Sunday, 31 May 2009

Good pain

Have just been for a night out kinky clubbing with some lovely friends and am still slightly high and buzzy so not quite ready for sleep. Quite the opposite to how I felt a couple of hours ago after being whacked when I went all dopey and needed sugar before I could contemplate sitting in a car to go home...

Was very much what I needed after a stressful couple of days featuring (in no particular order) job crises, a swan attack, a fainting athlete, several people crying, a minor boating accident, a delayed train and a damaged corset (sob!). When I dragged myself through my front door at nine pm exhausted and in dire need of a shower I contemplated calling a rain check, but jumped in the shower and pushed myself to get on with it. An hour later clad in my favourite corset, frilly knickers, a non-existent skirt, stockings and some serious eye-make-up I was ready to go.

Had a bit of a blonde moment at the front door when I asked why people were clapping and the guy jokingly commented that they did that a lot there, I then asked if there was a show...and received a funny look and the comment 'You have been here before haven't you?' before I twigged that it was actually spanking...cue a few blushes!

Was great to see my friends, both the ones I'd expected to see and a few more (including the lovely Eliane ( who was up to no good in her schoolgirl outfit. Lots of fab outfits as usual and with a glass of wine in hand I was soon feeling much more myself. Even more so when one lovely friend (in not so lovely mode) dragged me over to a spanking bench and doled out a spanking before moving onto a flogger, strap and then the cane (which left pretty welts - yum). Then she manoeuvred me over to a cross, undid my corset, made me sit down and restrained my arms before proceeding to clamp my nipples and flog my breasts with a very ouchy little whip. As I whimpered and writhed she stroked me and told me that I was a good girl - before giving me a bit more. As the clamps came off were it not for the restraining straps I would probably have half-levitated but instead went for the wincing option, followed by a nice cuddle.

Somewhat embarrassingly I was too sore to put my corset back on straight away so flounced about topless in my tiny skirt but didn't look too out of place. Shortly after another friend decided that I needed dealing with again to keep me in line (it's a difficult job) and soon I was bent over for another spanking followed by a flogging of the 'just hard enough to make me go very spacey and happy' variety, a dose of the strap and then a couple dozen strokes of the cane. These were lighter than the earlier dose but very stingy, though definitely of the good pain variety. Being spoiled with so much play sent me into quite a spacey place, which generally means I flop in a heap and cuddle anyone in the immediate vicinity whilst sporting a slightly catatonic grin. Lots of fun - feel very lucky to have such lovely friends :)

Wednesday, 27 May 2009

A gap in the market?

I've just returned from a rather lovely day at a spa so am feeling all floaty and lovely. They had some rather interesting treatments which included a Japanese Salt Steam room which was supposed to be particularly good for boosting the respiratory system, a tropical shower to improve circulation, an ice fountain which was apparently good for your skin (I was not convinced) and an Indian Blossom Steam Room which was supposed to deeply relax and soothe your nerves. Not to mention the rather bizarre Zen meditation room for relaxation which featured water dropping off the ceiling or the Greek Herbal Bath which didn't involve water!

This got me thinking about other treatments they might offer - what about

A sound caning to increase focus

A firm over the knee spanking in aid of posterior circulation

A nice tight hogtie to increase flexibility

A gently birching to bring colour to your cheeks

Hot waxplay to moisturise the skin

What do you think folks? Is there market mileage in the spankos spa?

Sunday, 24 May 2009


I have just had a text from my boy interest which included

'I've just dug out my vintage head boy pin badge'

This coupled with some of the discussions we've had over the last few days gave me that yummy half nervous, half excited feeling in my stomach. We met through a vanilla channel you see but soon discovered mutual interests when he asked why I'd referred to myself as a fallen angel and I explained. To my delight he was neither horrified nor suggested that I apply immediately for professional help but confessed that he believes in dealing firmly with young ladies. And beating them and tying them up and other good things.

