I only have three more things that I really feel are important to share about BBW. The rest of the party was wonderful, but it was ages ago, and holy crap, really Alex? You need to get caught up. So, here are my final three stories. I’m totally writing this from TASSP right now. My inability to keep up to date with this stuff is OUT OF CONTROL. Additionally, I’m sorry that recently my blog has simply been a series of stories about adventures most of the time, in case anyone finds that boring. Soon, my life will be settling for a while and I’ll get caught up and back to my regular programing. I’ve had really ridiculously low traffic this month, so I’m sorry for whatever isn’t awesome about what I’ve been up to recently. I’m still here, and I’ll do my best to get back to updating regularly and excitingly as soon as I can!
There were a lot of British people at BBW, including a handful of my favorite people. I think it was Richard Windsor‘s idea to have a “Meet the Brits” party. I liked this party quite a bit because various people had brought biscuits and sweeties and other things that I was missing after returning to the US, and I munched on this stuff while socializing with whoever was around. At one point, Bad Alex and I ended up chatting to Mr. Allen again. I mentioned earlier that Bad Alex had sort of punched me on the knee earlier, and it had marked up. As the three of us hung out, I noticed this bruise again. “Mr. Allen,” I kind of whined, “Alex hit me. It left a mark, look!” He looked, and asked Alex if she had, indeed, hit me. She openly and unabashedly admitted to it, and probably included her trademark phrase: “sucks to suck!” As the victim, I was asked what punishment seemed appropriate and I suggested that she should be caned.
“Fine,” Alex said. “But tattletales get double.”
“Agreed,” said Mr. Allen.
Then my head exploded. Where was this rule every time that I did the tiniest little thing wrong and Mila felt it was her sisterly duty to tell everyone she could think of about it? It seemed to me that when someone tattled on me and I complained about it, the response was always “She’s just looking out for your best interest” or “She needs to protect herself.” The unfairness of the universe was overpowering. I probably stamped my foot, but I don’t remember.
Alex got her caning, which was enjoyable to watch. There was some sliver of fairness left in the world, because each of the six strokes obviously hurt, and everything is right when Bad Alex is experiencing something painful as consequence for her badness. Then it was my turn. “This isn’t fair!” I reminded everyone. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” Mr. Allen looked at me with an expression that suggested that I was close to earning even more strokes if I kept up my complaining, though, so I bent over the chair. They weren’t hard, full bodied strokes, but they weren’t overly playful, either. And, as the other stories in the previous posts will remind you, I’d played a lot that weekend. I was sore as could be, and each stroke made me whimper and yelp. Near the end of my thrashing probably at the tenth stroke or so, Lucy and Stephen came into the room and sat down at the end of the bed next to us. Lucy inquired about why I was being caned and Mr. Allen and Alex explained it to her.
“Yes, that seems quite fair,” Lucy said.
“WHAT?! Why does everyone think this is fair?!” I protested, making a scrunchy face at Lucy. (My blog doesn’t support me making the emoticon scrunchy face but you’ll just have to imagine it. A lot).
“Mr. Allen!” Lucy immediately called out, “Alex just made a horrid face at me!”
“Did you?” Mr. Allen asked and I nodded pitifully, unable to tell a lie. “You’ll be getting extra strokes,” he told me. In my mind, the amount of extra strokes was four, but it’s very possible it was actually two. My memory can be a bit faulty when it comes to these things, especially as time passes.
It was impossibly hard not to scrunch my face up at this announcement, but somehow I managed, knowing quite well that it wouldn’t be a wise choice. The extra strokes (however many they were) were harder, and I yelped more loudly than I had previously, shuffling my feet and grinding my toe against the floor. This was the first time I’d ever been punished for making a scrunchy face. It was not the last.
|The good and the bad!|
The spanking was brisk, and I was already sore, so I wiggled and squirmed around. When it was done, Rich got me up and got ellee out of the corner and directed us to bend over opposite sides of a small table, where we’d be receiving our canings.
|In position! (ellee is the cutest girl ever to live)|
He then gave ellee the first stroke, which made her yelp. After that, he walked around the table to my side, to deliver my first one. This process was long and very, very anticipatory. Anticipation can be a hugely positive factor in a scene for me, and a lot of the play that Richard and I have engaged in together has emphasized this. The whole set up served to get into my head quite a bit, which seems to be another big factor in the scenes that Richard and I have done. After I got each stroke, I saw ellee’s face as she got hers. We grabbed each other’s hands in solidarity and comfort, and I felt her squeeze me as things hurt.
|EVEN HER HANDS ARE CUTE!|
Eventually, we worked through all the strokes, except for the additional two that I’d be getting. At this point, I was greatly regretting my antics earlier. The caning had been quite hard, and I’d gotten a few on my thighs, making me cry out and whimper lots and lots. I wasn’t crying, but I was quite contrite and well thrashed feeling. The last two really “counted.” This is the way of the world when you earn extra strokes, I suppose. I considered going back to being an excessively good girl all the time, in order to avoid any more of these in the future. 😛
The scene ended with the two of us in the corner, then we had that semi-awkward moment where we broke character, then we giggled and hugged.
|So much sweetness.|
The final noteworthy adventure at BBW took place IMMEDIATELY AFTER THIS, and much running around was involved to get from this adventure the next. The next was the “Adult Speaking” boat cruise, which was really, really fun. We had to change quickly and then basically teleport to the place where the bus was taking us to the dock, except that we can’t actually do that, so we had to run really quickly through a big hotel instead. But it was worth it! It was lots of fun to hang out on the boat, once we all eventually got there.
