Also known as blind stupidity meets latent masochism. I have just entered myself into the Royal Parks Half Marathon in aid of a very worthwhile charity (subject to my place being confirmed). Given I haven't run that far for five year I suspect this may be somewhat stupid but my 'must save the World' radar has come into play, which is always dangerous! I am running for a charity that sets up sport and play programmes to enhance the lives of children in the developing world who have been affected by poverty, war and disease so it's also very worthwhile.
It's also far enough to be a real challenge at my current level of fitness so will be a bit of a test, which I think is important if you're asking people to sponsor you. I can feel the shin splints already :-$
So bring on the motivational stickies on my bedroom wall! My mind is also drawn to the scene in 'Run Fat Boy Run' where Simon Pegg is chased by his coach on a moped who whacks him when he doesn't run fast enough...any volunteers?!
Monday, 29 June 2009
Sunday, 28 June 2009
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...
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...
Friday, 26 June 2009
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
Perfection...
Is a Bombay Sapphire and tonic on the balcony on a warm summers evening, better than perfection is adding Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough to the mix...Even better is clubbing plans afoot for tomorrow...and maybe more Bombay Sapphire (yes, I am a gin snob!).
Happy days...
Happy days...
Thursday, 25 June 2009
Life can be tough on bottoms....
Or so a toilet paper advertisement proclaimed yesterday, sending me and one of my flatmates into complete stitches. We'd just been talking about playing and thought it was very forward thinking of the manufacturer to be so public about things. After all, life can be tough on bottoms - soreness, bruises, stripes, humiliation, having to explain about the awful fall you had when someone spots your marks in the gym changing room...it's a hard life!
That hasn't been the only startle this week. A very fit work colleague bought whips up twice in one day - once threatening to whip me with a laptop cable if I didn't get his report done quickly enough, and later suggesting I might whip delegates at a training event I'm running if they aren't on time. I laughed innocently - I'm not sure purring and saying yes please would constitute 'professional behaviour'...The question boys and girls is do we think he's kinky? And if he is what are the odds of me running into him when out clubbing? And if that happened should I let him spank me?
That hasn't been the only startle this week. A very fit work colleague bought whips up twice in one day - once threatening to whip me with a laptop cable if I didn't get his report done quickly enough, and later suggesting I might whip delegates at a training event I'm running if they aren't on time. I laughed innocently - I'm not sure purring and saying yes please would constitute 'professional behaviour'...The question boys and girls is do we think he's kinky? And if he is what are the odds of me running into him when out clubbing? And if that happened should I let him spank me?
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Writhe...
I've been thinking a lot about what make a scene work well and my most memorable scenes recently, working out what makes me tick. So I thought I'd share a few of them...
It was a cold February evening and I was in the middle of a ridiculously busy week at work. I remember nervously watching the clock as I attempted to race through my deliverables, hoping desperately that my manager wouldn't present yet another issue that would stop me from leaving on time. I rushed out of the door into the rain at 7pm on the dot and fixed my make-up on the tube, thanking my lucky stars that for once at least TFL appeared to be on my side.
It was raining really hard by the time I got off the tube, soaking through my shoes and leaving me damp and dishevelled by the time I knocked on his door. The disapproving look on his face told me that my mascara was smudged. He gave me a cup of tea and I sat curled up on his sofa, feet tucked beneath me as we made small talk about work, the weather, me being a bit late.
Then he sent me to get changed.
Venturing back into the living room it seemed darker and more ominous. I suddenly felt very small standing before his 6'4" frame. He jerked my head back with my ponytail and I gasped.
"Where have you been Rebecca?"
"Nowhere."
"I don't think so, not dressed like that." He said, referring to the low cut top, tiny skirt, stockings and suspenders I was wearing.
"I've been rehearsing for a show." I said meekly.
"At midnight, in the rain? Are you trying to insult my intelligence?" He hissed, pulling my head further back.
"To be honest Williams I don't care what your sordid little secret is because I'm going to punish you anyway for being such a shocking tart." He whispers.
"Fuck off!" I retort before shrieking as he virtually picks me up and throws me over his knee.
"That was very, very stupid..." He said quietly, clamping his leg over my thighs and twisting my wrists behind my back.
There was no warm-up as the heavy strap landed hard on my bottom and no respite, despite my whimpers. I remember counting, thinking maybe he'd stop after six, after twelve, after twenty. He stopped after forty, just when I could feel the tears beginning to pool in my eyes. I lay there recovering my breath as he traced the outline of the welts on my bottom. Somehow the pain made me feel a bit calmer, a bit less argumentative. This was, after all what we both wanted, just on his terms not mine.
