by. Here began a very unfair development in my life in which Paul started “believing” whatever Bad Alex told him and conveniently looking in the other direction when she was antagonizing me. Most unfair thing ever. Harrumph!
On this particular afternoon, it just so happened that no one was in the place where we were staying except for the two of us. Admittedly, Bad Alex must have cared very much about me getting punished, since she put careful work into her tattling letter of lies and misrepresentation. Paul kept a straight face while he scolded me about not using such harsh language and treating my friends with more respect than that, then he marched me into the room in which we were staying and retrieved his cane from one of the suitcases. I hadn’t been caned by Paul since June, and my heart was aflutter with anticipation. Even when it’s a play punishment as opposed to real discipline, Paul takes a very serious attitude towards my correction and I felt sheepish and somehow, a bit shy when he instructed me to strip down to my panties and lie over the bed. Being undressed made me feel vulnerable, but it also made me feel more pacified, and I slipped into a comfortably submissive headspace. Where a moment ago, I had just been inches away from a tantrum at how unfair it was to listen to anything that Bad Alex said about me (or really, anything ever), I had given up on my protests and accepted the fact that, “fair” or not, I was going to be caned. First, I got a short but firm spanking to serve as a warmup, and I was shocked by how sensitive my thighs had become. Just a few sharp smacks to them made tears start to roll down my face. This was a good thing. I needed this, and I knew it.
This isn’t to say that I didn’t resist the caning which followed, because I certainly wiggled and cried out and came questionably close to breaking position.The strokes were fairly hard, and I felt the impact deep in my muscles. As I lay still and cried, I felt an enormous sense of relief, though. A lot of stress had accumulated in my life, and there’s nothing which reassures me more than being lovingly beaten. I felt tremendously secure, as painful, fiery reminders of how loved I am lit up my bottom and the backs of my thighs. I had entirely forgotten that I was being “punished” for my rude behavior towards my bad counterpart until all the strokes had been delivered and I was getting my requisite cuddles, when Paul reminded me that I was to take a picture of my welts and send it to her. On a certain level, I probably should have thanked her for facilitating a scene which had left me in such a good place, but I had too much pride for that, and I included many scrunchy faces in my message containing the above photo. But, I suppose I’ll say it here, what the hell. Bad Alex is a very good friend, and just like sometime I need to fall under her bad influence, I also sometimes appreciate all the effort that she puts into seeing me getting properly punished, even if it’s for things I didn’t do. ^_^
October was a very happy month, as it was the first one that we spent fully in our new home. Moving in was mostly done, and I had a chance to explore the neighborhood a bit more. Unfortunately, one day I tried to walk to Target and instead, ended up walking two plus miles in the wrong the direction without any water, on a hot day, and while I was wearing inappropriate footwear for doing miles of walking. I had to call Paul to come rescue me when I realized that my feet were about to bleed, although I knew that I would be in big trouble for my impromptu misadventure. This is what happened after he did:
“Are you mad?” I asked, my voice small and meek.”You’re going to be punished when we get home” was his only response. We drove back in silence. I could do nothing but think about how thoughtless this had been. I’d interrupted Paul’s working. I had entirely failed at taking care of myself. Tears ran down my face, and I sniffled a bit.
As soon as we got in the door, Paul turned to me and said “Go to your room.” I went into our bedroom and flopped on the bed. I didn’t want to stand up. My feet hurt too much. I was hot. I was tired. I was in big, big trouble. I lay there like a lump, doing an activity which really can’t be described as anything but “sulking.” In the seeming eternity (but actually one or two minutes) before Paul came in I could hear him moving around in the kitchen. Then I heard the sound of a cabinet being opened and shut again, and my heart began to pound.
There’s a shallow, white cabinet in the kitchen. It’s separated from the other kitchen cupboards and obviously original to the house, but it’s only about three inches deep. I’m not sure what it was used for, but it’s become the official storage place for some of our meanest implements.
I wanted to mope about the fact that I was about to be seriously corrected, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I knew that I deserved it. Still, my tummy hurt.
Paul finally came into the room holding a cane. I had sort of known that was going to be the end of this story from the moment that I realized that I had messed up so badly, but the reality of the situation was sinking in very quickly.
In addition to feeling upset about how thoughtless my actions were, I had been really focused on worrying that Paul was mad at me for inconveniencing him. Having to stop your work to go rescue a silly girl who got herself into a mess is bound to annoy anyone. But once he began to scold me, I realized that he was much more upset about the fact that something bad could have happened to me. I felt very loved as he lectured me about thinking before I did things and taking care of myself. I could feel how precious I am to him, and how he won’t let any harm come to me, even through my own poor judgement.
Then he ordered me over the bed and began to spank me. While technically a warmup, he started hard and furiously. In my tired, vulnerable state, I pretty instantly started to sob hard, offering absolutely no emotional resistance to the spanking. I needed it. I knew that.