I like boats. I like boating. I grew up in Southern New Jersey on the coast, extremely close to where we were boating at the time, and I felt very, very at home. It was a wonderful feeling to be able to be being myself, totally and entirely while I was in my home setting. I spent time with each of the people who had come on the boat that was special to me. I had a couple of drinks. I had Pandora take photos of me climbing stairs in my sailor dress:
Then, of course, there was the customary “Drawbridge spanking” where everyone lines up and gets spanked in front of a drawbridge, while everyone in their cars can see us. I was slightly embarrassed by this idea, but I went for it anyway. Joe (drlectr) spanked me. I love Joe.
|This is one of my all time favorite photos.|
That’s really all I have to say about the boat trip. I do want to share one more photo, because I feel that it’s a gem beyond compare. Here’s me and my darling twinsie, ellee, on the boat:
|ellee looks so thoroughly spanked. I don’t look to pale myself!|
This concludes my posting about BBW. Onward to further adventures! Thanks for your patience! I love you all! ♥
Before the party, Mike Tanner had written to ellee and I and asked us if we’d be willing to participate in a sales contest during the vendor fair. Due to our nature as good, helpful girls (captains of the Good Girl Society!) we were excited about a chance to help out and started planning ways to do the best job at this ever. This involved wearing matching outfits, of course, since ellee is my most beloved twinsie and we’re very good at matching. She picked out some adorable pink sweater tops for us to wear with school uniform skirts, and she also got both of us and Beth matching heels that look like bunnies. They’re basically the greatest thing ever created by science (science OBVIOUSLY goes into making shoes. Duh). We got ready and looked incredibly cute, if I must say so myself. In a horrible turn of events, no one took a photo of us. WTF. I don’t even have a response to that. Oh well.
We went down to the fair, where we found out that we were vending for Strictly Spanking, which was kind of an honor since it meant that the organizers trusted us enough to assign us to their table. Miranda explained what we were to do to help the sales and then we got to work, chatting up everyone from friends to strangers, bouncing around energetically, suggesting to the bottoms that the soothing lotion was indeed the most soothing and telling the Tops that they could test evil implements on us. I was bruised and sore from my scene with Stephen just a little while earlier, but I was still full of bounce, so I didn’t really mind the fact that I found myself bent over the front table with my school skirt lifted again, and again and again, often next to ellee (ok, who could mind that?!)
Doing this forced me to be outgoing, which isn’t always my natural state (I’m technically an introvert who learned extroversion, and now I can happily exist in both states). At one point, I re-met someone that I had met briefly at Shadowlane: the aforementioned Mr. Allen. I didn’t remember that I already kind of knew him, but once I made the connection, I realized that I found him very enjoyable and I was happy that he was there. We chatted for no more than one minute before I had a strange, almost out-of-body experience. I heard my voice, as if coming from somewhere other than my mouth, as if controlled by something other than my muscles and breath:
“Would you tawse my hands later? I was told that you’re good at that.”
dlifgdklfgjdjklghodirugy9SU*Efyhtisughxfjkhvdfiougyiny eor8ntu er89yfiseufhisuhvdxjkvhgyei7yeiuwryhoaeiwrhefkuhsiuhidfughISUEhtwioty iweuhreoshvnsdohvdsugheiosugiuefgyhesioufysdhvjkdhvhifxv!!!!!!!111!!1!11one
Brain! I thought to myself as soon as I had finished speaking. Now is not six months from earlier! Now isn’t even six hours from earlier! What’s wrong with you? You can call it morbid curiosity. You can call it a lack of self preservation. You can call it the inability to deny what I want, an obsession with pushing limits, insanity, whatever you want. There’s just a certain… something about me at times like these.
Mr. Allen gladly agreed to introduce me to this time honored practice and instructed me to find him later. I was then swept up in the whirlwind of whatever it was I was doing at the moment and didn’t have time to worry too much about what I had gotten myself into.
As the vendor fair came to a close, we were instructed to walk around and encourage people to come to the table who may not have otherwise. I was feeling pretty good about the work that ellee and I had done. ellee was amazingly chipper and outgoing, and she really kept me at my perkiest as we strived to compete against the other tables. Besides, she looked really good in her sweater. 🙂 Now, I split off from her and went around to talk to strangers by myself so she could cover different territory. At some point, Bad Alex came up and started following me around like a lost puppy. Instead of being useful and encouraging people towards my goal, she started being counter productive “Don’t buy anything!” she told people. “We want them to lose!” “I want to see Alex get spanked on stage”– that was the punishment for losing, and I wasn’t all that concerned about that, nor was I all that interested in the physical prize for winning (a bottle of lotion). I just wanted to be a winner. I can get horribly competitive. I wanted ellee and I to win and that was all I really cared about. I started to get pretty annoyed at Bad Alex, and I insisted that it wasn’t funny. As I took a moment off to socialize with Lucy and Stephen again, she came up and started telling them not to buy anything from me. “Alex!” I shouted. “Stop being such a cunt!”
And that was how in one single motion I found myself no longer on my feet, and instead over Lucy’s lap, getting scolded about how she KNEW that I wasn’t supposed to talk to my friends that way and that such language was most unladylike. She was, of course, correct on both counts. Bad Alex was FAR TOO SMUG about this turn of events, though: a trend that will continue throughout the story of this adventure.
General advice: there are certain words that it’s just not worth saying to your friends at a spanking party.
Soon, the contest was over and the winners were announced, with me and ellee bringing our team to the winning position. There was much rejoicing, and ellee did her patented bounce.
I don’t remember if the next part of this story actually happened in this sort of chronological order, but it seems that way in my memory, so it’s going that way in the post. 🙂
That evening, I was in and out of suite parties, running around, playing with friends and visiting with others. I got to know a few new people and did the sort of stuff I usually do at a party. At one point, I was running around on a mission to find Stacy because she had something that her husband needed, and I ran into Mr. Allen. He asked me if I was ready for that which I was due, and I politely explained that I had to run and find Stacy, then disappeared again. Just seeing him refreshed my memory on the subject that I had previously put out of my mind. Later that night, I walked into a suite in which he was hanging out, accompanied by none other than my worst behaved counterpart, Bad Alex. Part of me wanted to come up with some excuse for why I wasn’t going to get my hands tawsed. I had to go somewhere. I wasn’t feeling well. I had suddenly remembered that I was REALLY REALLY SCARED of this. But I knew I wasn’t going to chicken out. I knew that I could be calm about it. If I wanted to do this enough to ask for it, I wanted to do it enough to go through with it.
Holy hell, I was scared though. I’d heard all sorts of stories and had talked to various people, and everyone said that nothing compared to the pain of that. Nothing. It was the worst. My “big game” that I talk about my ability to take pain is all about spanking. I seriously tear up if someone high fives me too hard. Somehow, though, I agreed that I was going to have my hands tawsed, and some of the process was explained to me. I originally thought that a girl I had just met for the first time, Em, wanted to get her hands tawsed again and was volunteering to go before me, but I later discovered that Mr. Allen had conscripted her to serve as a demonstration. Somehow we ended up in a line with Em at the front, me in the middle and Bad Alex ended up behind me. (Em is extremely nice and I’m glad I got to know her over the weekend, but I feel a bit guilty now that she got tawsed on my behalf! Awww!)
