Corsets and vintage daydreams

I love this photo, mostly because it doesn't look very much like me. The black and white graininess somehow make it look quite vintage and I love the way the light is reflecting on my shoes.

It got me thinking about who I might have been...

A showgirl who had displeased her employer and was abasing herself to save her job, knowing full well she'd feel his crop for messing up her number after a few too many drinks...

An upmarket call girl, who knowing her client's tastes had laced herself tightly into her corset, using the door handle to tighten the laces before kneeling down and arching her back to wait...

A player in a 'Carrie's Story' esque world of slaves and auctions and obedience. Carefully preparing herself to await inspection from a potential master.

Or actually just Rebecca playing dress-up on holiday. I do love corsets though, something about the way they constrict your breathing and movement and force you to sit up straight and stand shoulders back, breasts forward is very sexy. Not to mention the flattering effect on waist size (trust me it's the only way I'll ever achieve a 24" waist!). All in all they tend to make me feel submissive in a very sensual way that wants to be stroked and abused and obedient and a 'good girl'. This contrasts fairly sharply to some of the characters I play during scenes who are very feisty (more about fighting in scenes later this week).

I think corsets are also evocative of a different era, long before the invasion of hoodies, trainers and jeggings. They weren't supposed to be comfortable and when worn for a long period of time could cause all sorts of health problems but they looked sexy and forced women to carry themselves in a certain way. They also restricted their activities - you could hardly row or climb mountains or play rugby very effectively in a corset. In real life I would have been the teenager repeatedly cutting her stays and evoking her governess's wrath but in a play sense they are fun and very effective for putting you into a certain part of your head.

So girlies is it just me or do corsets (and pretty knickers and stockings and all the other accoutrement's) make you feel different?

What's in a name

As a kinky girl who likes to indulge in a little role-play with her slap, slap harder and please don't tickle I sometimes face something of a challenge in coming up with names. This weekend was no exception, after a stressful week I'd failed to email details of my character for the reformatory to my playmates (insert note - bad Rebecca) because I hadn't had the kink energy to come up with someone. The problem being that I already have a reformatory character that I love - but she is really not stupid enough to get sent to the reformatory for a 4th time. I came up with one name and then realised that I'd already used that name and got rather confused. As many of my friends also have multiple identities I also can't use their names and it really gets very complicated at times. Especially when you add real names into the mix...

So who are my various alter-egos?

Rebecca Williams:

Rebecca is my school play character and sort of invented herself when a couple of years ago on short notice I decided to be brave and to to Lowewood Academy for the first time. Rebecca is probably one of my more developed characters and unlike me at school is not overly bothered about anything but also isn't overly badly behaved (as a real schoolgirl I went all night clubbing on school nights, blackmailed the deputy head and almost got arrested on a school trip to Germany so total mayhem isn't that novel). She is just a bit gobby and often rather disinterested in lessons which doesn't always go down too well.

When I first came onto 'the scene' I also introduced myself as Rebecca at Hades and a couple of other club nights before deciding that I might as well use my real name. So Rebecca was an obvious identity for this blog when it started.

Rebecca also occasionally comes out to play as a medieval inn keepers daughter who gets horribly abused by the Lord of the Manor (and loves every minute of it whilst struggling and kicking up a great fuss).

Cassie Abbotts:

For those that used to read Lowewood Academy Cassie was my blog character. Cassie came about because when I auditioned for the blog I didn't want people (many of the writers were already friends) to know that it was me and so created another name. Cassie as a character was also different to Rebecca in many ways. Whilst as school days we can't all be extreme all the time in the blog you needed quite distinctive character traits. In many ways Cassie is closer to me as a person than Rebecca - writing about things you understand and places you've been is easier and produces more realistic scenarios and so it wasn't incidental that Cassie had some of the adventures that she did. Writing Cassie was a lot of fun but she was primarily a fictional character, although I have played as her on occasion and it's fun as she takes few prisoners. The problem being by the time she emerged Rebecca had already slotted into school days and made friends I felt it would be odd to suddenly play someone else.

