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Monday, September 5, 2011

I have been warned to expect a visit

I've been a bad girl, and we know what happens to bad girls! Of course many go on to marry a millionaire or end up becoming a Duchess, but in my case the result will be rather more uncomfortable. In the course of being a contributor to the MarQe's Study website, Marqe and I exchange a number of emails. Now my sense of naughty fun is well known, but it does get me into trouble. In my emails there have been some teasing remarks, especially about Marqe's love of football, and the club he follows with some fervour. Certain of my wittycisms have been absolute corkers, giving your favourite girl a real laugh as they winged their way across cyberspace.  Marqe has decided it is high time that I was taught to have more respect for the 'beautiful game' and those who follow it. I have been told what to expect during his next visit, sometime this month.

Always being a gentleman, MarQe will mercifully start with a warm up, via a sound OTK spanking. But then I can expect him to go into punishment mode. it will be knickers down as MarQe gets serious, by way of what he promises will be 'an extended strapping'. From previous experience, he certainly has a singular talent for applying hard leather to every
inch of yours truly's bare backside. The 'entended' part means I can expect a very red and burning bottom.

Ready for the cane

Then the punishment will pause for me to serve tea for MarQe.  While he sits and drinks his cuppa, I will be sent to prepare for the next level of my chastisement. As he has directed, the caning stool will placed in front of the mirror, as I will be made to watch my punishment. Taking up the position across the stool, I am to ponder what is to come. Oh my golly, dear readers, you know about me and canes. Just the mention of them gets me going, so the minutes spent bent over the stool, contemplating the inevitable, will send my anxieties skywards. I can imagine straining to hear the final clink of cup on saucer, and the sound of MarQe rising from his chair and entering the room, cane in hand. Just imagine that smooth, soft bottom in the picture, receiving the 24 full strokes of the cane I have been warned to expect.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Now you can comment

Well dear readers, If I have got it right, you can now add comments to my posts. Feel free to comment on any previous postings. Of course, six strokes on my bare bottom is comment enough!

six on the bare is comment enough

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Domestic Discipline

 Sir, had arrived and was having a cup of tea in the sitting room. Excusing myself, I went to put on his favoured choice of maid’s uniform of short, white trimmed, black uniform dress, black hold-up stockings, black high heels, and underneath it all, black silk bra and panties. As always, a bit anxious of what he plans, I dressed quickly, so as not to keep Sir waiting, I paused in front of the mirror, carefully brushed and tied back my hair, and giving myself a quick look over, felt smart and rather sexy. Returning to the sitting room, I was aware of Sir giving me an appraising look, and hoped he approved, and that I looked as neat as he required it. Feeling confident and perky, I stood ready to attend his needs.

For special attention today

Casually he said “I am going to make an inspection today, to see whether your cleaning is up to standard.” I was taken aback, Sir always mentions an inspection in advance, so I have time to make sure everything is up to his strict standards. Waving my protestations aside he said “This time it’s without the usual warning, so things had better be up to scratch!” "Oh Oh" I thought to myself, why do I get the feeling that my sweet botty is in for some special attention today.

Finishing his tea, Sir stood up and walked about the room. He ran his finger along the top of a mirror.“Dust!” he exclaimed. Then turning to the glass side table, he took one look and again said “Dust!”  I could tell Sir was not too pleased, and was not surprised when he sat down and pulled me over his lap. “Not good enough is it?” he asked. 
“No, Sir, but it would have been better if I had known” I replied, trying to mitigate my situation. But without further comment, he folded my skirt back, revealing my panties. Feeling the firm grip of his left hand on my waist, there was only a moments delay before his broad strong hand came down on my bottom. Again and again his hand found a different spot, until the whole of my bottom was feeling the rising warmth. Each slap left a stinging sensation, and sent my brain flashes of discomfort and excitement. When Sir was satisfied with the spanking, I was allowed to stand up and pull my skirt down over my bum which felt delightfully glowing.

Sir now strode into the bedroom, and was no sooner in the door than wiping dust off the top of the radiator, and then the windowsill. With an expression of irritation, Sir said “Right, over my knee again.” Obediently I bent over his knees, and with a firm pull my skirt was again raised. This time his hand was much harder and I was soon reacting to the stinging slaps. Sir held me firm, despite my squirming, and reminding me of his dissatisfaction, delivered a hard spanking. When at last it stopped, my poor botty was hot, and my mind in a buzz. I thought it seemed a lot of fuss for just some dust, but, dear reader, if only I had known what was to follow. 

Sweeping a further look around the room, Sir said impatiently “Just look at these mirrors, all of them have finger marks.” Then passing into the sitting he said “With all the time you spend looking at yourself in mirrors, I would have thought you might have kept them cleaner” I did my best to put on a plaintive expression. Sir pulled a chair into the middle of the room, telling me to stand behind it. “Bend over the back of the chair, hands on the seat.” Saying this he took a paddle from his bag, the surface of the brown leather detailed with a relief design, and prominent stitching around the edge. Then he said, “Clearly a spanking is insufficient to improve the standards of house keeping here. We’ll see if the feel of leather on your bare behind can make an impression!” Without further comment he folded up my dress and gripping the sides of my panties, pulled them down. Immediately I felt the cool air around my bottom, still hot from the spanking, and, dear reader, with some surprising pleasure prepared myself for the feel of hard leather on soft flesh. Each burning stroke made me squeal, and I wriggled as much as the rigid chair back would allow. This distinctive feel of leather on my bare rear has always created conflicting sensations, and I found myself both dreading and longing for each painful sensation. Satisfied with the effect of the paddle, and hardly allowing recovery of my composure, Sir led me into the bathroom. 

