I have a very high spanking need. I got a hard spanking last Saturday (which made me sob and left me sore for a few days) and by Thursday, I was already getting antsy. I headed down to Chinatown to pick up some cardboard boxes for my packing and I quickly discovered that I was jones-ing harder than I thought: I saw implements everywhere I looked.

I suppose that’s not all that unusual: what kind of spanko can look at a wooden spoon and think: “Oh, that’s for cooking”? The difference is that when I’m not getting spanked often enough, I abandon all sense of self preservation. What I would normally look at and say: “Unacceptable!” becomes intriguing. I find myself on sites like cane-iac, wondering if maybe I need an acrylic paddle or a multi-strand cane. I start seeking out pervertables to add to my amazon wishlist. I keep nagging all my friends to go with me to The Stockroom Store in Silverlake to oogle the canes and straps there. 

When I’ve been spanked recently enough, I look at my collection of implements and think: “I have way more stuff than I even need.” I’ve got scary, awful stuff and I have things that can be used nicely. I have hairbrushes, paddles, canes and spoons. I have stuff made of wood, plastic and rubber. The only thing that I could argue to myself is the fact that I need leather implements, since I’ve recently decided that I’m fond of and comfortable with them, but those tend to be expensive, and I can’t justify spending too much money when I’m saving up to move. 

Not a bad collection, considering a year ago the only implement I had to my name was a single hairbrush!

There are some people who fetishize their toys, and almost get more from purchasing implements than using them. These players seem to prefer to switch implements frequently during scenes and are more likely to use heavier implements in a lighter style simply for the enjoyment of using something scary. Honestly, at the end of the day, I prefer hand-spanking over anything else (in the entire world!) but I do enjoy collecting implements. I find picking out and purchasing, out of my own free will, something that will hurt a lot to be a great form of active submission. I think that’s why my desire to purchase implements peaks when it’s been a while between scenes: I want to participate in the crafting of my future agony. It’s a way to be actively involved now in something that will happen in the future. 

I also love pervertables. I love spoons and hairbrushes: as a child, I rubbed my hand over the smooth, spanking surface of them and daydreamed (I never had the courage to self-spank when I was a kid). My very first implement was a hairbrush, one which is still in use. Just like I loved seeing the word “spanking” in the dictionary as a girl, I take great joy in finding something spanking related in a seemingly innocent place. So on Thursday, in Chinatown, I couldn’t help myself. 

I ended up buying four things. First, I saw a selection of regular wooden spoons. I found one that was lightweight but long handled: it just seemed like it would be wickedly stingy. Then, after shopping around a bit, I came across a giant pair of chopsticks, to be used for cooking. They looked just like a pair of little canes. On another aisle, I discovered a textured spoon for serving rice. I’ve long been interested in obtaining one of these: I think that the spanking surface of it will be interesting, to say the least. It will certainly be different than anything else I already have. I was going to start haggling about the price when I noticed giant spoons. I have a thing for stupidly big spoons: the kind you couldn’t possibly use for anything else. The first one came from Little Tokyo and was named “FLUFFY!” by Malignus. This one looked like it might be slightly bigger than FLUFFY! and was, when picked up, certainly heavier. It’s made of slightly flexible plastic. It’s going to be awful. 

It’s hard to see the texture on the smaller white spoon, but know that it is covered in small, raised bumps.

I got all four items for $7.50 when I finished haggling in my broken Mandarin. Once home, I tested them against my arm and discovered that they all hurt a ton. I got a chance to experiment with the textured spoon at Threshold on Saturday night (more about that later) and it was awesome. I’m excited to be spanked with the rest of them, and to experience the one I did play with in the hands of a more seasoned top. Buying them certainly gave me something more to daydream about in the meantime. 