Tessie Blackmore:

Tessie is my main reformatory character and one of my favourite characters to play. Tessie hates authority but is half accepting of the reformatory and just wants to get it over and done with. Tessie is the leader of a gang of thieves and urchins and got dobbed in by a rival, who she will probably kick the sh*t out of upon escaping the reformatory. In a later play she had attempted to hijack a ship in order to go and find her father who was deported when she was four. The hijack was a great success but unfortunately her gang made better pirates than sailors! Tessie is bright but uneducated and has no interest in a 'straight' occupation. Attempting to run away, stoicism and generally wrecking havoc are Tessie's favourite past times.

Lady Henrietta:

Aka Hetta was my first regency character. Henrietta was born in America and educated at one of the first female universities so is extremely outspoken. Until her parents died she was unaware that she was in fact the grand daughter of the Earl of Charnwood. Following his son's death he recalled her to England (and was somewhat shocked that she travelled there via Paris and Rome) but was horrified to discover that she was fiercely independent, managing her parents business and not the gentle manipulable flower that he had hoped for. Hetta is fun but the period correct women's lib can be quite challenging. One of her finest moments was possibly wrestling a gun from the hands of an intruder. Surprisingly Henrietta does enjoy needlework!

Dorothea:

Is my new, somewhat more mellow regency character for this year. Sweeter and more mellow and being educated by the formidable Miss Anstruthers, her full profile is here

Millie Blackstock:

Millie was a factory girl character that I created for a play with Jessica in which we were threatening a strike unless we got better working conditions. Millie and her counterpart unfortunately created a bit of a stalemate with the overseer in that they were mostly right...

Molly Cranleigh:

Was my new reformatory character, an eighteen year old who attempted to stow away on a ship in order to avoid marriage to the baker's son. Her father owned a general shop. Molly was quite nervous in the reformatory and ended up pretty much agreeing to work at her fellow inmate's 'lodging house' in order to earn her passage to New York.

Sophia:

Was a harem girl character who was not generally too keen on being in a harem so a bit of a handful (not that being a bit of a handful is characteristic of me at play at all...)

Posie Locke:

Posie came into being with an ex-boyfriend who wanted to try a play in which I was a bit younger (I don't really go younger than 16) and so Posie was 12 and a 40s girl and very sweet and shy. It was quite fun but as ageplay isn't a big thing for me isn't a character that I've really explored.

You see it's very difficult because when you create a character the name has to 'feel' right and I'm begining to run out of names...

Dirty minds and dark thoughts

So I am off on my travels again with work. Rather dodgy hotel and my boss is driving me absolutely insane (I can cope for 8 hours a day but 24 is threatening my sanity!). However I have seen a few signs that made me snigger...

'HORN PLEASE' is plastered all over the cars and vans here. Am feeling a slightly sex starved so I know exactly what they mean...

There are also 'STDS @50p/min' on offer, which is more than a little bizarre. 50ps here is less than 1p in the UK. I'm pretty sure it must be some sort of telecoms or something but it's a bit odd seeing it on banners all over the place!

Aaaannnyway, it's not been the smoothest of trips thus far. I ordered fresh cut fruit this evening and it came coated in curry powder - eewwww! One thing I find is that the more stressed and bizarre I am feeling the darker my dreams get. I am less interested in nice good-girl spankings or sweet scenes and want something darker, almost more elemental. When I feel like this the vision is invariably inclusive of stormy weather, or cliffs or heavy metal chains.

I'm a girl in a terribly abusive workhouse, complete with obstinate streak that ensures I'm always in trouble despite being beaten until I cry on a regular basis.
Or harsh punishments for real life stuff that I'd really hate.
I'm a girl locked in the dungeons of a medieval castle at the whim of my father's enemy who really, truly wants to hurt me (but stops short of permanent damage - honour and all that).
I'm at a terribly cruel finishing school where I'm regularly punished and humiliated for my own good.

