Back to College

I go back to college on Thursday to study for a qualification I don't really want. Exams, assessments, homework, long Thursday evenings and Saturdays of studying something I don't *really* care about to be something I don't really want to be. Going back wasn't the easiest decision but however much I stamp my feet about it I *am* working in finance for now for very good reasons. And if I am working in finance and my employers will pay for it then it would be extremely foolish not to take the last few exams to earn my chartered status. It is one of those 'right' decisions that you don't like very much but sort of have to accept.

Thing is, I dropped out of the exams two years ago somewhat dramatically by basically failing a paper on purpose. The same paper that I'm starting this week. The rational part of me knows I just need to get on with it but the other part of me is already griping. I finally sat down to do my pre-course work and realised that I can't actually access it on this computer. I have four online tests to do by Thursday and haven't even started. The worst thing is deep down I just don't care - it's like being a student again and finishing printing an assignment due at 4pm at 3.59 and sprinting to hand it in. The stupid thing is I'm not a student, I'm a grown-up and that part of me recognises that I need to do it for my career, that my employer won't be happy if I fail but some deeper part is still rebelling against it.

I'm trying to decide if I should get someone to 'mentor' me over it and thrash me in a way I won't like if I get behind or if that's a bad idea. I've never reacted very well to 'real life' discipline, my best friend frequently jokes that I have 'a problem with authority' and it's probably true. Somewhere along the line I got bored of playing by the rules and being the perfect student, bored of life's constrictions and started to see how much I could get away with. Maybe it's gone too far and I should ask someone to help me stay on track for this course. Because in all honesty if I don't pass it won't be because I couldn't, it'll be because I didn't.

Rude 12 Days of Christmas

I have just come back from the Christmas party for a charity show I play in the band for each year. A rude version of the 'Twelve Days of Christmas' is traditional with the group dividing into 6 groups and taking two days of Christmas each. Our group came up with 'Two pierced nipples' and 'Ten prince alberts' but classics included 'A blow job down an alley' and 'Eight anal beads'...All rather shocking in our local pub who tolerate us because for four glorious months we're regulars after every rehearsal...and we can certainly drink! Am now thinking that a kinky version should be invented forthwith...

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me..a tawsing with a Lochgelly?

Anyone care to add to it?

Sing a song of weekends...

the internet gone awry,
four and twenty stern strokes,
though I didn't cry.

Enough bad poetry I think. Due to the incompetence of O2 we have been internetless at home for the last week and a bit, which has led to a bit of a hiatus in posting. This is a great shame as I've been rather busy on the play front - a visit to the boy interest (who has abandoned me to study down South temporarily - booo!), various extremely hot scenes with friends not to mention kinky clubbing fun.

However I am well aware that the burning question for many will be the true identity of Mr Brown. During my weekend visit much debate over this ensued which ended in my conducting a straw poll via text of several friends asking

'A survey - do we think Mr Brown most resembles a) a fluffy bunny b) a cuddly koala or c) a cute guinea pig?!'

Surprisingly the majority voted for guinea pig! I was however rather charmed by Jessica's response, which concurred with me that he is really a fluffy bunny but painted a delightful picture of him hopping around the staffroom for Miss Cavendish in his ears and yellow shorts (I will not divulge the rest of the text - I do have some mild sense of preservation but it did involve a carrot!). Unfortunately the majority have spoken - Mr Brown is really a cute guinea pig. Possibly except for when he's whacking me for *actually* surveying my friends on this delicate question - then he is neither cute nor guinea pig like but really rather scary...not to scary as to dampen my spirits for long though - when he accidentally added 'hamster' to the list of choices I had given people I was still very tempted to re-poll including the option of d) happy hamster but did have to think about my phone bill. Ahem.

More about the other shenanigans to follow...

Preparations...

My school shirt has gone in the wash and I've freshly polished my school shoes. I've laid out my school skirt, knee high socks, tie and a fresh pair of white knickers. It was the knickers that created something of a dilemma because they are plain and white but there's a lace band around the waist and I normally prefer my school knickers completely plain. They are pretty and new and still really quite chaste, no lace on the bottom area, maybe he won't even notice.

Tomorrow I will iron the shirt quickly when I get home from work and take off my work 'face'. Put my hair in bunches with black tartan bows and anxiously fiddle with them in an attempt to get them even. I'll sit on the bed and check my email but my mind won't be on it, pat at the duvet and fiddle with my hair and tie again. Sebastian will be most displeased if I'm anything less than perfect when I report to his study you see, the head boy has very high standards.

Too high if you ask me, I mean who really cares if your shirt is tucked in, you walk in the corridors and always raise your hand? I can guarantee no one will die if you don't but Sebastian takes these things very seriously, he obviously has nothing better to do. He takes some things even more seriously as he will impress upon me tomorrow.