The idea of the three of us lined up to get this made it a lot more comfortable for me, because it ritualized it beyond that which already existed. It was explained that Em would be getting one on each hand and that the Alexes would each get two per hand. The tawse that Mr. Allen had for these purposes was an authentic, old one, stamped with an H for “heavy” and it had clearly been used many, many times before. I shuddered just to look at it. At this time in my life (not at present, any longer) the tawse was the one scary implement that I wasn’t really well acquainted with. There will always be strange new things that pop up, legendary implements, particularly cruel versions of something familiar, but this was all around strange to me, and only accompanied by a whole host of stories. I could see it there, mocking me. I knew what Mr. Allen was going to do to me with it, but I didn’t know how it would feel. I could imagine, or so I thought. My heart pounded hard. I was sweating a little.
Em came forward and put her hand out, supporting it with the other one. She had obviously done this before. Mr. Allen lifted the tawse and brought it down against her palm in a motion that didn’t even look particularly aggressive or violent. There was obviously finesse involved in it, but the thing seemed to be mostly carried by gravity. Em reacted much less strongly than I would have expected, shaking her hand a bit, and exclaiming verbally, but then she swapped her hands and took her second stroke, repeated the same level of reaction, thanked Mr. Allen and then went to spectate. I was trembling as I walked forward to take the position at the front of the line, even though her reaction hadn’t been all that bad. Mr. Allen instructed me regarding how to position my hands, then he said:
“This is going to hurt very, very much. Don’t move your hand.”
There’s nothing like telling me that something is going to hurt to get into my head. Such a simple thing, usually the honest truth, but I have almost no defense against it. It melts my toughness. My heart pounded and pounded. Then Mr. Allen raised the tawse and brought it down on my palm.
Then I exploded.
Or so I felt. I at least screamed a little. I had never, ever, ever felt something that hurt so much. Not the longest, hardest caning in my history. Not a heavy ebony hairbrush on my thighs. Not being smacked on the tender areas near the backs of my knees. Nothing hurt like this. It was nauseating. It was disorienting. I don’t remember moving, but I discovered that I had my hand clutched between my thighs, because it was the sort of pain that I simply had to apply pressure to. There was no other choice. Holy. Fuck. I trembled.
“Other hand,” Mr. Allen instructed. I looked up at him pleadingly, but he had a stern and serious face. That confidence and his unbending nature comforted me, pacifying me enough to stand up straight again and put my other hand out. I forced it as far away from my body as I could, looking away to avert my eyes from what was going to happen.
That’s what happened. I crumbled, sort of bent in half, rocking and rubbing my aching, burning, terribly sore hands together. I knew that there was a crowd of people around, that we were playing in a suite, but I wasn’t aware of anything around me. Just the hurting. It was all that my mind could process. I didn’t even feel entirely in control of the parts of my body that I normally am, unsure of how to breathe or move my muscles.
“I can’t take two more,” I told Mr. Allen. This was huge. I’m horribly proud. It’s rare for me to beg, to protest, or try to get out of something. I am, after all, the kind of girl who intentionally gets herself into situations like this. But here, I felt that I had met my match. This hurt too much. I wasn’t tough enough for two more. I just couldn’t. There was no way. I shook my head, tears soaking down my face and gathering on my sweater.
“You can and you will,” Mr. Allen told me. “You’re going to. Put your hand out.”
I wanted to protest more. I couldn’t. I might die. I might *actually* explode. My hands might come off. I was entirely beyond rationality. Instead, I felt comforted by his statement, and my panic started to fade. I felt the tranquility of being out of control, feelings of comfort in the inevitable that I had been taught to embrace long ago. I could do this. I could.
I put my first hand out again. It already felt about twice it’s usual size. I closed my eyes and tried to relax into what was going to happen. I shrieked anyway, quickly devolving into sobs again.
Somehow, I got my other hand up without having to be coaxed, with Mr. Allen praised me for before bringing the tawse down the last time. This one felt like the worst one, both my hands swollen and red and sore, my world illuminated with a white strike of agony. I fell to my knees with both hands clutched between my thighs, trying to press the hurt out of them, trying to squeeze them back to feeling their normal size. I was concerned for a moment that I might throw up, but I recovered remarkably quickly as a powerful, almighty rush of endorphins came and took me over. Mr. Allen went away for a moment and returned with a bowl of ice. I buried my hands in it, and I felt infinitely better.
“You took that well,” he said as he comforted me. I laughed. “No, I really didn’t.” I think it was the least well I had ever taken anything.”Well, you took it. That’s something,” he said with a supportive smile.
He told me that he knew that there was no way that I was going to be alright with myself if I didn’t take the second half of the tawsing, which is why he had been so insistent.I didn’t feel like weakness left me and afterwards, that hollow space left was inflated with strength. I felt all the things in me, the feelings and the vulnerability harden into an unbreakable, positive core. I felt safe. I felt like myself. I felt like everything that had been dark had been illuminated. I was very glad for this. I needed it. I needed that extra push. I was proud of myself in this moment, although I did acknowledge somewhere that this was no longer a limitation in my mind, and it could potentially happen again, but I tucked that away in case I ever needed something to be afraid of. 😛
To give insult to injury, it was now time for Bad Alex to get her hands tawsed. She took her four strokes without event, without struggle, with hardly even any sound. She gave 0 fucks about the exact same experience that had just knocked me off my feet, literally. Fuck you, Bad Alex. (Note: I love Bad Alex. She’s a wonderful friend. But fuck you for having a better pain tolerance than I do, and for your ability to get me into trouble no matter what.) At least she didn’t gloat. Much. ♥
I am going to get through this complete narrative if it’s the last damn thing I do. I don’t know why it’s so important to me that I do, especially because adventures keep happening and piling up and it would make more sense for me to cut my losses and just jump to the more recent. But I’m going to. Really.
I know there has been some lag in when this blog has been updated, but I guarantee you that this time, I’m on a good schedule for quite some time now. Thanks for sticking by me as I’ve been busy darting around the world on spanking adventures. Your readership means so much to me.