All the types of scenes that are generally not my first pick. So it's a bit strange when I find myself craving this sort of scene, scenes where I break and have no control over the situation. We all have our dark sides and it's interesting what they bring out, even if I'm not too sure where I'll go with it...

Kinky snippets...

From a bad girl's brain. Sometimes I get just a few images of a scene in my head but don't quite know the full story. Some of them are hot enough to be worth sharing though.

****************************************************************

I don't quite know who she is. She could be the daughter of a rival knight, taken in a raid. Or perhaps a wilful fiance. I don't think she's a servant, something about the sweep of her neck.

The castle is old, grey stones that lack the uniformity of modern bricks. Corridors lit by ornate braziers, the stone floors covered with beautiful but well worn carpets in deep shades of purple and red. The doors leading off the corridors are heavy oak bevelled with sturdy metal fittings.

She waits in the room at the end of the corridor, bound naked and spread-eagled on a huge four poster bed. Her hair spills down her pale shoulders and onto the richly coloured bedspread. Her bottom, raised by a bolster already bears the signs of his displeasure, the meaning of those marks will be evident to anybody passing by. Outside the sky is dark and it is raining heavily, she cannot help but think that the weather is as black as his mood.

Heavy treads down the corridor and she senses that he is standing beside her. He is tall and well muscled, as you would expect of a fighting man. He exchanges no words with her but trails his whip between her shoulder blades and down her back, she shivers. Then with no warning he lashes down, branding another burning welt across her bottom...

Breaking the bar tab..

It's a funny thing being a grown-up organising an event for a large number of people on foreign shores - you really have to think of everything! You see, we are having a bar tab tonight for participants and one of the issues discussed was how to stop other people accessing the tab - they are going to have to show their shiny new name badges. The coordinator was somewhat bemused that I thought that this might be a problem...

I suppose they say that the best way to catch a criminal is to use a criminal...you see in my student days my best friend and I were backpacking and once wandered into a posh hotel and settled ourselves down by the pool. We then proceeded to order drinks and charged them to a random room number figuring that:

a) Someone rich enough to stay there probably wouldn't notice a few cheeky cocktails; and

b) If they did then it really was the bar staff's fault for being stupid enough to serve us without a key or cotton onto the fact that we were far too scruffy to have been staying there.

Late last night my mind was wandering to how that situation could have turned out. Just as we ordered our third cosmopolitans at the bar, blithely giving the room number 227 I was tapped on the shoulder by a tall, dark gentleman (this is my fantasy ok...). It turned out that he was in fact staying in room 227 and less than impressed that we had been running up his bill. We were given a choice - he could report us to the hotel who would call the police or we could allow him to deal with it in a more traditional way.

Reluctantly we followed him into the lift, and rose up through the floors to the penthouse suite. He bent us both over the chaise lounge and explained that there was an excellent local way of dealing with such outrageous behaviour before ordering us to drop our bikini bottoms. At this point a bit of an argument took place, which ended in us conceding that we didn't have much choice - after all at least he was fit. We held hands as he gave us six strokes each with the local malaca cane, one for each drink ordered. Then he pulled our bikinis back up, commented that you could see the stripes on either side of the bottoms and escorted us out of the hotel and into the street...

Debauched and deluded?

I recently got emailed the following question:

'Do you think you like roleplaying because you're unhappy with your own life?'