The bizarre thing being I also have to prepare Sebastian's study - make the bed, put away the clothes and books strewn on the floor and all that. Rebecca may have a messy room from time to time but Sebastian certainly doesn't. Maybe I'll innocently ask him again if the pink flowery bedspread is a sign that he prefers boys as he sits upon it and takes me across his lap, tell him it's ok to like boys and that I won't tell anyone. Then lie there and whimper as I suffer the consequences. Maybe he'll decide to prove to me once and for all that he isn't gay...if I'm lucky.

This one fights back...

I want to blog on the somewhat sensitive topic of 'fighting back' or resisting in scenes and in this I include verbal resistance as well as more physical struggling. It's a sensitive topic because it tends to divide people into those who are horrified at the concept of a sub resisting (or resisting themselves) and those who enjoy it in context. I fall into the latter category and enjoy waging a battle that I will inevitably eventually lose to the Dom. Some scenes lend themselves better to this than others - truculent reformatory girls, recalcitrant school girls and captured girls condemned to a live of slavery spring to mind. Whilst playing scenes I am generally rather cheeky and I enjoy the banter and verbal sparring that works well in certain role plays - generally if I'm still being cheeky it means I'm up for more play and gives the scene a sense of impetus. Most Doms enjoy this - it gives their stern school teachers or wardens an excuse to bollock me and keeps the scene moving and lets them know that even though they're being really horrible I'm enjoying it. The inevitable 'breaking' in some scenes is the hottest bit but only somewhere I go with people I really trust. There are people that want their school girls to be terrified and obedient but we're generally a bad match so wouldn't play anyway.

The issue of physical struggle is even more difficult. As a qualified self defence instructor with years of martial arts experience I shy away a little from full-blown physical resistance because if I actually fought back there would be broken bones and blood - not exactly hot or sexy. Plus I want the Dom to win in the end. Some of my characters do resist physically - I once did a prison scene with a Dom and another girl and every time he tied one of us up we undid ourselves while he was restraining the other - very funny and no one got hurt. Sometimes struggling physically is fun but I probably only go for it with about 20% force - wriggling a bit and kicking playfully or putting my hand on their crotch to show that I could have hit if I'd wanted to rather than giving them true hell. To be fair 20% of Rebecca is more than most men can restrain anyway but I'd never actually hit anyone or do too much damage because it's not fun and I'm too scared of really hurting someone. I once did an incredibly hot scene with a 6'4" athletic playmate who had done some martial arts - he tied my hands behind my back and my ankles together (coward) and then told me to fight back properly...I rolled us both off the bed, elbowed him in the face and kneed him in the balls before he choked me out and I had to behave - incredibly hot as I knew I wouldn't really hurt him and then he got to punish me for being so difficult and it was all a total surprise.

I had a very surreal experience a couple of weeks ago during the kidnap scene that we organised for Jessica. I knew what was happening and had been involved in the planning but had always been a bit nervous about how I'd react. I was very good and let them restrain me and then when we were lying on the floor started fighting back and got a few good kicks in the shins in before we were transferred to the van (where I was too busy feeling sick to do more than kick at my captors occasionally) and was also good about being transferred to our secure venue (except for refusing to put on my shoes) because I didn't want to influence anyone else's play. It was later (after we were rudely interrupted by a the boy interest's Dad) that I kicked off. I let wrist cuffs be put on but then started fighting the ankle cuffs and despite my hands being restrained and the fact I wasn't hitting hard or doing anything that might really hurt anyone it took 3 guys to finish restraining me. I then proceeded to repeatedly try to escape as the poor boy interest dealt with me, answer 'Are you being to behave now?' with 'Fuck you!' and get more and more irate as the poor boy struggled to work out where his sweet girlfriend had gone and who this hellion was. I got angrier, he got more frustrated and it didn't work - if we'd kept going he would eventually have won but there was a time limit. All very stressful and a bit confusing.

On reflection I realised that the problem was that Rebecca rather than an alter ego had been kidnapped. Rebecca who was very sensible and well behaved to facilitate the kidnap but as soon as she got into headspace recognised she was being kidnapped. And being kidnapped was bad. Rebecca had years of martial arts training to empower her so started kicking off. If I'd been playing someone else it would have been fine - Molly or Dorothea would have been feisty but terrified but Rebecca isn't like that - she fights. There was a sanity to it as my subconscious told me not to throw someone down the stairs and into a cabinet when I had my leg behind theirs on the stairs and not to punch hard or go for any proper self defence targets like eyes but still it was scary because I've never reacted quite that furiously before in a scene.

Lesson 1 - Do not try to kidnap Rebecca unless you have at least 4 men to restrain her.