I find it curious that you refuse to mix your kink with sexual activity. I understand being able to enjoy them apart from each other, but I would think that the two together would bring more pleasure. It makes me wonder exactly what sensations you get from spanking? Is it a physical pleasure or is it something more emotional?” 
I got this message in my fetlife inbox while I was at Folsom Street Fair, and while I read it, I didn’t have time to respond to it. Honestly, it’s a question I get asked very frequently in different forms. I started to write a response to the message today, and I realized that it was something worth sharing with everyone. People often ask me why I don’t mix kink and sex. They want to know what I get out of it if not sexual gratification. Sometimes, they try to convince me that if I’d just try having a sexual scene, I’d like it. If nothing else, now I can just respond to people who ask me that with a link ;).
The question “Why isn’t spanking sexual to you?” is as basic and unanswerable as “Why do you like spanking?” I don’t know why. It’s one of the only situations where I find “It’s just the way I am” to be a satisfactory answer. As I mentioned in my earlier posts, spanking has pretty much always been there in the back of my mind. Likewise, spanking was never sexual. I experimented with trying to get sexual gratification from spanking fantasies when I first began to explore my body sexually. I hope that by binding the urge to be spanked to the sexual urge, I’d be able to find some kind of physical relief. Needless to say, it didn’t work. It made me feel dirty and uncomfortable. 
Eventually, I came to realize that I have two parallel drives: one for sex and one for spanking. Both fill similar needs: the need to feel physically close to someone, to share bodily contact, to be vulnerable with someone I trust. Despite those similarities, they just don’t ever mix or cross. I never want them to. The idea of it squicks me out on the deepest of levels. Please also note that spanking is the older and stronger drive. I developed an interest in being spanked when I was probably about two. I did not develop a (hypothetical) interest in sharing sexuality with others until I was about eleven. 
I have a sexuality. I like relating to people sexually. Once in a while, I get an emotional connection out of sex. Other times, it’s just fun and physically enjoyable. Despite my deep involvement in the kink community, I’m extremely vanilla in the bedroom. Dominance in bed turns me off. Submission in bed turns me off. Blindfolds? No. Handcuffs? No. A smack on the ass while having sex? Turn off. Whipped cream or flavored lube? Gross. To me, getting crazy in the bedroom involves doing it in a position other than missionary or woman on top. 
Why am I like this? Who knows. I just am. Why is this relevant? Because it isn’t just spanking that I don’t want to mix with sex, it’s pretty much everything. I’m happiest sexually when my sex acts are pure and unadulterated. Add-ons don’t make it seem more fantastic, they make it seem diluted and are distracting to me. 
The argument that people often use when talking about sex and spanking as going well together is that if I enjoy one, and I enjoy the other, wouldn’t it then follow that I’d enjoy them together? It’s a fallacy to say that two things that are enjoyed can be better enjoyed together. I enjoy kittens a lot. I enjoy sex. I feel EXTREMELY uncomfortable if someone talks about sex and (real, feline) kittens at the same time. That’s the exact way I feel about spanking and sex. I like them both. I just like them both not to touch. 
There was a time when I would have dismissed the question of what I get out of a spanking if not sexual pleasure with “If you’re a spanko, you get it. If you aren’t, you never will.” I’m learning that it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m constantly struck by how similar many hard-wired (or, if you dislike that word, early discovering) spankos’ stories are. We were all doing a lot of the same stuff and feeling a lot of the same things independently, without ever knowing that other people like us existed. Still, we experience things differently despite our commonality. I appreciate receiving disciplinary spankings: some spankos do not. I have a strong element of submission in my approach to being spanked: there are quite a few spankos who prefer snark, bratting, resistance and eventual surrender and/or consensual non consent. I don’t mix spanking and sex: a lot of spankos do. I think it’s a cop out to say “spankos will get me.” It’s very likely they will: it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t explain my feelings. On the other hand, while I find it challenging, I’ve been recently finding it rewarding to try and explain the spanko experience to people from other kink communities. Just like my thoughts on Leather and the Old and New Guard traditions changed wildly just based on a few conversations at Folsom Street, I have the ability to explain myself in a way that allows others to understand. I’m not required to: no one is entitled to an explanation (and it annoys me if someone acts like he or she is). I want to. 
I get a lot out of spanking. I enjoy the physical side of it from a non-masochistic perspective. I like the endorphins. I like the adrenaline. I like the physical vulnerability. I like the physical intimacy. I almost always find an element of submission in a spanking, and I enjoy that, too. As far as the emotional and mental go, I can get pretty much anything from a spanking depending on the Top and the atmosphere. There are some fairly constant things, though. One is feeling of celebrating who I am and who I’ve always wanted to be: engaging in something that has been part of who I wanted to be for most of my life with someone who is having a similar experience is really wonderful. 
Another is the feeling of belonging. When Malignus spanks me, I feel a deep and wonderful sense of belonging to him as well as with him, but in all spanking play, I feel like I belong in the spanking itself. This is something that Dana Kane brought up to me at Spanking Court the other day: she said that after watching me get my final spanking (the one that lead to tears almost immediately) she was struck by how obvious it was in everything from my body language to my breathing that I was doing something that was part of who I am. 