Which I thought was a bit cheeky, and for me isn't the case at all. In fact it's all pretty fantastic - I have a job working towards saving the world, which is what I've always wanted. I live in London with three fabulous flatmates, and although I complain about the commuting, smog and expense it's a great place to be as a youngster. I have wonderful friends of both vanilla and kinky persuasions and a social diary that often leaves me gasping for breath. I'd like to be thinner but on the right day in the right outfit I look pretty damn hot, and I'm training for a half marathon, which makes me feel happy. I have a boy interest who appears to be able to reconcile the vanilla and kinky Rebeccas and is lovely and nasty in equal measures (this is a good thing). I suppose in a perfect world I'd have a ten day week, earn more money, own a condo on some desert island or be off to run a refuge camp in Africa but even those things wouldn't all work at once. I also think that without the rain we can't appreciate the sun to the same degree - I'm under a lot of pressure at work right now but it's making me appreciate my playtime at the weekend and in the evenings far more. Right now just sitting in the living room with a gin and tonic at the end of the day is pretty heavenly, and I like getting so much pleasure from the little things.

I think enjoying roleplay is more about taking advantage of the chance to get into a different head space and to be someone else for a little while. Enjoying roleplaying as a schoolgirl doesn't mean you want to go back to school - for me it's more to do with the power dynamic, outfits, regimented structure and being able to be quite silly and have a laugh with the other girls if it's a group scene. Likewise I don't think I'd really want to be a medieval innkeeper's daughter but playing at being the innocent maiden taken advantage of by the powerful landowner is very hot. I suspect part of me actually might quite have liked to be a regency lady - the dresses, the food, the dancing and manners, a surprising interest in embroidery - it's all good fun. However being totally decadent and enjoying this isn't because I'm unhappy - being able to with wonderful friends is just an extra frosty bit on my big pink Rebecca cake (bad analogy, I know).

The other thing about roleplay is that it lets you adopt positions or dynamics that feel difficult or unnatural. I'm not really a wilting violet and have to be very comfortable with someone and have a lot of feelings for them to be very submissive, even if part of me wants to. Creating a scenario where your character is of a more pliable disposition or forced by situation to behave in a certain way can help to get around this. Some time ago we did a 'Story of O' type roleplay and in that context I was able to relax and do things that would normally evoke much more of a struggle. Playing that type of scene has built my confidence to play more submissively without the roleplay, which is also a good thing.

So in short Mr Email Man no, I'm not unhappy and hiding in a fantasy world to deny it. I'm me - I just sometimes get off on being someone else ;-)

The end of the blog as we know it...

Let us have a moment's silence for Lowewood Academy, a fabulous school blog that has closed it's door to the curious public today after three years of tantalising CP aficionados with tales of school, sex, spanking and much more. Lowewood was one of the first blogs I read when I took my wobbly first steps onto the scene in August 2007 and reading it became a bit of a daily ritual. I was fortunate to be incorporated into the real Lowewood days that September and that's when Rebecca Williams was born - I needed a school 'identity' for the classroom. Had it not been for the corrupting and wonderful influences of friends I met through it I would still be far more sweet and innocent than I am today...

The great thing about Lowewood wasn't just the whackings, hot sex and high jinks of the pupils but that they were real. As a reader I still get outraged about the predicaments of various characters, even though my logical mind knows that they aren't *real*...but to us in a bizarre way they are. In real life all of the writers are equally fun, fabulous and scary (in appropriate proportions) and being even a tiny part of that world has been fabulous.

In March 2008 there was a 'Spank Idol' competition for new writers and on a bit of a whim I decided to enter. I'd been writing bits of fiction but had been far too scared to put them into a public forum, and thought it would be a bit of fun to write a piece set in Lowewood. It was then that the irrepressible Cassie Abbotts took shape - as Rebecca had been over Mr Shaftebotham, Reverend Jenkins and Mr Basford's knees in real life; and had giggled and plotted with Jessica, Beth, Sylvie, Pippa and Faye it hardly seemed right that they could know something entered into a competition was from me. Plus it would have been far too embarrassing if they'd thought it was total crap...