Lesson 2 - Recognise that conditioning runs deep and is part of you and not something to be altered. When planning scenes that require a different outlook be someone else. It doesn't matter if I quite happily am a good girl and let the boy interest punish me - if in headspace the conditioning will win through.

Lesson 3 - Real life kidnappers (Middle Easterners included) beware - Rebecca is a rubbish target and you would not get many camels at all - you would probably end up giving someone camels to take her!

Lesson 4 - Boy interest is lovely and long suffering!

Minxyness

It has been a bit of a playtastic weekend (she says with a smile). On Friday evening the boy interest and some other friends of ours went to the London Munch. I was wearing a very short skirt, though not the shortest one I own. To prove that it was short Jessica and the boy interest started slapping the fronts of my thighs in the busy pub and this somehow morphed into a competition to see who could leave the best handprint. Sadly they were both trounced by another good friend, Lady Emma who won 'hands down' with this rather impressive print!

Things went downhill from there (or uphill in the case of my skirt). An acquaintance of Jessica's then proceeded to beat me across the bottom with his walking stick, though thankfully not very hard. He then commented on the marks on my thighs and the boy interest chivalrously demanded that I give him some 'fresh flesh'. This led to me standing blushing furiously in the pub as the random man ordered me to spread my thighs and then smacked the insides really hard. Then the boy interest smacked me again for good measure. The marks are rather impressive - lots of fingerprints. Let's hope they're gone by the time I go on holiday next week!

The boy interest and I staggered home (this was accompanied by much moaning over sore feet from me) and were very pleased that my school skirt had arrived. I tried it on and he spanked me pretty hard, I think this may have been for being a bit late for dinner but don't actually remember (ahem!). The skirt is very cute though. Then we cuddled up and did some other things, all a good start to my much needed three day weekend. More about the rest of the weekend later...

Ouch...

I must not buy stupid presents...
I must not buy stupid presents...
I must not buy stupid presents...

Because if you buy a top hitty things, the odds are that you will get hit with them at some point.

The boy interest is fan of the hand of doom, as he rather smugly said "It has a good weight to it but is easy to control." He started off giving me ten strokes but the situation rapidly deteriorated to him holding me down and hitting me continuously with it, which resulted in lots of wriggling and yelping. The wriggling and yelping wasn't very effective but the eventually collapsing onto my tummy and asking him nicely to stop was.

It is actually a surprisingly effective implement as it's made of a very heavy wood but is short enough and small enough to be easy to control - which appears to equate to hitting Rebecca lots.

Still, you can judge the damage for yourself :)

Still Truculent...

Rebecca ended up in Detention with Mr Shafebotham one Tuesday night (much to her horror - balmy summer nights are clearly for drinking gin and tonic under a starry sky, not writing lines).

Rebecca hadn't actually done anything horribly wrong, it was more to do with her general attitude, which had been causing no small amount of trouble. Sitting waiting in the empty classroom and reading the detention rules, Rebecca was less than impressed - no talking, no rearranging her clothing and raising her hand if she wished to speak all equated to very much not cool. The rather imposing list of detention protocol on the blackboard did little to make her feel any better

1. Spanking 2. Paddle 3. Lines 4. Light Tawse 5. Belt 6. Lines 7. Strap 8. XH Tawse (2 tails) 9. XH Tawse (3 tailes) 10. Lines 11. Junior Cane 12. Senior Cane 13. Lines 14. Dragon Cane

In fact, by the time the Headmaster entered the room Rebecca was rather cross - she hadn't done anything after all. This meant that the detention didn't get off to the best start. Rebecca was somewhat argumentative and cheeky and ended up getting whacked with the wooden paddle (for breaking the rules) before the detention had even really begun.

Next Rebecca found herself over the Headmaster's knee for a spanking to start the detention, feeling extremely embarrassed to be over his knee, and worse with her knickers around her thighs. There was also the alarming realisation that this actually *hurts* a lot, and was only the begining, which was reinforced by the '1. Spanking' being ticked off on the blackboard. The paddle followed, coupled with much protesting and then some lines.

Rebecca was still being less than compliant about the whole process so ended up getting the wooden paddle again before moving onto the light tawse (which Rebecca noted was not very light at all!). It should be emphasised that Rebecca is not a fan of wooden implements in general but despite this when she is in a rebellious mood they do little to act as an incentive to behave. The belt hurt Rebecca quite a lot but not enough to stop her from earning extra strokes for being cheeky.

It was in writing the next set of lines that Rebecca came up with a cunning plan - as any outward signs of attitude such as answering back, rearranging her clothing, pouting (one of Rebecca's favourite pasttimes) and slouching were verboten she would do it another way - by writing her lines as slow as humanly possible. This seemed like an excellent idea, even when Mr Shaftebotham tawsed her hands for being so slow - she could hardly write more quickly when her hands were so sore could she now?!

