Arrivals

From the Diary of Dorothea Latimer

Friday 20th November, 1809

Under Mrs Derby's watchful eye I assisted in the packing of our carriage and the accompanying wagons in the drizzling rain. The aim was to allow me the opportunity to practice some of what I had learned of household management, which will be essential if I am fortunate enough to make a good match. Despite having been out for several months now the thought still seems daunting, it is one thing to practice preparing place laying and menus with ones governess, it is quite another to contemplate hostessing my own events. Indeed, I have no idea how Mrs Derby manages to pull things together so seamlessly. The reality is should I make a good match this season my husband would expect me hostess at least small events by this time next year, I really must improve my flower arrangements if that's to be the case. Perhaps I can ask Lady Cavendish to join me for tea and teach me a few tricks as her arrangements bloomed most beautifully.

The journey was long in the inclement weather, though time passed quickly as Mrs Derby quizzed me upon the precedence and reminded Lord Fawcett of the foibles of his various guests. I was also allowed to read her copy of the Daily Sketch, which was hot off the press and contained some most interesting gossip pertaining to several of the other guests. I stowed various snippets away in my head, hoping they would be useful conversation points later in the evening.

The staff at Fawcett Hall were flawless and there was even a charming maid named Kitty who was assigned to assist my roommates and I with unpacking our trunks and dresses. I was to share a room with Lady Francesca, a sweet girl who I had met at a previous dinner hosted by Lord Fawcett and Lady Cecily, who was new to my acquaintance if somewhat preceded by her reputation as a reformatory girl in the Sketch!

We chatted about the coming weekend as we bathed and prepared for the drinks reception. I had a new dress in pale blue silk and a blue feather and amethyst tiara borrowed from Mrs Derby for my hair. Lady Francesca was resplendent in purple velvet and Lady Cecily in forest green. Another friend, Lady Grace joined us and the four of us descended the stairs together. The champagne was flowing and the gentlemen looked most dashing in their breeches and waistcoats. I congratulated Sir Abel on his appointment as Chief Punishment Officer and held back my giggles as Lady Francesca proclaimed her views that corporal punishment was not suitable for young ladies. Apparently she and Lady Grace had succeeded in talking their governess around to this viewpoint, I have no idea how. I fear Miss Anstruthers would have combusted on the spot had I suggested such a thing, and besides regular discipline is efficacious for young ladies and assists in avoiding serious mishaps that could lead to sterner measures.

My dining companion for the evening was a Mr Random, who had recently won a duel fought in the nude against Sir Mulberry Hawke. I was a little perturbed by his suggestion that in order to have a political discussion one must be nude and by some of his other references but attempted to steer him to less risque topics. The food was divine, especially the beautifully peeled grapes that made the stuffed quail. If Father's chef was as talented as Lord Fawcett I'm sure I would be as big as a house.

After dinner the ladies retired and the gentlemen prepared for a meeting of the notorious Hellfire Club. Being an acquaintance of Lord Fawcett I had previous been initiated into the order so had to offer a tribute for the gentlemen to bid for. Mindful that it would not be appropriate for me to make too much of a public display I offered half an hour private play as a prize with the offer to take a spanking from each of the gentlemen as a tit bit to whet their appetites. Standing before the masked Brothers I felt exceptionally nervous, a feeling which did not dissipate as my tribute was announced and each brother in turn placed me over his lap and spanked my bottom. Indeed, I don't know which set of cheeks were blushing more! The start of the bidding sent butterflies to my stomach, as did the deadlock between two brothers both offering 38 guineas before one offered 39 and the other 40, the bidding limit. Brother Edward had won and later I was to be his prize...

Wanted...one flatmate

For the best girly houseshare in town. We are sadly losing a flatmate, which means we're on the hunt. It shouldn't be a problem - we're advertising on kinky sites and have already had lots of interest. Thing is we have a fairly clear idea of what we want - a girl, similar age to us, kinky with a love of ice cream, dressing up and debauchery. We have 2 months to find someone because getting the perfect fit is important - we all get along and want to keep it that way.