I was both terrified and over the moon when I got asked to write (and secretly quite chuffed at the emails from friends saying they'd no idea that Cassie had been me). That trial post got adapted into an actual Lowewood post later on and is still one of my favourites. Then came the challenge of keeping thoughts and story lines flowing from week to week whilst attempting not to enrage poor Jessica and Littlenic with my last minute panics and dubious grammar (they both deserve saint hoods - honestly!). Jessica in particular is a total legend and the blog couldn't and wouldn't have happened or survived for so long with anybody else at the helm - lots of credit to the girls and DrHiggins the technical guru.

Being even a little part of Lowewood (my admiration goes out to those who kept writing so many characters for so long - you all deserve a week on an exotic beach and lots of cocktails!) has been a fantastic experience, most of all because of the amazing people and friends I have met. I am still a bit in awe at the others writing talent and ability to surprise, enrage and get their characters to us so well, maybe with practice I will be able to do so as well. The tipsy plotting of whose character was going to do what with whom was brilliant and slightly crazy at the same time - Cassie's mother probably being a case in point!

Today is a sad day (made better by going out shopping with the lovely Eliane and the boy interest at the London Alternative Market...though not sure buying hitty things is a normal form of retail therapy. Part of me can't believe that Cassie has made her last appearance at Lowewood and that feels very sad sad - but she'll live on in her own way I'm sure. Part of me is looking forward to returning to some of the fledgling writing projects that preceded Lowewood - bring on the more random scenarios - a girl disguised as a ships boy and pioneers and covered wagons amongst other things - I always knew the history degree would come in handy at some point!

How hot is this image (stolen from the MarQes study) I just love the undertones of power and anticipation of what might be about to happen...or maybe already has...yum

Some of them want to be abused...

Do you ever really want someone to hurt you?

Not just a little bit so you moan and wriggle a bit but to make you struggle, cry or bite your lip until it bleeds? To go through the barrier where you stop struggling and just accept? I have an odd relationship with pain - I'm wary of it and sometimes I fear it but sometimes I also crave it and the adrenaline and subsequent calm that comes with it.

A big part of me loves playing without serious pain too so I think I'm masochistic rather than a proper masochist. I love the good girl spankings, sensual play, less painful varieties of bondage and teasing and they all take me to very good places. Done in the right way places where I purr and float away quite happily whilst people spank, tie or do other rude things to me.

Sometimes I want it to hurt though - I want to fight, cry, swear and protest and then eventually accept it. A lot of my hottest fantasies of this genre have a strong element of power imbalance - I dream of being the discovered stowaway on a sadistic captains ship (more on this another time!), the unruly inmate of a reform school with no real way out, having been captured by pirates or bandits or being the daughter of a powerful chief who has been kidnapped by a rival as a bargaining chip - he'll hurt me but not cause any permanent damage. This type of scene can be hard for my playmates as I really will give them hell until my character decides to accept things but have also given me some of my hottest scenes. I find it harder to take lots of pain doing the type of scene where it's my character's choice to let someone do things to her - a part of me likes the fight I think, though it might be something proprietous on a deeper level. The best scenes are the ones where I sort of end up floating above the pain, my tolerance goes through the roof and I just want more. Yummy. Scary but yummy :)

Darker places...

the mind can wander from time to time.

'She lies waiting and spread-eagled on the four poster bed, the warmth of a summer's evening still thick in the air. Her hair tumbles across the creamy white of her shoulders, which contrast sharply to the black corset that tightly constricts her waist. Despite the dying light the marks of the whip stand out on her back, crimson on pearl, a sign of his earlier displeasure. Beneath the black hourglass of the corset her buttocks are bare and already a deep pink, the butler had taken his task of 'preparing her' a little more literally than perhaps intended. Her stocking clad legs are spread wide and restrained to the corners of the bed, revealing what she most wishes to hide.

On the bed next to her lie a strap, a crop, a flogger and a cane. She breathes deeply, the breath of one who knows what is to come and has accepted her fate. Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs she closes her eyes, clenches her fists and waits.'

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..."

Distraction...

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.

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 clichéd 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 :)