The first person to spank me on Friday morning at BBW was YS. After getting ready for the day, I crawled up on his bed and we chatted about things that were going on in my life at the time. When that was finished, he put one leg out and put me over it (a very practical form of on the bed OTK) and then spanked me. He spanked me with a bunch of things, but I didn’t really get a good look at them. I just got a good feel of them. Many of them were wooden, and they hurt. It was still early in the day, and I think I may have been a bit whiny about things at first, but I quickly broke down and let myself fall into things. Damn, it hurt. YS almost always spanks me quite hard, but I felt very safe and comfortable in the position that he put me in. I was somewhat physically resistant, though, by the standards of this relationship. I clutched at the blankets and wiggled a bit and despite being reminded to, I was unable to keep my body relaxed. I worked at it as the spanking went on, and I think I made some progress, but it wasn’t easy. When YS was finished, I felt very physically worn out at first, and cuddled on the bed next to him for a while. After that, I was back to my perky self, and we went off to lunch.
|I think that Beth took this photo. If so, thank you, Beth!|
I spent a lot of the rest of the day hanging out with friends and having fun. At one point, I did something annoying to TheBadAlex and she responded by whacking me in the knee. This left a bruise that will become significant later on in the story. [God, Bad Alex, stop being such a bitch!] Later, we went to the meet and greet and I hung out with a nice variety of people, as basically everyone was there. The Famous Kat, who I met for the first time after years of internet friendship, showed me a place where I could stand on the balcony and it would make my dress fly up. I like that. I like that an awful lot. The lightweight nature of dress material is an important factor in my selection of clothing on a windy day. 🙂
After the event, SpankingJoe (different than Drlectr) and Bad Alex and I got together to talk in Joe’s room. This was a very complex proceeding that involved Joe setting up chairs in front of a desk and getting out a big, school type paddle. Because he knew that having the two of us together would probably result in mischief. Alex did, indeed, say something off color or complain about something, I don’t remember what, and she ended up being bent over the desk for ten swats. I probably gloated a bit about the fact that she was getting spanked, and I think she certainly would have found a way to throw me under the bus (such a bitch! Damn you, Bad Alex!) but it was time for me to go.
Earlier in the day, I had a very intense conversation with Lucy, which was really wonderful for me. It’s part of my personal life, the stuff that doesn’t go on here, but we talked about a lot of things and she looked after me in with a level of dedication and caring that was more than most people ever have in my life. That’s not meant to put anyone else down, just to say that she went above and beyond the call, and that I adore her for it. Part of this involved her setting things up for me to play with her partner, Stephen Lewis at a set time and location, and that time was nearing.
Stephen and I had never played together off camera before. I knew that I liked scening with him for work purposes very, very much. He’s good with characters. He’s willing to be a bit weird when the scene calls for it, and he’s very willing (perhaps even eager) to go to the darker places that I have recently found that I delight in. We weren’t going to roleplay this time, though. We were just going to be ourselves, and I was greatly looking forward to that. I knew that he plays hard. I’d seen photos of him having played with other girls where they were quite marked. It may have only been Friday, but at that time for my own reasons, I wanted to play hard. I wanted someone to beat me, and soundly. I felt very stable and secure because I knew that he would. I knew that I didn’t need to ask him to, or to sell him on the idea. I felt confident that he understood me enough to do what needed doing. As I walked to the room he and Lucy were sharing, my heart pounded against the inside of my chest with heavy anticipation. My tummy felt funny. It was wonderful.
I knocked on the door and he opened it. We talked a bit, and then he put a straight backed chair in the middle of the room and took off his jacket, having me hang it up. Then he put me over his lap and he began to spank me. I had let him know that I wanted my thighs to be spanked as well, and he was more than willing to do so. Every smack hurt in a way that radiated through my body. Often, when I really feel the need to be spanked hard, I find myself easily overwhelmed when I get what I need, lost at sea, struggling and crying and that letting go process leaves me feeling strong again. That wasn’t what happened this time. Stephen spoke to me very positively, and the combination of his words and the pain that grew and grew in my bottom and thighs (especially when he switched from his hand to a lightweight little hairbrush type paddle, and then to a much heavier and thicker one) made me feel edified. I didn’t feel like weakness left me and afterwards, that hollow space left was inflated with strength. I felt all the things in me, the feelings and the vulnerability harden into an unbreakable, positive core. I felt safe. I felt like myself. I felt like everything that had been dark had been illuminated. I didn’t cry. I had assumed that I would, but instead, I felt joyful. I could feel the red growing, could feel that there were probably purple speckles forming, especially on my sit spot and thighs. Each smack felt hot, and burning tingles radiated out from the center of the impact. Finally, eventually, it ended.
“This is about what you need,” Stephen said, “but it’s also about what I want. I want to cane you now, so I am going to.” I was, in that moment, entirely submissive, which is a rare thing for me when I’m playing with someone with whom I don’t have a dynamic. I knew that it was a temporary and fleeting thing, and that was fine, almost positive feeling. Having it be an encapsulated moment instead of a part of a timeline (not to say that we’ll never play again, as I’m certain that we will have other chances to, but there was nothing being built or worked at, it was just a moment) made it all that more refreshing, and I needed that.
I climbed over the end of the bed to be caned. I think I took a total of 33 strokes, many of them on my thighs, although by no means all of them. He used several different canes, increasing in intensity as they went on, but I don’t remember very much about them. I just remember the process: calm, stillness and then a white, hot pain, and then the secondary pain that follows– an aching, chewing pain. Then calmness, and another interruption. When it was finished, Stephen sat at the head of the bed and I cuddled against him for a while, having quiet and gentle conversation about how well I took my thrashing. I felt proud of myself. Instead of getting hung up on something I hadn’t done the way I’d like to, I just felt pleased with my endurance, my reaction and the whole experience And I felt sore. I felt incredibly, incredibly sore. I almost didn’t want to sit. My thighs felt swollen. I was bruised and welted. I was happy. Stephen is a really good friend, and a wonderful Top.