I almost always feel very vulnerable. This is a common theme across various types of bottoms in the larger BDSM scene. Vulnerability is a very nice thing when it is in a safe situation. Spankings allow me to let go of the world and my worries and just be. I know a spanking is going to hurt, and I’m okay with that. There’s a beautiful sense of peace in that. 

 Finally, in order for a spanking to be enjoyable to me, I need to get the feeling that the top is getting *something* out of it. Either he or she has to be having fun or fulfilling an emotional need or enjoying indulging in sadism, or perhaps something else. Part of what makes a spanking enjoyable to me is the knowledge that the person who is spanking me is glad to be doing it. This is part of what makes arbitrary spankings so enjoyable to me: I know that I’m being spanked because that is what the Top desires. Some of the most satisfying moments in my spanking life have been the times when Malignus has laughed with sadistic joy when spanking me. I love how much he loves to do what he does. 
My motivations for engaging in spanking without sex are simultaneously complex and very simple. To look at it from the very simple perspective, it can all be reduced to the fact that it just works for me. The beautiful thing about kink is that there’s no right or wrong way to do it (as long as it’s consensual). 

The other day, I was hanging out with one of my friends. We were having a lot of down-time, and every now and then, I’d space out and start daydreaming. After a little while of this, she said:
“Alex, what’s going on? You’re glowing like a pregnant fox!” 
It took me a minute to figure out WTF she meant. Eventually, I figured out that she was making a reference to the film The Fantastic Mr. Fox.

“You’re practically…glowing”

So, I didn’t look exactly like that, but there’s no denying the fact that I’ve been very, very happy on a regular basis. There’s a lot of stress, sadness and uncertainty in my life right now, but everything is overwhelmed by a feeling of joy, excitement and mushiness. (No, I’m not pregnant.) 

In just one month, I’ll be starting on the adventure which will bring me to my new home in South Dakota. Moving is inherently stressful. I have a long list of things that I need to get done in the next 31 days. It’s also bittersweet: Los Angeles became a home to me in the past two years that I’ve lived here. I realized that the next Pasadena Roses and Thorns munch will be my last (until I get back to LA for a visit and to do more spanking modeling) and that was a saddening thought. Roses and Thorns was my very first kinky event. I attended it not even a year ago. There, I met awesome people who would become constants in my experience in the community. I also met Princesstoy, one of my best friends in the kink world and out of it, through that munch, and later Epipelagic, Charlie Frown and MaskofNormality: friends who have never failed to bring a smile to my face and an engaging conversation to any setting. 
My experience with Roses and Thorns lead me to step up to the challenge of creating a The Next Generation munch for Pasadena, which later evolved into PTNG: an amazing group of young people who have a ton of fun while educating ourselves about the kink scene. I’m going to miss that group, terribly. I’ll especially miss Maddycake and Sir_Siq, who have been there since the very first munch and who have become a very important, joyful part of my life. I’ll also be missing all the people I’ve met through Threshold, Fet Noir, The Eastside Munch and, especially, Sherman Oaks. I’ve had a few uncomfortable experiences, that’s true, but in general, I love the Los Angeles scene. I will always feel at home there. I’m very thankful to everyone who has made that experience what it’s been for me, and I’m looking forward to spending the next month having as many fun and rewarding interactions with everyone as is humanly possible. I can’t list everyone who has touched me (both emotionally and *ahem* physically) for lack of space, but know this: you are wonderful people, Angelinos. I’m very, very grateful that I got to know you and that I’ll be able to continue to interact with you long distance and on my visits.