We've had some rather lovely civilised dates to the theatre, nice bars and for dinner. He's bought me flowers (which makes me go all girly and happy). And we've talked quite a lot about what's hot and what's not and works for both of us, cue a few blushes on my part...though I don't think liking canes is really that odd is it? He's very good at being I really hope he is as good at being a sadistic b*stard too...I'll be quite disappointed otherwise!

Thursday, 21 May 2009

Font fallacies...

How come when I select the writing and try to change the font it doesn't do it...I now have like 3 different fonts on this page and it won't let me make them all the same...?!

Working overtime...

I dedicate quite a lot of my spare time to coaching a certain sport that is surely beloved of many bdsm-aficionados as it involves lots of strokes, not to mention cox-boxes and a degree of inherent masochism.

I've been planning a seminar on race psychology and motivation during stressful times (in this case many of my coachees' exams) and somehow my brain has wandered from more traditional content such as time management onto somewhat pervier avenues...late for training, take that many strokes of the paddle...slower than your last test piece? That'll be a good spanking then.

The only problem being that I'd have loved a certain one of my coaches to spank me when I was competing myself. I remember almost falling over my feet in excitement on one occasion when this particular object of my affections sent my team up to the gym and ordered us to get out the canes...sadly it wasn't quite what I hoped for and they were put to a most boring and mundane use...though I still have fantasies about a darkened training hall on a wet night after an unproductive session. I was the last girl to leave, having wearily dragged myself through the shower and into my tracksuit for the slog home.

"A moment Rebecca, we need to discuss your concentration during that session. Wait here whilst I find my cane..."

Monday, 18 May 2009

Dirty laundry

I always seem to have a lot of both senses I suppose. There's the ever-mounting tower of sheets, shirts and frilly knickers and also the dirty double life; sweet wholesome girl ninety percent of the time, debauched and dirty the rest of the time. It's a nice life.

Reaching the unfortunate situation of actually having to do my handwashing tonight (some of it has been waiting months...literally) I'm suddenly very happy to live in a house of kinky girls. A house where no one bats an eyelid at my silk bloomers, pvc school tunic, ridiculously over the top pants, white knee high socks or hot pink seamed stockings. A house where my flatmate's pink rubber dress is keeping my school uniform company in the bathroom, where we openly discuss who we're playing with and show off the subsequent marks, and even occasionally give each other some for not doing the washing up...

Much better than my horrendous previous flatmate who insisted that I put black cotton underwear in my room to dry because her boyfriend was a strict Christian and would think that I was a prostitute. God knows what he'd have thought if he'd ever ended up in my wardrobe and discovered the corsets, suspenders, canes and school ties. Maybe I'd have had to do penance, though I might quite have liked that!

So I'm feeling very good for having done the oft-procrastinated handwashing...even if the only reason is because I need something for a playdate later this week. And I love that I can tell my flatmates that's where I'll be rather than creating some dubious excuse about godparents or overly extensive orchestra rehearsal :o)

Thursday, 14 May 2009


Is a fine thing on a boring Thursday afternoon. Don't get me wrong I like my job but some days it's all just a bit mundane and I sit there (usually whilst sipping my second post lunch cup of tea) and my mind wanders a bit. Like today I was thinking about workhouses. One particular workhouse, held up as an example of a well-ordered institution by the establishment of the town. The inmates were kept fully occupied by a rigorous programme of work, prayer and lessons where suitable; any resistance or infractions of the rule were dealt with harshly and promptly.

I was a model inmate, industrious, quiet and friendly to the other girls. Little did they know I had quietly been biding my time, waiting for the right time to run for it and escape. As a well behaved and trusted girl I'd quickly been given responsibility for some of the other girls, whom had quietly been included in my plot to escape the very system I was supposed to support.