During the post-scene cuddling, we talked about various things, including why getting hit on my thighs was so important to me. I think everyone who reads this has heard it a million times: I like getting hit on my thighs because I hate it. It challenges me. It pushes me. It’s the first thing that ever really made me acknowledge my submission, and it continues to be effective at getting inside my head. “There are other things that I think could be like that for me, but that I’m too scared to even try,” I told Stephen. He asked me what those things were. “Like hand tawsing. I’ve been hit on the hand with other things before, less serious things, and it’s just far, far too painful. I can’t endure it.” I told him the story about how I somehow ended up on the other side of the room insisting that I was literally going to die the first time that Malignus had hit me on the hand, and he had a chuckle at that.
“If you ever want to try it, you should either ask Lucy to do it or Mr. Allen, since they’re the best at hand tawsing,” Stephen told me.
“I know I’ll eventually want to try it. I have a horrible morbid curiosity, but I’m just not there yet. Maybe in six months or so I will be. Right now, it’s just far too scary.” This was acceptable, and the conversation moved on to other things. Eventually, it was time for me to go and get changed, as the Vendor’s Fair was that night.
|I took this photo when I got undressed to change in my room later. Sore girl!|
This story will continue in the next post. Stay tuned! ♥
I find it tremendously difficult to write about spanking parties after the fact.
So. Much. Happens. It’s hard for me to tell what things are interesting and worth writing about and what things are needless details. It’s also unfortunate that I never really get around to writing about them as soon as they happen, as I tend to have quite the backlog. So, I’ll do the best that I can. If I don’t mention a fond memory that I shared with you there, please don’t be hurt. It probably means a lot to me, too.
The first thing that I clearly remember about Thursday of BBW was Richard Windsor‘s pool party. I was full of bounce and excitement that afternoon, and I spent lots of time with Pandora again, making up for all the time that we had been apart. We splashed around in the pool a bunch, and later moved into the world’s biggest hot tub*. Here, I ran into my friends Korey and James Johnson (of Stormy Night Publications) and we got to catch up. I hadn’t seen them since July, and we had lots to talk about, including reminiscing about a most ridiculous night at CCM and, once again, discussing How To Have Two Concubines For Five Dollars A Day®. Korey and I engaged in lots of girl talk, which continued out of the pool and into the changing room. Eventually, Pandora had someplace to be so she took off, and I got dressed and headed out of the pool.
|I actually wore jeans at a spanking party. No one died. Amazing!|
I wandered off somewhere and ran into my friend BradD. Brad and I had known each other for a long time over the internet, and he’s always been really kind and supportive towards me. We’d hung out briefly at other parties, and he was meant to go to my cabin party but unfortunately fell ill and couldn’t make it. As things went, we had never played together. Now seemed like as good a time as ever, so we headed up to his room. We chatted a bit more before things moved rather seamlessly to me being over his lap. I hadn’t played yet at this party, and Brad was very kind about warming me up gently, first spanking me over my jeans. I don’t get spanked over jeans often, since I much prefer to run around in skirts at parties, but I do very much like the feeling of it. There’s basically no stinginess and just the feeling of impact, which is very similar to the way that my mind interprets spankings once I’ve falled into a subspace type mental state. Because of this association, the “over the jeans” spanking made me very passive. Soon, though, Brad had me get up and he took my jeans down before returning me to position, where he commented that he liked my underwear. That’s always points in my book right there. He then spanked me over it, and I was quite surprised by the difference. His hands are big and firm, and he was very effective at spanking with them. I squirmed a bit, but my attitude was mostly giggly, as we were both in very high spirits and he was simply spanking me because we both enjoyed it, and we both enjoyed each other. I love a huge variety of types of spankings, but there’s something very pure about that type. We do the thing because we love the thing.
When the spanking was completed, I felt simultaneously properly warmed up to play for the rest of the party and delightfully close to Brad. It really was ideal. Unfortunately I didn’t get to see much more of him for the rest of the party, so I was glad that we got that time, and it started things on the right foot for me.
Shortly after I left Brad’s room, I got a text from Lucy letting me know that she and Stephen had arrived and were in their room. Lucy and I had been texting while we were both in New York, but our schedules hadn’t lined up (largely because of my running around) so I hadn’t seen her since I left her and Paul’s house in England nearly a month ago. I headed up to their room and had hugs, plus the showing off of fancy fabric that Lucy had purchased in the garment district and the return of all the stuff I had left in England because it didn’t fit in my suitcase, despite Lucy’s nigh godlike packing ability. It was very nice to catch up with her and Stephen, as I’d missed being around them since I left England. From there, I think I went to see The Bad Alex, Latte and Josh, but I’m not clear on this order of events in the least anymore. I know that I did get to see them, and that I told Latte that I was pleased to meet her, as I do every time I see her, since the second time that we hung out I was half drunk and another half asleep and temporarily had no memory of our first meeting. It was good to see her and Alex again, though, and immediately I got up to mischief with them. It was also lovely to meet Josh, as we’d corresponded online for quite some time, and he was really, truly nice in person. I also got to meet a girl named Feisty, who clearly lived up to her name. 🙂
I’m usually really quite good. Really, I am. At one point, though, when Josh started spanking someone, I decided that some of the implements in the room were just to mean for the public eye, so I hid a couple of them.
No one noticed that I did it. That’s the benefit of usually being so good: people don’t watch you as closely.
I then texted Alex from across the room to let her know that I’d been up to something already, and she swore up, down and backwards not to tell if I told her what I’d done. Because I trusted her, I did. Instantly, she threw me under the bus. INSTANTLY. She didn’t even give me time to get my fingers off my phone’s keyboard. What a “great friend.”
“Hey Josh! Alex hid your cane.” Alex said. I was shocked and appalled, and sheepishly returned it. Of course, I got whacked with it. That’s how this works. That doesn’t mean I didn’t protest, and most of my angst was about what a horrible, lying tattletale Alex is (like a lot of my friends, it seems).
[Dear Bad Alex: fuck you. Love, Good Alex.][There is a message to Bad Alex in invisible ink there. Don’t read it if you think that I should be nice to my friends on the internet.]
I think it was after this that we went down to the Burger Bar area for registration and hanging out, where I got to see a bunch more people that I was quite excited about. I spent that entire portion of the evening flittering around from group to group, trying to see everyone and catch up. Finally, YS texted me that he and ellee had arrived, and I literally ran to the room number he had sent. There were hugs and very quick cuddles, as it was approaching an event that they needed to be at. It was lovely to see them. They’re some of my favorite people.
