English Delights

New discoveries I made on my second adventure to the land where canes grow on trees:

I. Implements Galore!

I sampled a fair amount of implementage on my maiden voyage: hand, cane, some tawses, some hairbrushes and assorted wooden spanking devices, even a few swats from a frat paddle. Not too shabby.

This time, though, I can't even remember all the different hitty things I got hit with. Most of this is cause I spent part of my stay with Abel and Haron, whose home is basically built from spanking implements.

Let's see. I discovered the joys of floggers (many times over.) Got whacked with a shoe ("plimsoll," I'm corrected, but that sounds kinda like a made-up word and also, if it goes on a foot, I'm callin' shoe), various straps, obviously canes. Painful, malicious, etc. I think there was a carpet beater at one point? And some strange evil mini-carpet-beater thing, called the "Josephine." I had my own word for it, but I'll keep that to myself. Was also, over the course of my adventure, beaten with some brushes, some tawses, a short-lived Italian spoon, and even what I believe was a Bangladeshi rice-stirrer. 

After all this reckless experimentation, one might be led to wonder if I've found a favorite. Hmm. Obviously more research must be conducted, but you know what's weird? I think I'm partial to brushes, tawses and canes. And something just doesn't seem right about that. 

Yeah. Lots more experimentation needed!

II. Hand-holding

You always see those pictures and stories with girls comforting their friends during punishments... Or of girls being called to hold down victims, perhaps with less sympathetic intentions. Anyway, I did lots of hand-holding on this expedition, both as comforter and comfort-ee. It's quite nice. Sometimes I felt a real empathetic desire to help the unfortunate girl through her ordeal -- other times I played compassionate but had a huge grin on my face as the wretch got what was coming (cough, Eliane, cough.*) And I always greatly appreciated the comfort I received when I was the one being thrashed!

III. Less pain, more suffering

I kind of talked about this in my other England-themed recaps. It's become clear to me that I really shouldn't bother analyzing my reactions or drawing conclusions about How I Take Spankings, cause there are so many variables. 

But, for the sake of this compare/contrast thing: It seemed to hurt much more this time. (Okay, not every spanking, but a couple.) 

It's possible I just forgot how much it hurt last time. Because I know I was hit harder, marked more fiercely, and throbbing more aggressively after playing in June. Plus, I was on my period that time, and by all accounts, that should have made the pain harder to bear. 

I do remember it hurting, the first time. I remember a few moments of real panic. But mostly what I remember was sinking into it, getting comfortable, getting really fucking high. Perhaps dangerously so -- in that mindset, I truly don't think I would have had the sense to safeword if it became necessary. (It didn't become necessary.) 

This time, I never reached quite that level of shakey-crazy-endorphin rush. (Which is not to say this experience was "worse." Far from it. Just awesomeness of a different kind. And, you know, a little less dangerous!) That meant I processed the pain as pain. Enter suffering. 

Worth it though : )

IV. Semi-Orgies and Bonfires

I think the heading pretty much sums it up. Fun times!!!

V. English Line Etiquette

Not talking about writing lines for punishment, or lines of girls outside the headmaster's study, or lines in one's flesh left by a cane. 

I'm referring to the gentleman at a shop who, as I was ogling assorted cheeses, courteously asked me if I was next in line to be served. I think I stared at him like he was crazy for a few moments.

Let me just be clear: THAT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN HERE. If you stand quietly waiting your turn, no one will ever pay attention to you, and/or you'll be cut in front of or physically jostled out of the way. 

(Yes, I realize this is completely vanilla. Sorry, but that just really threw me! Culture shock, yo.)

Anyway... thanks again to all my fabulous kinky English (and Irish) friends. Your awesomeness defies description. Let's do this again sometime : ) 

*I don't know why it gives me such glee for Eliane to get whacked. Probably cause she's always ratting me out or bringing me into her house and making me take off my clothes and stuff. 

Worth A Thousand Words?

I've been thinking about pictures lately. 