What I'm finding very funny is the amount of outraged memos I'm getting in result of our advert. From men telling me we're being sexist and they'd fit right in (and move out after 2 weeks if they didn't?! Because that wouldn't screw up the contract at all...), from TVs insisting that we're discriminating against non-natal females and all sorts of people.

I hate to say it but it's our flat and it's our choice who we want to live with. After all we couldn't loll around in our knickers if we lived with a boy...and they might object to some of our girlier past times. I am just finding it very odd that people think they have the right to comment on the type of flatmate we want...it's a funny old world!

Dark and fluffy

Being away from home is having a strange effect on my kinkometre. I'm swinging between nice fluffyness and daydreaming about nice bedtime spankings and pretty new knickers and general 'good girl' play...and really dark fantasies with lots of tears and breaking. It's totally polarised my play brain. So...cute pyjama scenes or dark and stormy towers and tears and pain. Hum. Both are nice.

I also saw the cutest school uniforms in the World today (except for Lowewood) which has sent my school play brain skipping slightly. I did 14 hours travelling today so LOTS of time to daydream...

Pretty on the inside

"Slut-kiss girls won't you promise her smack
Is she pretty on the inside
Is she pretty from the back"

Or so sang Courtney Love to an angry thirteen year old me sitting in my dimmed bedroom burning candles and drinking Hooch with my equally disillusioned best friend. I don't think we thought we were pretty on the inside, though we were both Guides and I was already harbouring dreams of volunteering overseas. We certainly didn't think we were pretty on the outside but we didn't really care - we were becoming alternative - and that was cool.

As a grown-up the people I like the best are the ones who are pretty on the inside - the nice ones, the loyal ones, the ones trying to make a difference in hard circumstances, the clever ones, people who haven't been beaten down by the system. Inside is more important than outside. I sometimes just wish I could see myself in the same way because I know at heart I'm a good person - I work for a charity, I volunteer in various other things, I give up my seat on the tube for old ladies and donate to good causes. I try to be nice to everyone. But I still spend too much time worrying about whether I'd be more likeable if I was thinner or better at doing my make-up or wore more fashionable clothes. Would people love me more if I had perfectly straight hair and could bear to wear heels more often. Would having better skin and less cellulite make me a better person? I think probably not - so why do we all obsess about it so much? Why can I love others for being great people but get so stressed out because I look chubby.

Why does this remotely even belong on a kinky blog? Well because it's my blog and it's what I'm thinking about but also because the scene can be pretty body-centric. You spend hours getting ready to go out and want to look amazing, and when you see you look amazing you feel amazing and the world is a good place. The number one cause of spoilt scenes for me is probably catching a glance of myself in a mirror and not liking what I see, or worrying that my boobs are wobbling when someones whacking me. It's not just a social issue - it's a play issue because when I feel pretty on the outside I feel better, I enjoy play and relax and it's more fun. Which is horribly hypocritical and I guess I do feel the same and have more fun when I've just done something good for someone else but still a bit silly. As I don't worry about other people wobbling when I play - I just want to hold their hand and have a giggle. So why must I worry about me? I think it's probably a girl thing :(

All roped up and nowhere to go...

I am away from home, jetlagged and struggling with the kinky blogging - which is a shame because a few half-formed ideas are so hot they virtually beg to be put down on paper. It's frustrating but these trips seem to either inspire a train of filth or leave me high and dry.

What I have been thinking about is rope and the yummy associated spaceyness. Not to mention the snug and safe feeling when it is nice rope. Rope has the ability to make me very compliant and well behaved. On the weekend of the guinea pig incident (sniggers) the boy interest and I were playing around with some new rope and I was being a very good girl indeed - docilely raising this hand or that and standing still while he did pretty things. It was fun. I also got to do some lovely rope work out clubbing last weekend and there are lots of subsequent happy-Rebecca photos of me in a happy, safe, restrained place. All you need to add is the boy interest and a bit of hair stroking and I'm in 7th heaven...though lots of yummy whacking and abuse does that too. Seriously people though - comfy rope - it's the way forward (or upside down/back to front...)