Rebecca suspected that the Headmaster laid the strap on more heavily than he might have done otherwise in response to his frustration at the speed of her line writing. She wriggled and yelped through the dozen strokes with each the two and three tailed XH tawses and mentally resolved herself to write even more slowly the next time.

In the next set of lines Rebecca took almost 25 minutes to write ten lines, which she considered a great triumph despite getting the tawse on her hands again. She could sense the palpable frustration in the Headmaster and took great delight in pointing out that she couldn't write any faster because he had made her hands hurt so much - it was his fault that this was taking so long - not hers.

This may have been a sign of total lack of common sense as Rebecca found herself bending over for the junior cane. This slashed down but Rebecca took it quite well - twenty five minutes is after all a good rest and if offered the choice (which never happens) Rebecca prefers the cane to the great big heavy tawses anyway. The senior cane was somewhat harder but Rebecca managed to stay down for all of the strokes and to count them and thank Mr Shaftebotham for them without sounding too sarcastic.

Then Rebecca was faced with more lines, which she once again wrote terribly slowly. The problem was that Rebecca was actually getting rather bored of writing so very slowly - it is really quite hard work to draw out a seven word line for almost five minutes. So when the teacher's back was turned she sneakily began to write more quickly, making sure to slow down (to make her point) whenever he turned around to check on her.

Still, it didn't make sense to finish too quickly as all poor Rebecca had to look forward to was the Dragon Cane. She stretched out over the desk reaching up onto her tip toes and took a deep breath and then slowly counted each stroke from one to twelve and thanked the Headmaster, somewhat more sincerely this time. They hurt a lot but Rebecca stayed put and didn't squeak too much. Afterwards Rebecca promised to show less attitude (with a bit of a pout).

The final note in the detention report read 'still truculent' :-)

One of the things that I find interesting about role play is that your character can take over. I was actually in quite a good mood but as soon as I got into my school uniform and received the detention note I became quite grumpy, and almost 'up for a fight'. This can be quite good fun as it tends to give that sort of scene a bit of energy and also psyche me up for taking more. I *hate* the wooden paddle but having it as a discentive didn't make Rebecca bat an eyelid, nor did the strict rules - at that point I was utterly outraged that I was being dealt with so harshly when I hadn't done anything wrong and determined to get this across at any cost.

Afterwards we had a nice cuddle and a giggle over me writing so slowly as Mr S had actually noticed that I was speeding up when he wasn't looking at the end! It's interesting though because on another occasion Rebecca could easily have been much more apologetic and upset but on that particular night she wasn't...

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...

Fond farewells

We'd had a nice evening out on the town - gone to the cinema and then to a lovely restaurant for Thai food and cocktails. We got home and sat in the living room, chatting convivially with one of my flatmates and her other half and drinking coffee. Then he told me to go and get ready and wait for him in the bedroom (one of the joys of a kinky flat is that this type of command doesn't cause raised eyebrows).

I changed into pretty underwear - pink satin knickers and bra with big bows between my breasts and above my bottom and black stockings and knelt on my bed and waited. I could hear people still chatting in the living room and shifted about nervously on the bed. The door handle clicked and he stood above me, smiling in approval. He lifted my chin and kissed me once and then settled himself on the bed and manoeuvred me over his lap.

He started spanking me quite gently and lecturing me for being naughty, even though we both knew I hadn't done anything particularly heinous. The large bow on my bottom was somewhat hampering proceedings so my knickers soon made their way down my thighs, which is when I really started to protest - what a waste of pretty underwear! He pinned my neck into the bed and started spanking me harder, stopping every so often to rub my bottom or stroke my hair. I was purring as much as whimpering and well aware that I was being spoiled.



He rolled me off his lap and got me to lie on my tummy on the bed and started running our new flogger up and down my back, bottom and legs. I sighed contentedly, this was very nice. Then suddenly he bought it down hard on my bottom, which was a bit of a shock and I squeaked but concurred that it was a good purchase. He started flogging my bottom hard enough to sting but not agonisingly hard and we got into a sort of rhythm. My room is very small - the bed takes up half the floorspace and my mirror is directly opposite. I don't normally like watching myself play because I worry about the wobbly bits but I could just see the curve of my back and buttocks, his outline and the flogger falling down on my bottom and found that watching was actually turning me on.

He swapped for the heavier flogger suddenly, which knocked the breath out of me. It's got longer and heavier falls and so is less stingy but more thuddy but still quite nice to play with. I floated off in the sensation as he alternated between flogging my back, bottom and the backs of my thighs. It was all at that level where it hurts but in a good controllable way and you're well aware the the top is playing with you rather than punishing you. It all felt wonderfully self-indulgent in comparison to some heavier scenes I've done recently.