There's this strange culture in our little kinky sub-universe of spankos posting compromising photos (usually ass shots) on their various online profiles and sites. It's like, hi, here's my age, my orientation, and a picture of my recently caned backside. Nice to meet you!

Of course, I like looking at these pictures as much as the next perv. But it puzzles me a little. I seem to remember a time when blogs by non-models rarely featured such images. Then suddenly FetLife was born and people were broadcasting tits and ass left and right -- and not only that, but faces and locations, too. 

When I joined Facebook, my mom thought I was living dangerously: "You shouldn't put pictures on the INTERNET!"

I explained to my techno-impaired mother that since everyone else had photos up too, we were all screwed together.

It seems like that's kind of the case with these spanking-type pics, too. I mean, it's not so uncommon to have a disembodied ass shot floating around cyberspace these days. Oh, modernity. 

I'm an ex-spanko-virgin now. I've got a (small) private stash of photos like that. And I've been examining my reasons for wanting and not wanting to post them online. To be honest, I'm coming up confused. 

Part of it (the not wanting part) is this weird personal hang-up: I'm not the kind of person who puts naked photos on the internet! Right. Well, okay, that's all well and good, but I clearly am the kind of person who'll write about her kinky fantasies and experiences in explicit detail, so... I think I cede the high ground.

What I write and say about my life and personality is more revealing, and possibly more damning, than any faceless photo I could put online. Besides, you can already see my knees on my FetLife page. In theory, those should be more recognizable than my ass, given that way more people have seen them. 

So the reasons against it are a little flimsy. Then again, is there any good reason to put them online in the first place? "Everybody else is doing it?" Exhibitionism? Boredom? All a little questionable on the motivation front. 

So - why do you want to? If you've thrown your image into cyberland and lived to tell the tale, share your reasons behind... sharing your behind, I guess. Do tell!

Unfinished Business

Some of you may recall the first trip I took to England. (In case you don't, it was less than six months ago, and talking about it constitutes 85% of this blog.)

I had Grand Plans for that adventure. I mean, no joke, we were concocting schemes. Hatching plots. At the time I booked my flight, I had no idea if anyone would even be interested in talking to me -- but by the time I took off, I had in place what I considered to be the coolest kinky itinerary ever. 

And then... Well, then wackiness ensued and my plans gang'ed agly, if you will. With a bit of artfulness (and a fair bit of shamelessness) I managed to cover most of the attractions on my spanking schedule -- couldn't miss a tour of the Lowewood grounds, could I? -- but one painful sacrifice had to be made. 

That, friends, was a play date with Pandora and Tom and Caroline Grey. 

**sigh of deep bitterness**

Perhaps it worked out for the best -- after all, I did get to spend time with the three of them, albeit sans beating, and they had an awesome night together (which you can drool over here.) But oh, did I solemnly swear that should I ever get another chance, I would not let it slip by again! 

Fast forward to last weekend. (Um... I guess the weekend before last, actually.) After my dismissal from the Approved School, I made my way to London to hang with Pandora and Tom.

Well, you know what perverts mean when they say "hang" : )

(Now, my scene sis Caroline sadly couldn't join us this time -- but I don't know, two Greys at once might be unreasonable for anybody to handle!)

English hospitality really is something. Not only are Pandora and Tom totally charming, but they treated me to all kinds of things I just can't enjoy in my day-to-day existence as a post-soviet explorer: good wine, good weed, amazing Japanese cuisine and cool kinky company. Basically, it was a Night of Escalating Indulgences. 

We talked a little about tastes and interests etc., but that mainly involved me shrugging and being like, "um, whatevs, all sounds hot to me!" Very helpful, I'm sure. (Must gather specific tastes! Anyone want to fund a research project in comparative CP? Anyone?)

I had marks to show off -- which meant some clothes had to come off, too. And Pandora's too sweet a hostess to let a girl feel all awkward, so she kindly removed some of her garments as well. Aww. 

Well... here one is tempted to launch into a litany of the myriad beauties that are Pandora, but since that might reveal me once and for all as the dirty old man I am at heart, I'll hold back!