The sadness of saying “goodbye”, even if it is not forever, plus the stress of having what seems like hundreds of things to do in the next month seem like they might overwhelm a girl. It’s true: I’ve certainly felt vulnerable. There have been times since the plans were set in motion when I let myself get a little too emotional and abandon some of my rationality, especially when talking about things that could be scary in the future. Still, the majority of my time has been spent with a giant smile on my face. Malignus (my boyfriend and Dominant with whom I am moving in) and I love each other a lot, and we complement each other beautifully. I’ve never desired to share my time and space with someone so strongly. I know it’s mushy, but I’ve talked a lot about the things I wanted but thought I’d never have, and a relationship like the one that the two of us share is at the very top of that list. I’m mostly focused on the excitement of the future.

This is me, being positively unable to stop smiling.

I hadn’t taken the time to talk about the fact that this is going on in my life in this particular venue, and I do feel it’s something worth sharing. I’m downright giddy at the prospect of the two of us being able to share our days. This Summa Cum Laude graduate from a Seven Sisters University is currently spending her days dreaming of making sandwiches, cleaning house and getting spanked on a daily basis. <dreamy sigh.> I’m sure there will be a lot of posts about things relating to this in the future, so I wanted to keep everyone up-to-date. 


Tomorrow’s post will return to a serious discussion instead of me just talking about how amazing my life is.  

For my entire Spanko Life, I’ve kept my vanilla friends entirely in the dark with regard to my activities. Every once in a while, I mentioned to someone that I was slightly kinky, or sometimes I knew way more information about a subject than people felt I should, but unless someone else spoke first about their involvement in the kink community (or I found out some other way), I kept it to myself. I met a number of spankos in the vanilla world, but only because they dropped the first hint.
One night, shortly before I left to go visit my Dominant, Malignus, for the second time, I had a number of my friends over for a few drinks. I went to bed fairly early, and after I had, one of my female, vanilla friends opened up my computer to check something. In the past, I’d let my friends do this, but I generally checked and made sure that things were closed first. 
Unfortunately, in this case, things were not closed. It was open to my fetlife profile. She’s generally a pretty shy girl, and I would have expected her to feel embarrassed and then close out of the page, but since she’d had a few drinks, she read everything. Then she looked at my photos. Then she looked at Malignus’ page. Then she read some group posts that I’d contributed to. I guess she found it very, very interesting. 
The next day, she woke up feeling extremely guilty for having violated my privacy that way. Her reaction was adorable: she knew, due to her snooping, that I was leaving for a visit that would involve a considerable amount of spanking. So she went to the drug store and bought me some supplies that she thought I might need, as a way of showing me that she supported me and didn’t judge me for my deviant activities. It was maybe the cutest thing that ever happened. I didn’t begrudge her too much for snooping: after all, I only ever entered Spankingland in the first place because of engaging in a similar behavior (but that’s a story for another day). 

This was her “I accept you” gift bag’s contents 🙂 

The things she got me came in handy, by the way. I used up pretty much all of the First Aid Kit in the first couple of weeks I had it, and the hairbrush, while plastic, is ridiculously stingy and tear-inducing. The tears were then dried up with tissues. Finally, no spanko can ever have too many little things of lotion to carry around.