I felt impossibly sore after the warm up, but this was probably mostly because of my mental state at the time. Then Paul ordered me to kneel up on the bed, which I did quickly. I kept my feet off the edge of the bed because they had gotten filthy as I was walking around on the dusty sidewalks in flip flops. Paul noticed this, too, and said “You’ll clean your feet after this,” which I quietly affirmed through my tears. “Get down on your elbows,” he told me, and this made me cry harder, but I did as I was told. This position means only one thing: strokes to the tender area where my thighs and bottom meet. Paul then tapped my bottom with the cane before simply saying “Ten.”
The first stroke startled me into some sort of clarity for a second, although after the initial crack, during that long moment when the pain begins to built and develop, I felt overtaken by hurting and began to cry again. The next two or three were quickly paced– no time for one to finish building before the next and I could make no attempt at processing them. I wailed. After five strokes, he gave me a little break, pressing his hand against the welts in the same motion that I do when a beating is over. The pressure seems to hold the pain in for a moment. I caught my breath, but didn’t slow my sobbing.
The next two strokes were to that aforementioned tender area. I did my best not to yell, but I felt an overpowering warmth: burning, biting, pinching, gnawing heat. The rest of the strokes came in quick succession, and after each one, my cries became louder and more desperate.
It’s a very good thing that we live in a house instead of an apartment. I’m….noisy.
When the whole thing was over, Paul immediately sat down on the bed and pulled me onto his lap, holding me close to him. I wiped tears all over my face in some attempt of cleaning myself up and apologized over and over. He stroked my hair and told me he forgave me.
October also brought Crimson Moon’s Halloween party, which was amazingly fun. There were a lot of extremely fun events, and the party had such a relaxed, drama-free environment. Drlectr and Mama Blue ran a “Detention Room” roleplay, and I loved waiting outside the “office” to be called in to be punished, being scolded and paddled by a very stern Principal Lectr and having Mama Blue witness the entire proceeding! There was also Trick-or-Treating, and Thursday Night, Bad Alex and I had a ton of fun hiding alcoholic drinks in our treat bags as we ran from door to door. The majority of the treats bore stickers, though, and every time you grabbed a stickered treat from the bag that your “friendly” neighborhood Top was offering you got spanked! In the end, we ended up taking Naughty Freckles to CP Court for putting so many damn stickers on the candy. Speaking of Court, Strict Dave gave his usual awesome performance, although the majority of the cases were against Bad Alex. At one point, she flipped someone off while on the stand and Strict Dave gave her “the seven foot strap” for contempt of court. That was quite impressive to watch!
At this party I also got to witness Robert Wolf proposing to Lily Starr, and their “scene marriage” which followed. At the time, Robert and I hadn’t been able to play together in about a year because our party schedules never seemed to line up, but afterwards, I assured him that he had made me cry plenty that weekend! They’re one of my all time favorite couples. It’s so obvious that they have boundless love and respect for one and other, and being around the two of them makes my heart so happy. My face was wet with happy, heartfelt tears by the time Yoni, who officiated the scene marriage, announced that Robert could “now spank the bride”!
I got an ear infection as the party drew to a close, and flying home with it was definitely not fun. I was pretty insistent that it was going to go away on its own and that I did not need medical attention, but eventually, I had to admit that it was one of the more painful things which had ever happened to me and I needed a doctor. Once I had antibiotics and eardrops, I was on the mend, but I was home sick on Halloween night. I was very glad I had gotten my Trick or Treating in beforehand!
November introduced a concept which was obviously fairly new to me: staying home. I spent the entire month in Los Angeles, and the next two weeks, too! This six week “at home” spell made for the longest time that I had been in one place all year, and it was a wonderful feeling. I did lots of sessions, a handful of shoots and Paul and I spent a lot of time working on our new project: Kitchen Sink Spanking. We did a lot of playing off-camera, too, including a very fun roleplay scene one evening which I hadn’t written about before:
One night, Paul and I were hanging out on the sofa hanging out, without any real plans for what we’d be doing with the rest of our evening. I had my planner out, probably because we’d been discussing when I had what going on. I use the same kind of day-planner that I did when I was actually in high school. I learned to organize my life with it very effectively then and I just never bothered to change. If it works, why mess with it? I pointed out to Paul that it had all sorts of handy information in the back: state capitols, frequently misspelled words and more. This turned into some impromptu quizzing, which I inedibly failed at (geography is my weakest subject, and despite being very good at writing, I sometimes kind of fail at spelling). This, of course, lead to me getting spanked. This was very fun, and there was no reason for it to stop there, so Paul started looking for other things to quiz me on.
“Well, if you’re going to ask me more questions, I’m putting on a uniform so we can do this properly,” I announced, and I went off to find one. Paul also changed, going for a serious look in a shirt and tie. We then began a roleplay which evolved totally organically, without us having to discuss what we’d be doing at all. It turned out that I had gotten thrown out of school for biting another student (guilty as charged, by the way, if the other student was Mila or Bad Alex, who I may or may not have bitten again just the other day) and I was being given in-home instruction during my suspension. I now had to take a test to see if I’d be permitted back to school based on my efforts while homebound. I’m pretty sure that Paul thought that I’d be able to answer most of the questions that he asked during the test, but I actually couldn’t. I think that English and American educations are pretty vastly different. Or maybe it’s just a result of the fact that I took my post-secondary education at a Liberal Arts school. I can tell you the social and political concepts behind most (well, that seems arrogant. Many?) historical events, but when Paul asked me for the dates of things, the best answer I could give was “fuck if I know!” International Capitols? I don’t think I *ever* studied those in school. I was in pretty big trouble when I realized that the section I was doing best on was math. Oh dear.