"Go next door, kneel on the bed and wait." He ordered and I nodded, staring at the floor.
"Hands behind your head, knees apart, no moving." He added.
I slipped off the skyscraper heels. I'd got them secondhand the week before, knowing he had a thing for fuck-me shoes I'd been unable to resist the black patent courts with their six inch heels for a bargainous £10. Then I climbed onto the big white bed, spread my knees apart and linked my hands behind my head and waited. Until my ear started really itching and I moved to scratch it - just as he walked through the door.
"Why are you so unable to obey simple instructions Rebecca? Are you stupid?" He questioned, quashing my protests about having an itchy ear before I could even really make them. Roughly he ripped my top and skirt from my body leaving me kneeling in just my knickers. He slipped a hand between my legs and sniggered.
"Slut." He breathed into my ear before taking my arms and tying them in a prayer position behind my back. Then he slipped a blindfold over my eyes and proceeded to tie my ankles to my thighs before suddenly pushing me forwards so I took my weight on my arms and was kneeling with my body slightly forwards.
"We're going to practice doing as you're told," he whispered "and you can trust that if you fail I'll make you very sorry indeed."
I shivered. He told me I was to stay silent, that it was a little test. I sighed as he started to stroke my nipples and then pinch them hard until I bit my lip. Then he was gone and I heard a swish and inhaled sharply as the crop landed on my nipple. Before I'd even processed the pain it landed again on the other nipple. I moaned and he laughed, swishing the crop menacingly before lashing down again. I stayed quiet but whimpered as the next one landed, seemingly even more agonising and gasped as two more rained down in quick succession.
He stopped, cruelly twisting my sore nipples, whispering in my ear that I'd been too noisy, asking me if I could add up four fives.
"Twenty." I sighed, moaning again, this time in pleasure as he placed his hand between my legs to tease me and then in disappointment as he stopped. Then he started tapping the crop against my inner thighs and I whimpered, knowing it was going to hurt and feeling a bit scared.
"Fast or slow?" He questioned.
"Fast." I stuttered. At least it would be over quicker that way. He struck hard and I was quiet at first but at some point broke and yelped, writhing against my bonds and then gasping in pain. When he finished I hung limply against the rope, somewhere between sobbing and hyperventilating. He stroked my hair, removed my blindfold, looked into my eyes and smiled.
"Good girl."
I relaxed into the rope as he kneaded my shoulders and gently soothed the pain away from my thighs. He undid ties suspending my weight from my arms and I settled onto my stomach on the bed, not fighting him as he re-arranged the rope work, somehow bundling me up but leaving my bottom exposed. He stroked my back again, told me that we were almost finished as I sunk into the moment and started to drift away.
Then I felt a cane tapping against my bottom and sighed. My favourite and least favourite all at once. He'd caned me before, I knew it would hurt a lot but trusted him to know how far to push me. The cane slashed down against my bottom and I exhaled, relaxing into the rope. I love the concentrated pain the cane brings but it's hard, none of the 'couple of strokes, little break routine' just slow and methodological strokes striping me from top to bottom as I twitched my toes, whimpered, gasped and just started to question whether I could bear it anymore. Then he stopped, untied me and held me before standing me up to examine the marks in the mirror. A mussed, smudged girl with a red bottom and contented smile gazed back at me, wincing slightly as he ran his hands over her body.
Ten minutes later I was curled up on his sofa again, the bottom of my trousers still slightly soggy from the rain but somehow more mellow, happier, relaxed.
It was a cold February evening and I was in the middle of a ridiculously busy week at work. I remember nervously watching the clock as I attempted to race through my deliverables, hoping desperately that my manager wouldn't present yet another issue that would stop me from leaving on time. I rushed out of the door into the rain at 7pm on the dot and fixed my make-up on the tube, thanking my lucky stars that for once at least TFL appeared to be on my side.
It was raining really hard by the time I got off the tube, soaking through my shoes and leaving me damp and dishevelled by the time I knocked on his door. The disapproving look on his face told me that my mascara was smudged. He gave me a cup of tea and I sat curled up on his sofa, feet tucked beneath me as we made small talk about work, the weather, me being a bit late.
Then he sent me to get changed.
Venturing back into the living room it seemed darker and more ominous. I suddenly felt very small standing before his 6'4" frame. He jerked my head back with my ponytail and I gasped.
"Where have you been Rebecca?"
"Nowhere."