Then he ordered me to kneel up and a bit of tactical positioning occurred to give him room to swing (there's a chest of drawers next to my bed at one end and dresser at the other so only just enough room to swing a cat). He tapped a cane at the insides of my thighs, telling me to spread them and then pushing them further apart. My head was down in the duvet and I felt very exposed, and remember looking up to check we'd closed the blinds.

He started to cane me, little taps to start with, warning me that he wanted to try out the new dragon cane. I whimpered, he laughed and gave me a couple of strokes in earnest and traced them with his finger before starting to cane me properly. I gasped and sighed as the cane landed repeatedly across my bottom, harder now as he worked his way down from the crest of my buttocks to just below the crease, which seemed a particular target for attention. I'm not sure how many I got but I think probably in the region of 30ish, maybe a few more. I was quite spacey and very much enjoying the moment rather than wanting to keep count.

When he stopped he pulled me back across his lap and traced the lines with his fingers, proclaiming satisfaction with the cane. Then we did some other things that I'm not going to write about. Am feeling a little sad as he's away this week and doesn't return until after I head off on a ten day business trip with work (yes there are people out there foolish enough to trust me with that sort of thing!).

It did get me thinking about the different types of play session though. There are actual punishments, which are painful and horrible but tend to make you feel cared for afterwards. There are play punishments, for example as part of roleplays which can be similar to real punishments but may not make you feel as guilty at the time because beneath your character you aren't actually guilty of anything. There are 'just because' whackings which vary a lot depending on the top and sub, not to mention punishments for trivial things, which are really just an excuse to smack someone or to get spanked. Then there are the more sensual sessions. And probably lots more that I can't think of, all nice, scary and painful in their own ways. :-)

Cruising for a bruising...

In which Rebecca goes to 'school'...or rather an exceedingly tedious work training course. Six delegates, one warm classroom and a woman who seemed determined to repeat things about six million times, whilst simultaneously not covering anything useful. I was quite good in the morning, took notes to stop myself nodding off and asked questions but by the afternoon I'd had enough and soon found myself mirroring the typical 'I'm bored and want to go home' behaviours I displayed through school and university:

• Glaring when anyone asked the woman a question - didn't they want to go home on time?
• Being exceedingly sarcastic when we finally got to do an exercise and it didn't work.
• Nodding continuously whilst looking completely blank.
• Playing with my iPhone in a not at all discreet way.
• Looking at the time every 30 seconds during the entire half hour the course ran over by.
  
• When she asked if there were any questions vigourously shaking my head, repeating this when she asked if there was anything else we needed to know and then nodding extremely vigourously when she asked if we wanted to go home.
• Complaining bitterly about how much talking there was and it running late to everyone else on the way out...
  

I do feel slightly ashamed but it was seriously dull. Training lady if you're reading this I'm sorry but seriously you can't talk at me for 8 solid hours with only one functional exercise - I was digging my nails into my wrists and still almost falling asleep. If it's any consolation I'm sure I'll get my comeuppance at some point!

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In which Rebecca almost causes a traffic accident. I was actually being very good and off on a run to train for my half marathon (am remembering just how far thirteen miles is :( ). The running shorts were quite small but not my smallest (best saved for thin days in a gym) and I was wearing a baggy t-shirt so all in all quite decent. Suddenly a coach slows down, beeeepps it's horn and the guy leans out of the window and gives me a thumbs up, causing the car behind him to beep because he almost went into the back of the coach. Rebecca stares at her trainers and jogs on, relieved when they both disappear down the road.

Unfortunately I then caught up with them at the traffic lights and the coach man honks his horn, gives me two thumbs up and shouts 'nice arse luv' (in case you were wondering he wasn't my lover). Sadly the lights change to green during this altercation, causing the driver behind him to beep again and give me serious evils....Rather embarrassing but I suppose at least no one got hurt. I think I'll just make a mental note to consign the really tiny shorts to the back of my wardrobe in case the pervy coach man makes another appearance...

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The lovely Eliane wrote about our little shopping trip last weekend and it being convenient to take along a friend with some topping ability. Sadly the boy interest did not approve of me being too toppy and is insisting that he's going to give me a taste of my new toy to remind me of my place...

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Last night the boy interest and I had dinner with two lovely kinky friends, which ended up in the poor Jessica and myself being turned over the boys laps for a spanking dice game. I should possibly add at this point that I'd already been whacked with a chopping board and wooden spoon before dinner (possibly just for being me). Jessica and I got a bit silly and thought it would be clever to hide upstairs when sent in search of a crop and cane - we actually only wasted about three minutes and nothing was said so I thought nothing of it...until the boy interest got me home and said he's going to deal with me tomorrow not only for being cheeky and disobedient - aaargh!

