Category Archives: fantasies

Not So Numb

Yesterday evening something special happened. I was on Twitter with Serenity, Marie, Emma, Indy and others.

As you may have gathered from my earlier postings, I haven’t felt kinky or playful in a long time. But on Twitter last night I did. Without even realizing it, I tried out a persona of Indy’s governess, one with a hairbrush. This isn’t something I feel often, but Indy is both a joy to play with and also definitely needs someone to look after her a bit. So these exchanges, building on some scenes we’d had at Shadow Lane, were just the right kinky fun.

In the past, I’ve only identified as a bottom, even though I do sometimes spank friends. But last night I only wanted to top, felt comfortable in that identity.

Indy was feeling playful too and fed into it, ultimately sharing a story she had written a while before and never posted. I went to read it with a bit of dread. One of the things that hasn’t worked for me in a while is spanking fiction. But I read this and felt a long absent rush. It’s a great governess / hairbrush story with a moment that feels heart shakingly real. Go read it:

Feel like, bit by bit, I’m coming back.

What if You Spanked Me?

What Would Happen if You Spanked Me?

I’d weep.

I’d fly apart into a million pieces and could never ever be put together again.


That’s how I feel. Like I could be caned out existence. Or thrashed into madness.

Playing sounds dangerous. Edgy.

Worse though, what if I didn’t fly apart?

What if I didn’t weep?

What if I am just numb?

Dreams of Spanking: Advent Blog Day 23

Today is an exciting day in the spanking scene and I just have to post something here to celebrate. The witty and wonderful Pandora Blake has officially launched her new website, Dreams of Spanking, complete with stills and video from some of my very favorite performers.

There’s a lot about the site that I like, especially Pandora’s vision and the trouble she’s taken over settings and costumes.  The quality reflects the love and care she’s given them.

But even more than that, I like the whole concept of the site. Beginning with the site name, Dreams of Spanking affirms that whether topping or bottoming, this isn’t something that’s being done to her, but rather that she’s an active participant in an activity that’s a huge part of her sexuality and fantasy life. There’s a specificity it all that defies this pornography being able men looking at women (so it doesn’t matter what the men look like) and instead is about a female gaze as well.

This pleases me a lot, as does the attention that’s given in the stills I’ve seen to the performers’ faces.  Yes, this is about kink and their bodies, but it’s also about kink and their minds and their relationships with and desires for each other.

Wonderful.  Congratulations on realizing your dreams Pandora.  And thank you for an amazing Christmas gift.


Firsts Fridays: Fantasies

[I’ve plucked this Friday Firsts from the Shadow Lane members’ chat. Tony Elka asked this question about first fantasies.]

What’s one of the first fantasies you can remember having, before you ever were consensually spanked (or before you spanked someone)?

I’ve had spanking fantasies as far back as I can remember. I know, because I remember what house we were living in then, by the time I was 4.  They always centered around a father / guardian figure (not my father) who would have to take time out what they were doing to fix some mess I’d gotten into (rescue me I suppose) and then would deal with me by spanking me.

I had these fantasies for years and years. In the first clear memory I have of one, my guardian was Johnny Cash (who, by my parents’ accounts, I used to tell people I was going to marry).  Later it would become heros from books — everyone from James Bond (who of course would have sent me away to a boarding school most of the time — I’d be in trouble for running away — the boarding schools represent a whole other long strain of fantasies) to Nancy Drew’s father.  What they generally had in common was they weren’t, generally, fatherly. They were distant, exciting and had, for a series of reasons usually due to some bizarre bit of orphaning, been saddled with responsibility for me.

As I’m writing this I’m aware that there were two fantasies going on.  First was the spanking one but second was somehow losing my parents and having them replaced.  Or rather having both my parents taken away but only having my father replaced. I know exactly what to make of that one.

Later, when I got to my teen years, I discovered both thrillers and romance novels. This was an odd collision as both appealed to me. I had fantasies for years about being kidnapped by cruel sadistic killers who, for some reason, would keep me alive to abuse physically and sexually, impressed on some level by my obedience (HA) and bravery (HAHAHA).  At the same time I had fantasies based on Joanna Lindsey (she did include some lovely spankings and threats) – style brooding semi-violent heros who would beat and tame me.

These fantasies didn’t evolve much. There were variations — if a friend showed me the paddle her dad used on her and her siblings, I’d imagine getting in trouble at her house and it being used on me. I always had fantasies about teachers — sometimes if I liked them they’d have to adopt me (again note the theme of getting rid of my parents) and, of course they’d have to spank me.

Somehow in my head, spanking and love became equated at a young age. My desire to be spanked by someone reflected my desire to be loved by him or her.  The serial killer fantasies aside, that’s still where my fantasies go — a desire to be special enough to someone that they want to punish me, want to make me better somehow.  Plus, now I know it’s fun.

So there you go. I’ve shown you my first fantasies.  Will you show me yours?


Emma’s first fantasies are here.

Coffee, Spanking and Shadow Lane

[Wasn’t this blog topic a wonderful chance to use this classic coffee advertisement?]