While I was pleasantly surprised by my friend’s adorable reaction to knowing about my private life, it didn’t make me expect that others would react the same way. I’ve heard horrible stories about what happened when people were outed to their families, and I do, from time to time, worry that such a thing might happen. At the same time, I’ve grown more comfortable with the idea of sharing the fact that this part of my life exists with a few of my vanilla friends. 
The night before my first spanking modeling shoot, I was very, very excited. I was signed into Facebook and talking to a few of my guy friends. All three were people I met in my teens and had known for a number of years. None of them, like most of the people in my vanilla life, knew that I was a spanko. I believe that all three of them suspected that I was involved in kink in some way or another, but I had never actually told them anything. I was jittery with excitement and wanted to talk about my shoot, so I decided to let them know. They were good, open minded friends. I felt safe with it. 
All three responded with a total lack of surprise. One confessed that he had seen my skirt flip up to show bruises once when we were at the mall during college. Another told me that he was fond of some light BDSM play himself, and a few days later, he made a fetlife account and friended me. The third told me that he’d been long curious about play with D/s themes and if he ever had the chance, he’d love to explore that side of things with me. I was pretty shocked by my 100 % success rate. Everyone I had “come out” to had basically responded with “Awesome!” 
The other night, I started a conversation about my kink life with one of my long-distance partners. I met her in college and I love her very, very much. I’d never spoken with her about my spanking life very much, though. I was a little scared to: it’s scarier for me when I have a closer relationship with the person I’m confiding in, because if she *did* recoil in horror (which was extremely improbable, but still possible) I had much more to lose. She was very supportive of me, and told me that she had been going to munches and wanted to learn about being a domme. 
I don’t expect this will always be the way, but it does make me feel more comfortable for the future. It also begs the question: is everyone I know secretly at least a little kinky? Am I just attracted to becoming friends with people with a taste for a less than vanilla existence? Do I just have damn good luck? 
My experience with sharing this part of myself with vanilla friends has been really positive. It reinforces to me just how wonderful the people in my life are: the spankos, the kinksters and the vanillas alike. I’m very happy to know the people I do. 
Have any of you shared your kinky side with vanillas in your life? How did they respond? Do you prefer to tell as many people as possible, or to keep it entirely private? 

Content Warning: While it contains nothing objectionable, this post is a bit sad in places. Still, it’s important to me that I get a chance to share things, from the very start, to the present: even the sad parts.
When I was about ten, my life took a turn in a more complicated direction. My home life became unstable and I ended up living in a group home. I stayed there on and off for the next few years. It was an extremely awkward time in my life: I had begun to become aware of all the ways in which I was different than my peers. I had always known that I came from a less stable background than most of the other children I interacted with, but as I had more exposure to other people’s families, I became distressingly more aware of how little my own life conformed to society’s standards. It was during this time that I began to separate the ways in which I was different because of my circumstances: the things and experiences that I was not able to have but other children were, the lack of stability and comfort that I received at home et cetera, and the ways in which I was different because of who I was as a person: the fact that I preferred to read books or daydream than to socialize in groups or play sports and the fact that I wanted to learn everything while other children were satisfied to leave things unexplored. During this early self examination, I discovered two other things about me that I perceived as both inherent to who I was and socially unacceptable: I wanted to think about spanking all the time, and I was more interested in looking sexually at other girls and female celebrities than I was at boys and men. 
At ten, I was beginning to go through puberty, I was at the height of my social vulnerability, and I had been thrust into a situation where many of my peers were older than I was and, due to the difficult backgrounds that tend to land children in places like a group home, many were aggressive, angry and judgmental. Furthermore, I had no privacy whatsoever: I shared a room with five other girls in my age range. I still attended a public school, where I found myself even more of an outcast than I had been before. At “home,” I was an outcast among outcasts: I was constantly teased for my bookish nature and my strange sense of humor. It was during this time that I fell deeply obsessed with video games as a secondary form of escapism, since I no longer had constant access to the library. I did, however, have a Gameboy Pocket and a copy of Pokemon Red. It was the only game I had, but it didn’t matter. It was the only game I needed, and I played the hell out of it. When my Pokemon all reached max level, I started the game over. 