The rest of the night was kind of a blur. There was a mass spanking of several of my friends for some sort of prank that I wasn’t entirely aware of, but which was very entertaining to watch. It was especially visually appealing to watch the portion that involved YS spanking Beth, as YS is a joy to watch while he’s hitting woman. He moves his body in a way that looks strong and powerful, and he has a smug look of satisfaction on the entire time. After the event was over, the group dispersed and I don’t really remember what I did, but I’m sure it involved running around and probably getting spanked. As the evening drew on, Pandora mentioned that she wanted to spank me before she went to bed so I climbed over her lap. She was wearing the most ridiculously wonderful dress ever, which she had purchased while we were on the boardwalk earlier in the day (I just don’t remember when that was). It was low cut and tight to her body and made her ass look perfect. I hadn’t been able to keep my hands off her all night. It was very nice to lie over her lap while she was dressed this way. And by “very nice” I mean “it was hot.” Pandora spanked me with her hand while I giggled and moaned over he lap, and I felt very nicely connected to her. As Pandora noted in her post, it was only made less than perfect by a bystander commenting about how cute it was that there were two little girls spanking each other. Shut up. This is serious business. Well, maybe not, but it’s still no less serious than any one else’s play, and certainly not something to patronize us over.
As the night wore on and I was getting tired for bed, YS decided that it was time for him to “get me,” much to my delight. Not so much to my delight, he had found a cracker barrel type paddle (I think) that was one of the most evil things I’ve ever met in that manner. He bent me over a spanking bench and began to spank me with his hand first, and then with this horrible thing. As usual, he spanked me hard. As usual, I wailed and cried. I felt a bit odd about doing this with people around, especially since PTL had previously been asleep on the sofa pretty close to where my face ended up being, but eventually I lost myself in it. At times, I felt myself panic, tighten, feeling unable to take it but YS reassured me in his usual way: “You’re okay. You’re a sweet girl” and this softened me up to take more. When he finally stopped, I felt swollen and bruised (although I didn’t really look too much worse for the wear, due to my body’s natural magic these days) and we shared a cuddle. I also felt sleepy. Tremendously sleepy. It was late. So I headed off to bed, looking forward to another day of adventures. ♥
As my time in England drew to a close, I felt a certain sense of sadness drawing on me. While my trip had begun with me hating everything and desperately wanting to be home, the thought of leaving now made my heart heavy. Of course I was looking forward to seeing everyone that I hadn’t for so long, but it didn’t stop my other feelings. I was made more sensitive and vulnerable than I usually am (so, that’s saying something!) by the combination of this and a stressful situation that was going on back in the states. Everyone remained very patient with me, though and I got to have several more exciting adventures before the day did arrive when I had to leave.
One day, close to the end of my visit, Paul took me for a walk on the shore. Having grown up by the sea, I’m always fascinated by visiting beaches that are different than the New Jersey coastline that I identify in my mind when I hear the word “ocean.” It was very different: the waves were small and choppy, but without foam, the water seemed to be a different hue, and the beach itself was made up of a mixture of tiny rocks and broken shells.
Being by the water is linked to the majority of my positive childhood memories, and it’s a setting that brings me back to a happy part of my mind, making me feel small, but in an entirely comfortable way. Paul held my hand as we walked along, although I constantly stopped to pick up tiny seashells. These shells are precious to me, now, and I always have one of them in the pocket of my favorite sweater, and just running my fingers over it reminds me of that buffer I talked about before: safety, comfort and love. I later discovered that one of them has a hole in it naturally, so I stuck it on a chain and often wear it as a necklace.
|Shell necklace, as seen around my neck in this photo from the other day by Amoni.|
Another fun experience happened when Zoe came over and spent the night (along with two other girls who I didn’t really know) and mass girliness ensued. It was lovely to hang out in a group of people, where we chatted and drank champagne while Lucy dyed one of the other girls’ hair, but the part of the evening that mostly stands out in my mind was once Zoe and I were meant to go to bed. She was staying in the same room as me, and in the time honored tradition of any two girls spending a night together that usually don’t, we stayed up extremely late chatting. We kept giggling and then remembering to be quiet and whispering for a moment, and then someone would say something that would make the other gasp and we’d forget and get noisy again. We talked about all kinds of things, including how we got into the scene and how we both started filming, and we shared awkward but funny stories and even a few personal secrets. Eventually, we went to sleep, but not without several false starts of “Okay, we really have to go to bed now!” “Alex! It’s three! Go to sleep!” “Zoe! Stop talking!”
The next morning, Zoe painted my nails for me. She’s into nail art, and I asked her to do Pikachu faces for me, which she gladly and successfully did. I found this to be the most delightful thing that has ever happened to my hands (in a few days you will hear about the least delightful thing that has ever happened to my hands). I’m still impressed with how cute they are. It was a sad day when I eventually had to take them off.
|Zoe Page is the most awesome ever.|
I think it was the next day that I left Paul and Lucy’s house. Paul took me to another town, where we were both filming for Bars and Stripes on the day before I had to leave to go back. I was quite sad to leave, and I said my goodbyes to Lucy then, although I would be seeing her at BBW as well.
Shooting for Bars was incredibly fun for me. There was the fact that there were a ton of people that I liked all on set together: Paul, Stephen and Zoe all topped me (I got to be the center of lots of tops’ attention again! Bonus!) and Michael was filming. We were filming at Dodgy Dave’s place, and he was around and assisting, and I got to know him a bit. It was just a lovely group of people, and a wonderful way to end my visit. I also loved the content that we filmed. I mentioned before that I’ve recently gotten more into doing “dark and horrible” scenes. At some point, I realized that as much as I love the sweet and innocent stuff, or the very consensual play that I engage in at home, as much as I relish in the good feeling of being beaten by someone with affection for me, there’s something that I find positively invigorating about scenes with non consensual themes. I’ve gotten very fond of abuses of power, force, pressure, terrible unfairness, power held via intimidation rather than respect and so on (in role play, of course). The content that we filmed for Bars was all about that stuff. There was no “you’re really a good girl, we care about you quite a bit, but you’re going to get spanked anyway.” In it’s place was a general sense of nastiness, authority figures who disliked me and were very liberal with their force, yelling, shouting back and forth at each other, manhandling, trickery and sleeping on the floor with only a blanket. Again, whenever I say that I’m getting into something new, I don’t mean that my interest in this replaces anything that I was previously into, or is more important than that which I traditionally liked all of the sudden. It’s just an expansion of my taste to include additional things, or a growth of my set of options.