Instead of the structured role-play I'd experienced the night before, this was an unscripted, improvisational CP session, with Pandora and I switching places over pillows in the middle of the bed. The girl not being thrashed would hold the current victim's hands and wince in sympathy. And/or ogle in lust. 

Tom's application of the implements very quickly carried me to what I like to call the tides of masochism... You know, when it burns oh so sweetly and you just want to sink deeper and deeper into it? Mmm. I can't remember all the implements that were used on me or in what order.* But I remember pain, and leather, and goodness. 

Mindful of my current bruises, Tom wasn't going too hard on me -- but I do remember being lashed all over, so perhaps that made up for it! (And no, there are absolutely no photos of me with stripes from shoulder to thigh!)

Pandora, I must say, has a stunningly sweet way of taking her punishments. (Okay, okay, you all knew that already, but shut up!) Mostly I was content to leer, but one particularly hard strapping made me jerk my head away with every stroke... Poor girl! But she was terribly noble about the whole thing.

Then, I was ordered to kneel against the wall. A couple more articles of clothing might've come off*... And I found myself being flogged, and 'twas such a flogging that I kind of lost all sense of time. (Probably a fairly common effect of floggers!) Back whipping isn't the kind of thing that typically sneaks into my fantasies... But I think it will be now. 

When I surfaced, I was feeling floaty and content, yet buzzed and tingling. You know. That ever-paradoxical "satiated, but ready for more" feeling. But after that, the exact sequence of events gets a little fuzzy. 

Though it's entirely possible a few more articles of clothing came off...      

*That's actually the theme of this entire trip.

**And that would be the second theme of the trip. 

Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November...

Is it any accident I ended up in England on Guy Fawkes Night? Fireworks, revelry, burning effigies... Really the ideal set-up for the caning of a righteous Catholic.

(Hey! Silence, those of you questioning my righteousness!) 

Abel has written about the scene we played on Bonfire Night (and I've linked to it twice so if you haven't read it already, figure it out!), and while his account is more than sufficient, aren't you eager for a much less eloquent, much less concise version from the victim herself??

We'd discussed the scene at length over e-mail. I'd asked for something hard; I'd asked for the cane. We came up with a scenario involving a quiet rebel type (played by me!) at an institution led by Someone Evil (played by him!). The girl stages a daring escape, but it goes wrong and an example must be made. 

Abel brought up a good point: Why would she be the only one punished?

I gave the most logical answer I could think of: At the last minute, her followers got scared, ratted her out, and ensured that when she went to break out, the authorities were ready and waiting...

So that's where we started from.

This was the first time I'd done an actual, self-contained, private role-play scene. I was so worried I'd mess it up somehow - laughing or breaking character or saying the wrong thing. Right before we started, we established names and background. "Should it be a reform school, or an approved school?" Abel asked.

"Um... What's an 'approved school?' " I asked. (Further contributing to my fear that I'd prove inept at this.)

I got changed into uniform. Haron graciously assisted me with the tie. And then I was left to wait. 

Ah, waiting. Just a tad unnerving, that! My heart started pounding frantically -- a little too frantically, and I had to force myself to calm down. But then I didn't want to get too calm, either -- no, that's just what they want, to lull you into a false sense of safety! So I fought this internal battle while trying to maintain an air of utter nonchalance. 

Because my character wasn't sorry. And she certainly wasn't afraid. 

I was relieved when Miss Temple (aka Haron) came to fetch me. By the time she led me into "the study," I was completely engrossed in the scene. It was dark, it was scary, it was tense. (There was one moment, though, when I noticed that Abel had changed the desktop background to bear the emblem of our fictitious approved school -- I had to stop from going, "Hey, look at that! Cool!")

Abel described Miss Grey as "surprisingly defiant." I don't think there was anything surprising about it -- she hated the place enough to leave, and had the audacity to take others with her, after all. And let's remember, I'm American. I'm less used to taking shit from Britons and more used to, you know, KICKING THEIR ASS AT REVOLUTIONS.* (Plus, I haven't earnestly referred to an authority figure as "sir" or "ma'am" in my entire life. We're an unruly breed.)