It was during this time that I discovered the book Boy by Roald Dahl. I found it on one of the shelves in my classroom and, as soon as I discovered the content, was afraid for anyone to see me reading it, so I stole it, brought it “home” and hid it under my mattress. I read it in any moment of privacy I could procure, flinging it back into its hiding spot when I heard the door open to the bedroom. For those who are unfamiliar with the book, Boy is Dahl’s autobiography of his childhood years. It is meant to provide the same kind of perspective on the world that most of Dahl’s books offer to children: it presents the world as a place that is full of both wonder and terror and which is dichotomized between people who will do sadistic harm to youth simply because they can and those who will always love and protect children. 

Yeah, I still have it!

That said, it is also a very thinly veiled attack on corporal punishment as practiced in the English Public School system. The text was written and published during a time when the banning of caning in English schools was still a hot-button issue, and Dahl presents the historical tradition on which the practice is based as a series of horrific tortures that he underwent. I am in complete agreement with Dahl’s opinion, although I admit that his text is emotionally manipulative. The caning scenes are the most detailed in the book, and there is one every couple of chapters. They are presented as intentionally sadistic and extremely damaging to the students, who are young, defenseless and terrified of their superiors.Until Boy, the only text I’d ever seen relating to spanking or corporal punishment was the dictionary definition of “spanking” which I frequently looked up when I could ensure that I was alone. I just ate that book up. I loved it. I was obsessed with it. I eventually got brazen enough to carry it in my book bag, and I would excuse myself from class to read the beating scenes in the bathroom. Boy put a huge spin on my fantasies for a long time. I began to focus on boarding school scenarios rather obsessively, sometimes thinking about them so long and so obsessively that I would be unable to sleep for days on end. With the amount of desire to be spanked that I had and the entire lack of ability to express it, or even gain support about the way I was feeling, my obsession became unhealthy.

After all these years, my Dictionary still opens to page 508.

Boy had another influence on me, though: it dramatically increased the level of shame that I felt for my desires. The situation was made difficult because I did not know that consensual spanking play existed yet. I could only fantasize about the non-consensual, and I knew that spanking children and non consensual corporal punishment were against my morals. Dahl was clearly deeply traumatized by his experiences being caned as a boy, yet I could not stop thinking of them and being filled with a joyful excitement. I believed it was wrong for me to be so obsessed with behavior that had harmed others. I did not want to be part of something hurtful. I felt deeply ashamed of myself for this. Combined with my extreme lack of self confidence and the awkwardness of being among peers who did not accept me, I came to the conclusion that no one could ever know about my spanking fantasies for any reason. If it ever came to light, I resolved to kill myself. 
I know, it sounds pretty silly now, but I felt a dark desperation in my heart. I couldn’t imagine living my life with a desire for something as strong as my longing to be spanked and no way to fulfill it. I had tried to come up with ways that I could receive spankings, but, since I had no knowledge of the kink community, I always came up empty handed. I wanted something dark, seemingly immoral and impossible, and I feared it would consume me. 
Shortly after I “hit bottom” regarding my feelings about myself as a spanko, I met my first girlfriend and began to have my first loving, positive relationship. Although it had nothing to do with spanking, the lessened feeling of internal loneliness and alienation took some of the edge off things, and I was able to tone things down to a healthier level. 
I talk frequently about “celebrating” being a spanko when I engage in play, and that’s extremely important to me. Every time I bare my bottom, I’m preparing for something that is at the very center of my nature. I am not ashamed of who I am or what I want. My Top is a person like me, an insider to my spanking existence, and we’re going to do this now because it is the thing that we want and enjoy and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s pure bliss. Sometimes, when I’m over a lap and getting spanked my mind flashes with the thought: this is real. I wanted something I thought I could never have, and in the end, I found something better than anything I had ever dreamed of. 