"I don't think so, not dressed like that." He said, referring to the low cut top, tiny skirt, stockings and suspenders I was wearing.
"I've been rehearsing for a show." I said meekly.
"At midnight, in the rain? Are you trying to insult my intelligence?" He hissed, pulling my head further back.
"To be honest Williams I don't care what your sordid little secret is because I'm going to punish you anyway for being such a shocking tart." He whispers.
"Fuck off!" I retort before shrieking as he virtually picks me up and throws me over his knee.
"That was very, very stupid..." He said quietly, clamping his leg over my thighs and twisting my wrists behind my back.
There was no warm-up as the heavy strap landed hard on my bottom and no respite, despite my whimpers. I remember counting, thinking maybe he'd stop after six, after twelve, after twenty. He stopped after forty, just when I could feel the tears beginning to pool in my eyes. I lay there recovering my breath as he traced the outline of the welts on my bottom. Somehow the pain made me feel a bit calmer, a bit less argumentative. This was, after all what we both wanted, just on his terms not mine.
"Go next door, kneel on the bed and wait." He ordered and I nodded, staring at the floor.
"Hands behind your head, knees apart, no moving." He added.
I slipped off the skyscraper heels. I'd got them secondhand the week before, knowing he had a thing for fuck-me shoes I'd been unable to resist the black patent courts with their six inch heels for a bargainous £10. Then I climbed onto the big white bed, spread my knees apart and linked my hands behind my head and waited. Until my ear started really itching and I moved to scratch it - just as he walked through the door.
"Why are you so unable to obey simple instructions Rebecca? Are you stupid?" He questioned, quashing my protests about having an itchy ear before I could even really make them. Roughly he ripped my top and skirt from my body leaving me kneeling in just my knickers. He slipped a hand between my legs and sniggered.
"Slut." He breathed into my ear before taking my arms and tying them in a prayer position behind my back. Then he slipped a blindfold over my eyes and proceeded to tie my ankles to my thighs before suddenly pushing me forwards so I took my weight on my arms and was kneeling with my body slightly forwards.
"We're going to practice doing as you're told," he whispered "and you can trust that if you fail I'll make you very sorry indeed."
I shivered. He told me I was to stay silent, that it was a little test. I sighed as he started to stroke my nipples and then pinch them hard until I bit my lip. Then he was gone and I heard a swish and inhaled sharply as the crop landed on my nipple. Before I'd even processed the pain it landed again on the other nipple. I moaned and he laughed, swishing the crop menacingly before lashing down again. I stayed quiet but whimpered as the next one landed, seemingly even more agonising and gasped as two more rained down in quick succession.
He stopped, cruelly twisting my sore nipples, whispering in my ear that I'd been too noisy, asking me if I could add up four fives.
"Twenty." I sighed, moaning again, this time in pleasure as he placed his hand between my legs to tease me and then in disappointment as he stopped. Then he started tapping the crop against my inner thighs and I whimpered, knowing it was going to hurt and feeling a bit scared.
"Fast or slow?" He questioned.
"Fast." I stuttered. At least it would be over quicker that way. He struck hard and I was quiet at first but at some point broke and yelped, writhing against my bonds and then gasping in pain. When he finished I hung limply against the rope, somewhere between sobbing and hyperventilating. He stroked my hair, removed my blindfold, looked into my eyes and smiled.
"Good girl."
I relaxed into the rope as he kneaded my shoulders and gently soothed the pain away from my thighs. He undid ties suspending my weight from my arms and I settled onto my stomach on the bed, not fighting him as he re-arranged the rope work, somehow bundling me up but leaving my bottom exposed. He stroked my back again, told me that we were almost finished as I sunk into the moment and started to drift away.
Then I felt a cane tapping against my bottom and sighed. My favourite and least favourite all at once. He'd caned me before, I knew it would hurt a lot but trusted him to know how far to push me. The cane slashed down against my bottom and I exhaled, relaxing into the rope. I love the concentrated pain the cane brings but it's hard, none of the 'couple of strokes, little break routine' just slow and methodological strokes striping me from top to bottom as I twitched my toes, whimpered, gasped and just started to question whether I could bear it anymore. Then he stopped, untied me and held me before standing me up to examine the marks in the mirror. A mussed, smudged girl with a red bottom and contented smile gazed back at me, wincing slightly as he ran his hands over her body.
Ten minutes later I was curled up on his sofa again, the bottom of my trousers still slightly soggy from the rain but somehow more mellow, happier, relaxed.
Monday, 22 June 2009
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!
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!
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