So, perhaps not quite wisely, it was Miss Grey's policy not to offer any niceties of her own volition. Meaning "sirs," "ma'ams," "thank-yous," etc. were only granted begrudgingly after angry demands. Oh, how it grated to hear Dr. Jenkins insist that the school regime was all for her own good. And she handed off her skirt to Miss Temple with particular disdain (that didn't go over very well.) 

You know how it is. Remove your skirt, lose the undergarments, bend over the desk. Apparently, while I was bent over there I missed all kinds of cool preparations involving sleeves and cufflinks and things. Sad! 

Abel claims that a "warm-up" ensued; Haron and I dispute the validity of this claim. More like "brief unexpected barrage of insanely hard whacks." 

Then he mentioned selecting a senior cane, and ordered me to count. 

I never actually saw the cane he used. I don't know what makes it "senior," I didn't see the swings. But, heavenly mother of god, that shit don't play. 

Each stroke was furiously painful, challenging my resolve, my defiance, my masochism -- but right after the impact came this sweetly evil burn, the kind of pain that's exactly what I crave. I couldn't help gasping, and of course I had to keep count. My "thank you sirs," which at first were little more than sneers, gradually became more choked.

Before the final six, I was told I didn't have to count. They fell rapidly, no pausing and no thanking. (This might be unwise to admit, but I'm actually quite fond of this method... Maybe cause I don't have to disrupt the thrashing with false expressions of gratitude! ; )

Then it was over -- almost. Miss Grey still had to apologize, and that was painful in its own right. But as she wasn't interested in 18 more strokes, she managed to stammer something out. (Sorry I keep switching from first to third person. This role-play stuff confuses me.)

The scene came to a close. There was a rather awkward moment when the zipper on my skirt broke, but let's pretend that didn't happen. I left the study, became Graham again, and had a host of pretty stripes to admire. Outside, the fireworks were still going off. 

Yep, just your typical British welcome!

*Having been around in the 1770s and all. 

A Eulogy For Graham, the Once Stoic

As recorded on this blog, I absorbed my first beatings in almost total silence. Partly because I was utterly wrapped up inside my own head and partly out of warped defiance. 

I remember that stoic lass well. I remember that time she was hairbrushed for like eight hours (it was eight hours, right?) and took it so very patiently. She was a stubborn young thing.

Let us observe a moment of silence for her demise. 

***MOMENT OF SILENCE***

Yeah, I won't lie -- this time 'round in merry England, I totally wussed out. For whatever reason, that all-consuming-oh-sweet-heaven-is-this-actually-happening-masochisty-painslut-adrenaline was a lot harder to come by. And pathetic gasps of pain from me were much more easily wrought! 

I didn't exactly want to be stoic this time, to be fair. I decided that was lame and uncommunicative and boring so I wasn't going to bother. Which is cool and all -- except I suspect that even if I'd wanted to bust out my willful silence, I wouldn't have been able to.

Why? Well, it's pretty simple. I've worked out exactly how to cure a stoic streak:

1. After your first-ever spanking experience, fly far away from all the sadists and hide for four months. 

2. In those four months, get zero action and forget how much it all actually hurts.

3. Fly back to the place the sadists live, and have your first "welcome back!" scene involve ABEL CANING YOU EIGHTEEN TIMES. 

In a word: Christ.

No, I didn't cry, and I didn't move from position - but I would have if I thought it would help. Pretty much the only indication of bravery on my part was that I managed not to swear in any language or blaspheme any gods. That took effort. 

Throughout the weekend, I found myself experiencing varied reactions to the pain. Sometimes, I got caught up in those fun tides of masochism again and could just ride. Other times, the pain of impact felt bitter and hard, but the lingering burn was delicious. And there were a couple moments of "Ow, NO." (I think these moments mostly involved being hit with a shoe. Why will English people insist on hitting you with shoes?!)