I think I just may be in trouble :-$

Pushing my luck

Is a habit of mine, and long may it reign. I don't want to become some sort of obedient doll who never questions, never teases or always does what it's told. I don't want to stop doing silly things like jumping in fountains, drinking too many cocktails, dancing on bars on holiday, misbehaving in playgrounds - all of that good stuff that makes you feel sparkly, happy and a little bit like there should be some sort of funky soundtrack playing!

Even so, I'm well aware that sometimes I push it a bit far, generally as a result of getting all over-excited and hyperactive and forgetting to think. In all honesty I'm a bit of a handful and accept that sometimes I deserve to be punished for it. More than that I actually need to dealt with because it gives me a sort of tranquility that everything is right in the world (when it's over - not when I'm bawling my eyes out). I wouldn't put up with someone who tried to punish me into long-term good behaviour though...ultimately it would lead to resentment and some hideous battles of wills, which I might win and then where would I be?

All of this can be a bit of a problem when it comes to attracting suitable boys...Suitable meaning the ones that don't take themselves deadly seriously and are overcome by a burning urge to spank me for every smart remark (they'd not have a minute left to breathe and I'd be permanently standing) but are strong enough to say 'NO' when I'm pushing it a bit far. For some reason I seem to scare a lot of boys (something about the backpacking, full contact kickboxing, career girl thing - I'm really all pink and fluffy!) and that's just not sexy.

The boy interest put down his foot on Sunday...I was being very cheeky and teasing him and soon found myself upended for a good spanking...followed by the strap, quite a lot of slapping about, a crop, flogger and some ouchy clamps. Horrible lovely boy. We fell in a heap a couple of hours later, feeling very played out. I was apologetic and back in good girl territory and he was very pleased with himself for having gauged it just right...after all, a few spanks wouldn't have earned him nearly that much peace and quiet ;-)

She had it coming...

The problem with breaking the rules is that one has to accept that at times one will have 'it' coming (unless of course you're royalty and refer to yourself as one on a regular basis - then you can probably do as you choose). Having long since resigned myself to this I occupy myself with having as much fun as possible, despite the niggling awareness that it will catch up with me at some point.

Last night was no exception. I'd had a lovely day. What had been intended as a quick trip to pick up some new knickers for clubbing last night had turned into a whistle stop tour of Camden's cutest and kinkiest with my flatmate as partner in crime. I emerged triumphant with two pairs of frilly knickers, two pairs of tutu knickers, a fantastic Gothic Lolita style tutu/skirt and some adorable pink and white patent frilly Gothic Lolita skyscraper heels (swoon). The subsequent hit to my finances is going to leave my bank manager reeling but at least I look cute...

Then it was off to meet two friends for lunch before the cheese-fest that is Singalonga Hairspray. I was convinced that the restaurant was in one street and spent ten minutes wandering haplessly up and down before caving in and 'phoning a friend'. So I was fifteen minutes late (IMHO cooler than being twenty minutes early and being turned away like certain people) which was a bit unfortunate...We had a yummy lunch and then the singing along reached suitably raucous levels before returning to one friend's house for dinner and primping before heading out again clubbing. I may have held things up by all of about one minute debating the essential stockings vs. bare legs issue and applying an extra coat of hot pink nail varnish...

So, it shouldn't have come as a huge surprise that Jessica was less than impressed. I'd already been warned that I had fifteen strokes of the cane coming for being late for lunch but was not overly subdued by this. Rebecca plus weekend plus healthy dose of girly fun plus mojito, sangria and fizzy wine is not a very subduable mix. Explosive is probably a better adjective. Or perhaps hyperactive - that would work too...

I do concur, I had it coming and so was a good girl and didn't protest too much when ordered to place myself across one of the spanking benches in the club. As the leather restraints anchored my wrists to the bench and slid across my back strapping me firmly in place I felt the first shudder of anticipation that warns you that this is really going to hurt, otherwise why would they be strapping you down after all? In the clammy heat even the warm up spanking was a step beyond stingy, which coupled with the corset restricting my breathing and the warning that we were only just getting started made me nervous.

As she moved onto the strap I fought the urge to whimper and tried to relax and just go with it. I don't like to make a scene at the best of times, especially not in a public place but was feeling a little bit wriggly all the same, pointing my toes and balling my bands. I've no idea how many strokes I got with the strap (I'm not a counter unless I know how many I'm getting) but it felt like quite a lot and it hurt at the 'concentrate on your breathing, stay calm and for god's sake don't kick or fuss' level.

So I was almost relieved when the strands of a whip landed between my shoulders, this relief quickly evaporated as the pain built and my back started to burn as much as my bottom. Jessica asked me if it hurt and I nodded shyly and then gasped in shock as she told me she wasn't doing it that hard and hit me much harder. It was a nasty whip/flogger with thin leather strands that stung awfully and set my back on fire, even though the strokes had reverted to their earlier level. She hit me about half a dozen times really hard to finish and I hid my face against the bench and started to cry.