I originally kind of imagined that there would be something uncomfortable about filming this sort of stuff with people who were my favorite people in real life, like I wouldn’t be able to take their scariness seriously. In actuality, it was probably only as awesome as it was because of the fact that I knew and trusted everyone involved. It was delightful to step so far outside of myself that I was in a world where I was fearful and angry towards these people one moment, and then, as soon as we cut, I immediately started snuggling them. I trusted everyone enough that there was no real emotional discomfort when things got intense. I just felt very secure, and delighted by the darkness of the scenes. I don’t mean to say that any of the stuff we filmed was vicious. It just wasn’t “nice.” But it was hot. All of it felt wonderful to do.
The final scene that I filmed in England was a double caning from Paul and Stephen, and it was probably the best film to finish with. I’ve always been kind of infatuated by the idea of co-topping, and I hadn’t had a lot of chances to do well developed scenes of that nature before this trip. I was lucky enough to get to do two of them: the scene I’m discussing and one for Dreams of Spanking where I got double strapped by Pandora Blake and Thomas Cameron. Both of these scenes were delightful. Besides all the things I’ve just discussed above, there were two things about this scene that really stood out to me. One was the fact that for part of it, the two Tops were kind of chatting amongst themselves about things unrelated to the work at hand (that is to say, unrelated to caning me). I found this to be horribly dismissive and objectifying in a way that was incredibly appropriate to the scene and was also thrilling. The other moment which stands out to me was near the end of the scene when I was made to thank Officer Kennedy for beating me. This stands out in my mind because it made me aware of just how deeply into my character role I’d gotten and how much a different atmosphere can change the way things feel to me. In “real life,” it feels entirely normal to thank someone for spanking me. I throw it out spontaneously in the middle of a scene sometimes when something hurts in a way that makes me particularly submissive. If I was prompted to thank someone at the end of the scene, I might feel slightly sheepish that I hadn’t remembered to do it on my own without reminding, the way that I feel when someone has to remind me to rinse my bowl before putting it in the sink. In this scene, it was horrible. It was enraging. It was tremendously humiliating. I refused. I would not. That’s a rotten, awful thing to ask of a person, and only a terrible man would demand such a thing, thought my in-character brain. Eventually, of course, I did, but it was bitter.
Then the scene was done, and I felt incredibly high. Filled with positive emotion and endorphins. Elevated by having gone to such a place in my brain. Having been co-topped meant that I had an excuse to force two people to hug me instead of one (although, really, with this group of people I didn’t need an excuse or force ^_^).
And then we were finished filming, and I felt sad again. My adventure was ending. It was almost over.
That night was melancholy to me, but very nice. We went out to dinner at a pub all together, and Zoe and I got excessively big ice creams, just like we had the first night, when Paul had picked me up and taken us up to Derbyshire. We all bantered back and forth, told stories and laughed as we relaxed from the day’s work. Eventually, it was time for everyone else to go home except for Paul and I, who were spending the night at Dodgy Dave’s place, as I’d be going to the airport early in the morning. At some point, I had started to get sick. I thought perhaps I was allergic to something in the air, although I later discovered that I was actually just getting a cold. Anyway, I sneezed and my nose ran basically the rest of the night, which made me feel kind of silly and awkward. Despite this, that evening stands out in my mind as one of the sweeter ones ever. Paul looked after me in a way that was firm but extremely affectionate, and I melted into that feeling. We went up to bed fairly early, as I had to get up in the morning and that’s not something that’s ever easy for me, and then he sat on the bed, put me over his lap and spanked me lovingly for a terrifically long time. I imagined that the entire world was that moment, so that I wouldn’t worry about it being over, and melted into some quiet space in my mind where I was delicate and vulnerable but very well protected. This was, of course, interrupted by my constant sneezing, but that really didn’t bother me much. This was good.
When the spanking was over, my bottom was buzzing with heat, but the rest of me felt entirely relaxed.
“How do you feel?” he asked me.
“Vulnerable. Safe. Happy.” I answered, my voice difficult to find and control.
“Good,” he said. “Do you want to know how I feel?” I nodded. “Wonderful,” he said.
After that, I snuggled up against him and tried to fall asleep. It almost pleased me that I kept sniffling and keeping myself up, because I liked being awake in that moment, floating in some relaxed, half awake snuggle state. Eventually, though, I slept.
In the morning, Paul took me to the airport, where I we ate breakfast together before I had to get on my plane and leave. Somehow, I managed not to cry until I was in flight, where I snuck into the bathroom to do it. It was okay, though. I knew I’d be back. ♥
After having finished the two very exciting shoots that I wrote about in my last couple of posts, I spent a few more days with Pandora. The time that we spent just hanging out was always fun and enjoyable. We did sessions and had fun together. A huge portion of this involved me picking up her cat and not putting her down when she wanted me to. 😛 Eventually, though, Pandora needed to get back to the rest of her life, and I was meant to go visit S_F at this point. Unfortunately, his situation horrible personal situation had not improved, and he was unable to come get me or host me at his house. I actually didn’t end up seeing him at all, the entire time I was in England. Instead, Paul Kennedy and Lucy McLean were kind enough to agree to host me for the rest of the time that I was there. This ended up being basically the best thing ever.
Paul came to pick me up from Pandora’s, and we all had some tea and cake (although just regular cake, not Cake of Ultimate Joy™) before I had to say goodbye to her. I knew I wasn’t going to see her until BBW, which was about a month away, and this was sad for me, because I knew I was going to miss her. I hugged her a lot, and I harassed her cat as much as I could before I had to leave. As disappointing as it was to have to leave Pandora, I was excited that I was going to get to spend more time with Paul. I had found myself thinking about him pretty consistently since I left his house, and I was happy that I’d be seeing more of him.
When we returned to his house, I got to see his wife, Lucy, who I had only briefly met at Shadowlane last year. Lucy wasn’t feeling well that night, but being the horrible influence on my innocent friends that I am, I somehow managed to keep us up until the early morning chatting. Lucy is one of the coolest people to talk to ever, because she knows about an infinite number of things that I don’t know about, mostly lady things, and because she never makes me feel stupid or annoying when I have to ask a hundred and fifty questions about something. Additionally, she’s extremely kind, and I knew as soon as we finally got to sit down and socialize a bit that I really, really liked her and enjoyed being around her.