Suffice to say, I didn’t get enough points to allow me back into school, and I engaged in some serious misbehavior in the process. Mr. Kennedy went off to find something with which to address these issues and he returned with a heavy leather paddle, which I insisted was not for use on me and had been left in the house after having been used to punish some other young lady who lived there before me. This didn’t fly, and I found myself getting soundly spanked. I was soon repentant, and I promised that I’d do better, bite no one and show respect for my school if allowed back. Satisfied with this, Paul sat me down to write lines while he stepped out for a moment. I *tried* to sit quietly and write “I am not a bear” (being a bear had been an excuse for biting) over and over again, but eventually, boredom took its toll and I finished off with “I am not writing this anymore” instead. Unsure of what I would do next, since being caught with this assignment unfinished would surely lead to more correction, I went and hid in on the floor of the study’s closet with the door shut. This would have worked out for at least a little while, except that when Paul returned he found our cat, The Punk, sitting in front of the closet door, meowing and scratching at it. My own cat sold me out, giving away my exact location. This was too funny to let pass, and when the door opened, the game was over, and we both had a laugh about my traitorous feline.
Paul and I had a sweet (and delicious!) Thanksgiving at home together: his first Thanksgiving ever! The next day he had to leave to go back to England for the next several months (he’s still there), so it was a bittersweet time.
I kept myself as busy as possible during the month of December, so I wouldn’t feel too lonely without Paul around. This involved seeing Maddy Marks and Christy Cutie as often as was possible, and doing lots of vanilla outings with Rafa and Zeki. After the first half of the month had passed, I flew to New York where I visited my family and had some spanking adventures, which I will spend less time dwelling on here since they are in far more recent memory. I spent a few days staying with Sarah Gregory, and we had lots of girly fun, plus I got to be spanked under the Christmas tree for her site’s Christmas special. I also got to meet up with, and get spanked by Kelly Payne for Tantrum Trainers, as described here:
That shoot was very laid back and a lot of fun. I get along really well with Kelly, and I certainly consider her one of my friends. We chatted a bit and caught up before we did our scene. It was very long and quite hard, plus it was all done over the knee. I’m wearing some shimmery stockings. This made me very happy. Kelly spanked me so hard for so long with her hand that she actually got a blood blister during the shoot. Fortunately, she had a paddle nearby to switch to nearby. That paddle stung crazily. The hand-spanking had been long and thorough, and it had sort of mesmerized me. My whole existence was hot and swollen as smack after smack fell on my bottom. The paddling cut through that, making each swat a strong peak of sensation. I was actually thinking about this while I was being spanked, at first, before it overwhelmed me: I was imagining making meringue, and watching as “stiff peaks form” as the recipe describes it. I felt like such peaks of sensation and pain were forming for me. Eventually, though, everything blurred together as I reached the point of being overwhelmed (in a good way, of course). I started to cry and to apologize and, near the end, started to have trouble talking. You know a video has actually pushed me when I start insisting that I can’t talk anymore near the end of it (or, in the case of this more severe video, quite early on in the spanking!).
Erica made a post a little while ago about not being able to articulate what happens in her mind during a spanking. I have the same experience. Once it reaches a certain point, it overwhelms my brain’s ability to break sensation down and put it into language. One minute I’m interpreting my spanking through a visual metaphor relating to pie-making, the next, there are no words. It’s just… there. Everything in my mind is the spanking and it exists in a place which, despite my efforts, I can’t reach to describe with language. This is something which commonly happens to me in my “real life” play (it’s pretty normal for Paul to try to talk to me while cuddling me after a scene and for me to insist that I “can’t brain”) but only happens on film every now and again, so it was kind of exciting.
I had actual Christmas with my family: a lowkey event without decorations or a tree or anything like that, since my mom was just moving into her new home post Hurricane Katrina AND was wheelchair bound following a broken hip. New Year’s eve was spent playing Katamari Damacy with my brother. In a certain way, it seemed fitting to end my year of transition without really fully diving into the holidays. The year had been that way. It was chock full of special moments that I’m going to treasure forever, but they weren’t on the days that the calendar tells us to make memories.
My 2014 has been going well so far. I’ve been living up to my resolutions to finish getting as set up in my new home as possible and to read more books. I haven’t, however, been keeping up with my blogging the way I wanted to. It’s been a long time since I posted as regularly as I’d like to. Before, this was because I was constantly traveling, then it was because I was focusing on getting settled in my new place. Recently? It’s been because I’ve been intentionally keeping myself as busy as possible to keep myself from being lonely while Paul is away. This means that I’m rarely ever at home and not doing anything, which has done wonders for my mood but horrors for my blogging! Fingers crossed I can keep posting on a regular basis! ♥