Crying is a dangerous thing because if you're not careful once you start the floodgates open and then you can't stop. I took deep breaths, Jessica wiped the tear from my eye and I got myself back under control. Then some more of the strap, which burned but somehow seemed more bearable in comparison to the whip. It's funny how sometimes when you've gone to the place where you break a little bit and cry that afterwards you can feel much stronger. I still had my fifteen cane strokes to go and winced a bit when I saw that it was a dragon cane. Jessica wanted me to count them and thank her, I grasped the bench and focused on my breathing. The cane hurt, a lot and the strokes were expertly spaced to cover my bottom from the crest down to my sweetspot. I had the first six, then to ten and then the final five and remember thinking after three or four that I just had to get to eight, then I was over half-way through and then counting the last five backwards in my head. Afterwards I sort of lay there for a minute, feeling a bit wrung out.

There is however no respite for the wicked. Jessica held my hand and led me over to another piece of equipment which had me sitting facing her, arms cuffed perpendicular to my body and thighs spread. Then she lit a candle. I bit my lip, knowing all too well that I wasn't doing too well in the 'not looking scared' stakes. Waxplay scares me, the rational part of my mind knows that it doesn't hurt as much as lots of other things but the other part of me is wary, I think it's the unpredictability. I watched as the liquid pooled beneath the flame and then tumbled onto my right thigh and gasped. Then watched mesmerised with a bizarre mix of inevitability and anticipation as the wax splashed down onto my left thigh. Then she told me to close my eyes and asked if it hurt more, biting my lip I nodded. Tipping the candle again, she asked if it hurt more when I could see where the wax was going to fall and I shook my head. She told me to close my eyes. Every time the hot wax landed on me I jerked in shock but managed to be good, not to struggle, or cry or fuss. The smell of smoke informed me that the candle had been extinguished and nervously I opened my eyes.

Jessica was smiling. She had a small bag of tiny hot pink pegs, to match my outfit. I shuddered - they didn't look very Rebecca-friendly but watched in fascination all the same as she clipped the first one to my right breast just above my corset and asked me if it hurt. I nodded, when she asked me if it was unbearable I shook my head but reassured her that yes, it did hurt. She clipped two to each breast and I watched numbly as each one massively increased the overall ouch-factor. Then she clipped one to each of my inner thighs and I clenched my fists, not sure how much more I could take the pain. She kissed me and I kissed her back. Then yelped in pain as one by one the pegs were removed, which always hurts far more than having them put on. We had a cuddle and I thanked Jessica, who said that I was a good girl (just incorrigible). I sat spacily for a bit and then went in search of chocolate (the spacy sub's best friend). I will try to be on time, sometimes it just seems that the Gods (and tube network, and town planners) are against me...

I had it coming again today so am a sore but happy played out girl. But more about that tomorrow...

Thoughts of the week...

In which I have been very bad and not really posted.

1. If you take two days off work to party and then leave on time on your first day back to go and play with kinky friends you will be horrifically busy for the rest of the week. As in so busy you're practically oblivious to home-time passing, or alternatively raging at the clock in the quiet knowledge the rest of your mates are in a pub discussing pervery and drinking pink fizzy fine.

2. There really should be a spanking version of Stomp. I saw this for the first time this weekend and loved all the fantastic improvisation using brooms, buckets, match boxes and mugs (amongst other things) as instruments to create a musical dance spectacular. I think using the same concept to create a kinky show could prove a great success, vanilla items that could be perverted as implements used in synchronisation to create a visual and sound sensation. Just imagine - rulers, blind twizzlers, assorted utensils, shoe horns and a crew of eight tops and eight girls' bottoms applying in sequence or together - it would be quite fantastic! At one point the actors climb up onto railings and are harnessed into place as they beat assorted bins and things - this could easily be reversed by the girls climbing and being suspended and then being used as instruments themselves...all we need is a cast really.

3. Jessica is mean*. Not only did she whack poor Caroline (who very sweetly lent me a uniform for the scene) and myself for our language but she then demanded that we presented our bottoms to Abel for his approval. He decried that we hadn't been dealt with nearly severely enough and gave us another dozen each!* I was just catching my breath (and more importantly catching up on my poor neglected wine glass) when Jessica hauled me over her lap and smacked my thighs and calves for quoting another girl swearing, which is soooo not the same as doing it myself! In case you've ever wondered, being smacked on your ankles is surprisingly painful - wouldn't recommend it! I was perhaps not at my most meek following this and gave her the 'look', which is well known by most of my playmates to mean 'I may be apologising and acquiescing to you but in my head I'm whispering f*ck you'. This led to me being dragged upstairs without ceremony to be dealt with again, this time much more severely with the tawse which resulted in much duvet clutching and gasping and then some nice spacyness. Then utter mortification at the next instruction but more about that for when I am feeling more brave. Or have had wine.