I apologize for the relatively late hour at which I am making this post: I had a pretty busy day. Specifically, I shot with Spanking Court today, then spent the afternoon with one of my favorite friends from the scene, her Dom, and my vanilla boyfriend, R. Additionally, I’m helping my new roommate get settled in.  All in all, a very nice, but busy, day.

I didn’t sleep particularly well last night: I tend to get jittery right before a spanking shoot. There are a lot of variables and unknowns involved in a shoot. When it comes to any kind of gig, I always worry about getting there on time and prepared: especially when working with someone for the first time, I often go over lists of things that need doing in my head rather obsessively when falling asleep the night before the shoot, and I often wake up in the night in a panic, thinking that it is much later than it actually is and that I’m already running late. When dealing with spanking modeling, this pattern of concern gets much stronger. I generally tend to worry that if I’m not on time and perfectly prepared I’m going to get spanked harder :P.

Despite these things, I woke up and got energized early in the morning and made my way over to Hollywood for my shoot. As soon as I met Cali and the rest of the Spanking Court team, I felt at ease. They were a lovely group of people. Everyone was extremely kind, friendly and considerate. They also had a bunch of really good food. That is always a plus. I relaxed and chatted, then got my hair and makeup done and was ready to shoot my first scene.

For those who aren’t familiar with Spanking Court (and if you aren’t, you should really check it out), it’s a site where cases are heard by a judge, who then hands out sentences in the form of either preventative or disciplinary spankings. I really enjoyed all the courtroom mis-en-scene. Their sets were really cool, and it was probably one of the only situations where one can have fun while wearing a orange jumpsuit :P. I never want to tell too much about the plot or details of a video before it is released, but I will share that got spanked three times. The final scene was a particularly long and hard spanking, and it was full of me crying. The type of scenes that I shot today were very natural for me: my character was a good girl who had gotten a bit out of hand and was repentant. That headspace is one of the most common for me in my real-life spanking activity, and, I must say, I rocked it ^_^.

Today was also the first time I was ever restrained for a spanking by anything other than the Top’s body (or, in some cases, the force of his will). Honestly, the only time that I even noticed that I was locked in place on the bench was when my hair got in my face and I couldn’t reach my hand up to move it! My attitude towards being spanked is generally very passive: I tend to relax into spankings rather than struggle against them.

The Villain, aka the Spanking Court Disciplinarian, was an awesome Top. He had excellent spanking technique and, perhaps more importantly, he created moods and headspaces that worked extremely well for each scene. His character was slightly antagonistic to me in the last scene, and he delivered lines that sent a shiver down my spine in an awesome way. He also broke a full size, wooden paddle of my butt:

Everyone signed the paddle and gave it to me to take home.

It’s the largest and meanest implement to meet its demise against my flesh to date. It’s also the first “official” spanking implement for me to break: until now, I’d only broken wooden spoons, hairbrushes and some weird plastic thing that I can’t exactly remember what it was supposed to be before Malignus started using it for spanking.

Speaking of butts that are known for breaking implements, I’m incredibly sad to announce that I did not get to meet Erica Scott today. She shot with Spanking Court later in the day than I did. It was my original intention to stay and hang out while others were shooting so that I could finally get a chance to meet her, but for various reasons, that wasn’t possible today. That was the only low point in my day, but I’m sure I’ll get a chance to meet up with her eventually.

I’m planning on shooting with Spanking Court again in the future, because I had such a wonderful time. I’m not sure when the content from today will be available on the site, but I’ll keep you posted ^_^.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a gray day at first.

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

There was even a girl dressed like this 😛

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hugging a spoon is hard and awkward.

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

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

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

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

Oh, Hai!


Los Angeles, California, United States

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

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