The day came and everything went to plan, the boy from the laundry who had come to collect our freshly starched sheets easily diverted by a rumour that cook was handing out cake in the kitchens. More the fool him, we never had cake. One by one the other girls fled through the open door as I kept watch for trouble. Ellie had gone missing, I ventured back into the laundry to look for her, I didn't want to leave without her. The door bangs shut, the overseer stands angrily in front of it grasping a white-faced Ellie.

I deny everything but it's no use, Ellie has already told him everything. In the workhouse there is no need for a second opinion, no chance to defend yourself. I am bundled down into the cellar by the two of the overseer's men, my arms twisted painfully behind my back. A heavy oak door swings open and I am shoved into the dark room. One of the men holds my arms whilst the other strips me of my worn dress. They force me over a whipping block, buckling me down with cool, sturdy leather straps. Then they leave me, naked and exposed in the cellar to await the overseer's wrath.

Tuesday, 12 May 2009

First Post, First Spanking

A first post, always a horrible thing to write. I suppose this is where I'm supposed to try to make myself sound fascinating and charm the world, or something like that. Rarely an easy thing to do so instead I'm going to write about my first spanking, the one which probably catalysed my subsequent descent into becoming a bit of a deviant. And more surprisingly a submissive.

Looking back there were definitely warning signs. The somewhat bizarre hobbies that saw me whacking and getting whacked with thick rattan sticks (yes, there is a sport involving that), that I preferred sports with a distinctive masochistic streak, preferably coupled with sadistic instructors. A fledgling sex life that had seen me doing it outside, inside with the lights on and once kneeling on the floor whilst the poor boy attempted to write an essay. It was probably only a matter of time before someone recognised the need to take me in hand.

That someone was a boyfriend in my final year of university. I didn't pursue him, he chased me, I remember a friend asking me 'who that was' once when he stopped to flirt with me in town and shrugging as I didn't have a clue. In the end I consented to a date, he took me somewhere nice and then shocked me by choosing a wine from the menu without even asking me, not the second to cheapest either. I wasn't sure whether to be outraged or impressed but actually thought it was very sexy, he clearly knew what he wanted.

What he wanted, it turned out was me. To my friends' surprise we started going out (in those days I wasn't really the commitment type) and pretty soon were having a lot of sex. And doing all the cute clich├ęd stuff like going for picnics, to the movies or for late dinners after we'd both finished training. It was one of those evenings that it happened, he had the misfortune to be doing a somewhat comic PhD and I used to tease him mercilessly about it. We were lounging on the grass enjoying the last of the sun and I pushed it an inch too far, he rolled over and smacked my bottom hard.

"When we get home I'm giving you a good spanking."

"But you can't, I'm the athletics club captain."

Suffice to say he could, and did. Apparently that my argument consisted of why he couldn't spank me as opposed to threats to call the police or claims that he was a pervert convinced him he'd get away with it. We finished the picnic and wandered back to his flat, where we went into his bedroom, he sat on the bed and beckoned me over his lap. I insisted that he couldn't, he told me to shut up and bizarrely instead of slapping him or storming out I ended up over his lap.

Thirty seconds later my knickers were around my knees as he proceeded to give me exactly what he'd threatened earlier on - a good spanking. I was utterly mortified, even though it didn't really hurt and proceeded to exhort exactly why he couldn't do what he was doing. He pushed my head into the covers; I stopped whining and about a minute later he stopped. It hadn't hurt that much but psychologically was a big step for both of us. Then I remember him laughing wickedly as he pushed me onto my back and felt between my legs and pretending to be outraged ceased to be an option.

Afterwards I felt quite confused. I was strong and independent so why had I liked it, or even allowed him to spank me? Thankfully I had the courage to step away from the rules of the sexual status quo and explore, though not the wisdom to learn when to avoid pushing my luck...I'm actually thankful for that too.

So there you go, my first spanking. No whips, no canes, no chains, no tears; all of that was still to come. But a rather beautiful beginning :)