4. If you play dice-y chance based games which result in you getting spanked it is not pure chance...oh no...it is written in the stars that the implements that come up most will be the ones you like least. If you are very lucky the playmates in question will be lovely enough that this will matter less that it might.

5. There are many well-known equations. These include E=mc2, and Time=distance/speed. Another equation that should be equally well-known is 'Perverts + Wine = Pandemonium + Red Bottoms. Abel and Haron held a very fabulous party last week and I'm not going to name-check all of the lovely people who were there but the above equation sums it up pretty well. The above equation also applies well to a kinky girls history trip this weekend, which saw me getting spanked on my bare bottom in the Hellfire Caves whilst a friend guarded the passageways into the banqueting hall from various marauding children. Later the lovely Eliane played host to us for a conventional discussion of the benefits of flower pressing. Some flower pressing then ensued, including me getting switchy but not erm flower pressed myself for once!

6. I need to find my off-switch as have been doing a bit too much this week and I get very grumpy when I'm over-tired.

7. I am really very tempted to buy some new and pretty knickers for Sweet Torments on Saturday...but I shouldn't...but I should...they are all so pretty!

As you may have gathered, my thoughts are somewhat wandering. Am playing a scene I've been looking forward to tomorrow night with the boy interest - hurrah :)

* At this point I should note that Jessica is not really mean but rather lovely. I like lovely people who whack me. And when she isn't on a 'sick note' she is far naughtier than me!

On friends and frolics...

Well peeps has been a very very busy few days catching up with friends, partying, playing and general all-round sparklyness and fun. Am a bit too tired to say anything more profound than I feel very lucky to have such fantastic friends (of all varieties - vanilla, raspberry ripple and even mint choc chip) and to be both basking in the glow of fabulous fun with nilla friends and have stripes from playing with lovely friends last night. One of whom has thankfully forgiven me for extreme lack of tact, which is even more lucky. Also to have met some great new players and all round nice people who will hopefully become friends, partners in crime or involved in the resulting struggle to make us behave...Thanks to wonderful people who made things happen, fed me yummy food and played with me :)

Too sleepy to say anything too much about play or fabulousness but am rather proud of this photo - who says ball gowns and bouncy castles don't mix?

Being a grown-up

Is something that I widely acknowledge is not as much fun as I thought it would be when I was six and insistent that I could eat a 'big persons' meal. I've done it quite well though, and on occasions even convince myself that this grown-up Rebecca taking on the world is in fact real. Then I throw my toys because working is inconvenient to holiday plans, or go out dancing and drinking too many mojitos and am happily reminded that I've yet to become one of 'them' aka a grown-up.

Had a very odd experience earlier with the girls I'm coaching when something really horrible happened, cue floods of tears. In all honestly I was as upset as they were but found myself being the calming influence and systematically building them back up to go out to bat again tomorrow. Whilst this was successful and went well it has left me with a horrible 'maybe I have grown up feeling after all' feeling, which made me feel a bit sad. So I rang the boy interest for a chat which made me feel slightly better.

I have decided that the only way in which to counter-act this is by creating as much mayhem and being as childish as possible this weekend when I meet up with uni friends. If I want to dress in an outrageously small dress in the cold, go on a bouncy castle in my bike dress, get sloshed in Pimms and then narrowly avoid cycling into the river I shall...

Am also thinking I need a proper thrashing so I can just let go and cry. Is it a bit odd that being beaten appears to have a similar calming effect to a massage on me?

A step too far...

I am wondering if it would be taking things a little far to use the tube strike and having to work at home as a reason to go and visit some friends. How strict is the definition for 'working at home' anyway, I mean I'd be in a home (theirs admittedly) and surely 'working' could really be working at catching up. And having a cup of tea. Maybe not...

Oh dear, it would appear that last night's spanking has work off already. Hum.

Threats and promises...

Have just got back from dinner with a vanilla friend who knows about my proclivities (though only because my ex told him in a fit of pique) and whilst catching up we were bantering about it a bit. I commented that I had nightmares about my parallel lives running into each other at some point, and he grinned and commented that it might happen sooner than I thought, to which I reacted by asking if he wanted to come play (we had just been discussing house boys) to which his response was.

"Oh no, I'd want to deal with you - you have no idea how long you've had it coming!"

Which made me blush and change the topic quickly. Am not sure I could cope with the headfuck of someone I've known for years in a vanilla context spanking me...

I am also in trouble. Again (she says trying to sound sorry!). This time for sending my boy interest a photo of me all dressed up in my corset, stocking and non-existent skirt whilst out clubbing on Saturday. Apparently teases get dealt with...severely. He is such a lovely boy!

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 (www.newtospanking.blogspot.com) 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 :)

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 :)