It’s hard for me to pinpoint the details of the time that I spent at their house and put it all in order. As before, I felt very relaxed and at ease while there, and the environment made me feel really free to be myself. Paul and I got to scene together pretty regularly, as well as just spending normal time together, and I found myself feeling very affectionate towards him– I think I spent the majority of the free time that I had while I was at their house cuddled up to him on the sofa. While it didn’t feel much of anything like the other D/s relationships that I’ve had, at one point or another I realized that I felt very submissive towards him, in a way that made me feel tremendously safe. Some kind of buffer of safety and comfort built up around me as we spent time together, and even though we’re away from each other now, it’s never gone away. In certain ways I felt tremendously shy about it, but I was slowly realizing that this feeling was greater than just affection, or caring or any other words that I might use to describe it aside from love (spoiler alert, we’re in a relationship now). But I didn’t entirely come to this conclusion until after I had returned home. At the moment, it was just a very happy time, in a place and with people that made me feel very contented.
One day near the beginning of this particular chapter of my never-ending adventure, Paul took me into London for what was kind of originally meant to be a variety of tourism events including hanging out at Camden Lock and shopping, but which turned into exclusively that, because I was so enthralled by it. It was cold and kind of constantly rainy, but I just loved walking around and checking out everything. If you don’t know, it’s an area that’s full of kind of alternative stores and vendors and it’s by the waterfront. I obtained several adorable things here, including a couple of excessively cute bunny related things and my very own prefect badge, which is something I’ve always wanted. In a vintage store, I found and got to try on some actual school uniform blazers (the fancy type) but none of them actually fit me, largely because they were all designed for boys of various ages. It was still super cool to wear, and I hope that some day I actually can find a real, legitimate one that fits me properly.
|I have this bunny shirt now. Also, this photo was taken at 13:37. Hawt.|
Shortly after this, a series of events that I now refer to as The Camden Pancake Incident took place. During this incident, Paul got me a pancake from a street vendor. This was basically a sweet crepe, and, for Angelinos, it was served sort of similarly to the ones that I used to get at Four Leaf: folded up on itself in a paper cone. I got it nutella, strawberries and whipped cream, which was basically the best combination of things I could think of, and it was hot when it was handed to me, which pleased me greatly due to my constant state of being kind of cold in England. “Don’t make a mess,” Paul warned me as I started to eat it, and I kind of responded with “Yeah, of course, obviously” or something.
I then proceeded to make a bigger mess than I have ever made in my entire adult life.
Because the pancake was hot, all the nutella and whipped cream melted together into some sort of drippy, creamy, chocolatey goo that got everywhere. It got all over my coat. It got all over my dress. It got all over my socks and shoes. It dripped in a trail behind me. It got into my hair. I probably got it on Paul. It was just impressively messy. I tried to clean as much of it up with napkins as possible, but that had limited success. I was just a sticky mess for the rest of the day. Later, when we got back to the house and I changed to go to bed, I discovered that I had somehow gotten it on my skin under my dress and on my underwear, which doesn’t even seem to follow the laws of physics to me.
Sigh. I’m an adult, I promise.
That evening, we went to a bar where I got to meet Leia-Ann Woods for the first time. She was really peppy and very entertaining to talk to, and I was excited that we’d be getting to see each other again at Boardwalk Badness Weekend the next month. On every occasion that we’ve been together, I’ve failed to take a photo. F – -.
That evening ended in a lovely way, as Paul and I went to dinner, and then took the train back to his town (on which I was very sleepy). The adventure finished with taking a midnight ferry ride, which was theoretically really enticing to me, but ended up being super cold. Fortunately, Paul took me upstairs to a giant heat vent, which I stood under and filled my happiness meter.
That weekend, we filmed for Northern Spanking. I often go thru and give a long play-by-play which describes the scenes that were filmed during a shoot, but this particular one is under-wraps. I’ll just say the following things:
* Besides me and Paul, the films involves Stephen Lewis, Michael Stamp and Zoe Page. There’s something incredibly, indulgently enjoyable about having four tops all to oneself.
* At one point, I wore this fancy outfit, courtesy of Lucy, who besides being amazing herself has all the most amazing stuff to wear ever:
* While we were planning out one of the scenes, Paul sat in this tiny chair, and I think this is the most endearing photo ever.
* Zoe dressed up as a cat and I somehow still managed to take her somewhat seriously.
* It became obvious to everyone that I don’t really know my left from my right particularly well and that I’m horrible at singing.
* Some parts of this were ridiculous.
The final adventure that I shall detail in this post involves Primark. I don’t think most people in the US know what Primark is, unless they’ve been around me recently and have asked me where I bought something I was wearing. Primark is a stylish (“fashion forward” I think is the term) but inexpensive store in England. A lot of the styles that they had were very “me.” They had an enormous selection of underwear and pajamas.
I bought all the things.
So. Many. Things.
I’m almost ashamed to post a photo, because I feel like it makes me look a little awful, but I’m going to anyway.
|This was only the first day. I went back. -_-|
Lucy and Zoe took me, and they were the best people I’ve ever shopped with. They were never annoyed at me for spending so much time, and they helped me try things on, and they told me when things did or didn’t look good on me, they carried stuff around, they took stuff into the dressing room for me… it was just amazing. Lucy fitted me for bras and I finally got some that looked appropriate on me AND are comfortable. The second trip involved me learning what kind of jeans actually don’t make me look stupid, and I’ve actually taken to wearing them fairly regularly (one of those developments in my personality that some people continue to be flabbergasted by). After the shopping adventure, I tried on literally everything in a fashion show, including every single pair of panties that I bought, which I think numbered at least 50. This whole “Alex bought all the things” event lead to me being kind of annoying to my friends at home when they want to know where I got something, because basically all the clothes I wear now come from this exhibition. This also lead to me promising not to shop for two months after coming back from England, which lead to me consistently getting myself a variety of forms of trouble, but most of that is another story.
There will only be one more post about England after this, and then I will post rather briefly about BBW, and then I have a few more adventures to describe before I am all caught up. PROGRESS! ♥