Perhaps you're thinking, "Heh, that shows you -- the first time they were just going easy on ya!" Well, so I thought myself, at first. Til I was reminded that in summer, I was actually thrashed much harder and marked a lot worse. (As those who read - or witnessed - the tale of Graham And The Evil Wrapping Doesn't-Fuck-Around Tawse will recall.) 

So maybe I just had first-timer's euphoria working for me the first time. Or maybe I have an unreasonable affinity for hairbrushes and tawses, and resent being hit with footwear? Or perhaps it would have behooved me to start the trip out on a bit of a milder note, rather than dive in with 18 from the "senior" cane. (Eh, what fun would that be??)

By Sunday night, I was respectably bruised -- not nearly as dramatic as the first time, but still kind of scary. (Yeah, after that caning and the four thousand -- it was four thousand, right? -- other spankings that followed at Abel & Haron's, the tops seemed a little hesitant to attack me. But they got over it.)

Anyway. I don't really lament the loss of Graham the Creepily Quiet, but I am interested in seeing what's next in my relationship with the wonders of pain... And feel free to share your experiences and thoughts!

What's In An Orgy?

There seems to be some debate as to whether or not the events hosted by one Eliane last Saturday evening constitute an official orgy. 

Enlisting the help of my kinky dictionary and Merriam-Webster online, I'm going to get to the bottom of this. 

Let's start with M-W, which defines "orgy" as:

1: Secret ceremonial rites held in honor of an ancient Greek or Roman deity and usually characterized by ecstatic singing and dancing. 

Secret? Well, there were only eleven of us and the deets weren't exactly posted on Facebook. Ceremonial? There was some ceremonial bending and counting and caning, as I recall. (Very liturgical.) As for ancient classical gods... Okay, I don't remember any specific chants or sacred fires, but it felt pretty Dionysian. 

Ecstatic singing and dancing? Absolutely!

2 a: a drunken revelry, b: a sexual encounter involving many people, also: an excessive sexual indulgence.

Right. Well, we did revel quite drunkenly. There was all this... wine and champagne everywhere. 

Now it all hinges on whether or not spanking counts as a sexual encounter. Cause if memory serves, then there might, just might, have been some spanking going on. 

3: excessive indulgence in something especially to satisfy an inordinate appetite or craving.

Excessive? Inordinate? Craving? Well, this is all way out in left field. There's nothing excessive about my appetite for spanking. It's not like I yelled out "Who wants to cane me?!" in the middle of the party, or anything. (Btw, thanks, Jessica!) And not like I let myself get spanked and flogged for making snide remarks about the British Empire. And it's certainly not as if I let Emma Jane beat me with a strap and 14-euro spoon before the party even began!!!

Honestly.

Okay, let's see what the Macbook dictionary app has to say about all this. They say an "orgy" is:

A wild party, esp. one involving excessive drinking and unrestrained sexual activity. 

Hmm.

So maybe a bunch of girls ended up in their underwear dancing and drinking and singing and getting spanked. But that's not necessarily an orgy... That's just Saturday night at Eliane's!

Confessions

I. All right. It pains me to admit this, but... Though Twitter is a hard limit for me (I shall never tweet! Never!), that still doesn't stop me from (very occasionally) glancing at the tweets the rest of you leave. Which is how I've come to realize that some twitterers out there have been tweet-slandering me and implying that I am hazardous to health and property when invited into the homes of others.

*Searches brain for defense*

Um. Moving on...

II. Remember how I promised you a Love Our Lurkers thrashing? Well, yeah. Was supposed to remember to ask somebody to take care of that while I was in Britain... It somehow slipped my mind. Will it content you to know that I was still quite decently beaten anyway? 

....

But I really was!

III. I had a very eventful, strange, glorious trip - I have lots of people to thank and tales to tell. But I don't know where to begin. So, do excuse me if there are some delays in the commentary. (If you're really excited to read about some things I've been up to, go here.)

Think that's it for confessions today...