Those of you who know me in real life or on Twitter know that I have a pretty intense relationship with coffee.  I don’t like getting up  in the morning, but the knowledge that when I do I get to have a cup of coffee with a bit of half-and-half and three Splenda packets lures me out of bed. I usually start tweeting with my first cup and feel a lovely glow about half way through it.

Twitter has added to my coffee ritual. Here, every morning over coffee, are many of my lovely spanking peeps, also having coffee and getting ready for the day (or dinner and getting ready for the night in the case of the UK folks).  It helps me live a bit of my fantasy that we all live in a lovely (semi-)functional spanking community.  Later in the day I sometimes meet up on Twitter for an afternoon coffee and bit more tweeting.

But once a year I get to do more than that. At Shadow Lane, there’s a coffee bar in the ground floor of the casino. Every morning, when I wake up, I can text friends and have them show up to drink coffee with me.  For a weekend every year I get to live in a spanking community.

This past year, Shadow Lane 2011 was great. As Kaelah wote, I met her and Ludwig (and was caned by her very own hand — well her very own hand holding one of Paul’s canes). I also spanked Indy in a lovely scene witnessed and encouraged by Paul and Judy. Yet, as ever, some of my very favorite moments of the party were the informal ones, chatting about scene, life and everything else, while sipping coffee with friends old and new.


Many thanks to padme and @bronte_a0a for inspiring this post.


Call Me George

For various reasons (mostly for being careless enough to joke about caning on Twitter) I’m dressed in a summer version of my boy uniform today (that’s a white tee-shirt, grey school shorts, white socks and black plimsoles in case you’re keeping score).

I have mixed feelings about dressing as a boy. On the one hand, it seems in our house, boys are braver and get caned more severely. On the other hand, I feel very self-conscious in boy uniforms. I am very much not boy shaped and feel my uniform swells in areas it should be straight. Yet I also feel very boyish in said uniform, feel it’s important not to whine about punishments, to be brave about spankings and canings. This seems to make Paul want to whack me all the harder.

Anyway, today I’m dressed as a boy. As some of you know, my boy name is “George” which is the name of my great-grandfather, who immigrated from England to California in the late nineteenth century. He was the last in my family of a long line of male relatives who attended Eton College. Was nineteenth century George caned there? I don’t know — I’ve never made the appointment with their historian to see his school records. But I’d like to think so.

Picture is an older one of me as a boy with my schoolgirl girlfriend, Bailey.

What I Wished For

[Note: this is how I remember the conversations with Paul.  He may have different memories.]

Heading home yesterday on the bus, I posted a Tweet along the lines of

The hottest idea I can think of right now is someone giving me a bath, washing my hair & putting me in pjs. & beating me. A bit.

My thought was we might get to play a bit this weekend when my dad goes away. When I got home, I played some Oblivion (more on that another day), Paul solved the dinner problem with a run to Carl's, and I snuck off to take a nice bath.

I was just undressing when there was a knock at the door. Struggling into my robe, I felt annoyed. Is there no alone time to be had in the apartment? But when I opened the door it wasn't my dad suggesting ice-cream. It was Paul.

"if you leave the door unlocked I'll come in in a bit & wash your hair."

Mmm. Nice.

"but only if I also cane you before bed."

I protested quietly. My dad was home.

Paul countered. My dad after all sleeps soundly. And the small cane is silent.

I left the door unlocked.

Paul came in and carefully and throughly washed and conditioned my hair, rinsing it with many pitchers of water.  I sat in the bath, feeling the warm water run over me, feeling all cared for and clean.

"Clean pjs tonight" he said as he left. I almost retorted that I *always* wear clean pjs as he must know from the laundry pile, but instead was quiet, pouting only to myself.  I thought about being caned with my dad in the other room.  It felt risky and naughty and I knew, knew that Paul was serious.  

Dressed for bed, I sat through some National Geographic program on the Pope (!!!) until my dad announced he was tired and going to bed.  Paul was awfully quick to agree with him he would be tired after so much driving.  We watched a bit more of the program which seemed designed to annoy Paul.  

Finally he reminded me to take my meds (I'd already done so), do any final bedtime things and then go and stand facing the closet. This because I've managed to fill the corner with stuff to take to the dry cleaners.  

When he came in he went to the closet.  I heard the rattle of the rattan canes, the quiet swish as he found the right one and the he took down my pjs and put me across his knee (this is a "nursery cane" made for otk use).  I was warned that my hands would be pinned behind my back if I couldn't keep them in front of me.

The thing about being caned otk is that while it isn't as hard as a longer heavier cane, there can be a lot more strokes a lot more quickly.  I gasped (quietly) and drummed my feet at the sting. Paul put up with my wiggling for a bit and then pinned my legs with his.  The sting went from painful to close to unbearable.  Tears clouded my eyes and I longed to wiggle away or make noise or something.  

But between the strokes, I could hear my dad snoring.

It wasn't a long caning but seemed to go on and on.

I slept insanely well last night. This morning, no marks at all.