There was just the faintest of rings around the bath, witness to the leisurely bath I had taken in preparation for Sir’s visit. But to him, this was a serious misdemeanour. He cast his eyes over the surface and said with authority “Not good enough is it?”
“No, Sir, but I had a bath before you came, and didn’t have time to clean it.” I replied.
“Just the same, it is dirty. Today’s inspection has been a disgrace, hasn’t it?” I could not argue he was right. 
Briefly, leaving the bathroom, Sir soon returned with a heavy, black leather strap. Well, I can tell you, the combination of Sir’s demeanour and the impending engagement of my tail with that leather strap, put my mind in a real tizwaz. Then with a touch of his hand on my shoulder he issued the instruction “Bend over the bath.” Obediently I bent over, stretched my arms and gripped the side of the bath. Rapidly my skirt was pulled up, and as expected my panties swiftly pulled down to my knees. 

Just as Sir led me from the bathroom, he stopped and stared at the tiles beside the bath. Wiping the tiles, his hand came away black. He looked at me in astonishment. “This black is soot from a candle. You have been burning candles on the edge of the bath.” He hissed. “You know it is absolutely forbidden to have candles in this apartment, don’t you?”
I replied, with as much remorse in my voice as I could muster “Yes Sir, it was just one candle, I didn’t think you would notice.” 
“Go and stand in the sitting room.” He said. “Whether I notice or not, you know candles give off smoke and are forbidden. You have been completely disobedient, and I intend to punish you thoroughly for it.” 

I obeyed, returning to the sitting room, and stood with my hands together looking at the floor. In that moment I thought back to how, only a couple of hours before, I ran a bath, lit a candle scented with essential oils, and set it on the bath edge. In the dim light, the walls of the bathroom seemed somehow remote and faintly reflected the shimmer of the candlelight, I luxuriated in the atmosphere of the exotic scents and smoothed and massaged the warm lather over my body. Suddenly, I realised a long time had passed, and I needed to get ready for Sir’s arrival. Climbing out of the bath, I quickly wrapped myself in warm towels. Remembering that the candles were a forbidden pleasure I removed them and opened the window to let the scent dissipate. But, in the hurry, I forgot that the candles would leave deposits on the tiles. Now that forbidden pleasure had unexpectedly caught up with me, and I became anxious of the inevitable punishment.   

Sir came into the room and said firmly “Stand by that wall, and take off all your clothes.” As instructed, I began to remove my clothes. Reaching back and pulling down the zip, I slipped the black uniform dress from my shoulders, and let it slide down my body. Easing the dress over my hips, I stepped out of it, and folded it carefully. I then took off my high heels, and sat on the chair. Lifting one leg I slid my thumbs under the elastic at the top of the stocking, and pushed the silky fabric down over my thighs, around the knee, and over my calf. Pointing my toes, I smoothly eased the stocking off. I did the same to the other stocking, and folding them together, placed them on top of the dress. I slipped on my heels again, and immediately felt the sensuousness of the soft leather against my feet, and allowed myself a brief moment to enjoy the sensation. 

Releasing the catch of my bra, and easing the lacy straps from my shoulders, I gathered the soft black silk garment in my hands, putting it with the other clothes. Believe me, dear reader, very conscious of yours truly being in enough trouble, I knew that an untidy pile of clothes would only make things worse.  Finally, slipping my fingers into the waist band of my panties, I pulled the black silk down and felt the gentle release of the fabric from the cheeks of my bottom. Then, sliding down my thighs, the panties fell in a cascade of softness around my ankles. I stepped out of the panties and picking them up, felt the silk still warm from my body. Stooping, I put them with the other clothes, and then stood straight upright facing the wall, confident in the toned curves of my naked body. I mused on the, not altogether unpleasant, sensations in submitting to a punishment on the bare bottom. Even now, standing naked, the complete exposure, the feeling of vulnerability and humiliation, added to these sensations. Partly it was the pain and pleasure I felt from the burning soreness left by the strap and paddle. But, for now, knowing that candle would cost me dear, I sighed and shivered nervously.

Away with my thoughts, I started at the sound of Sir’s voice. “Now stand behind the chair.” Despite, or because of, my nakedness I sashayed like a catwalk model across to the upright chair and stood behind it. I remained as statuesque as my nerves would allow, looking straight ahead, my chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Standing close to me, and speaking softly, Sir said “You have been punished before for using candles in the apartment, haven’t you?” 
He was right, of course, So confirmed that I had been punished twice before, knowing he would remember only too well. I offered the further information that the first time with a gym shoe, the second with the Fleck riding crop. Oh, I recalled that second time all right.  Sir found the burnt candles, and confronted me with the evidence. Moments after, I was touching my toes, and Sir was using the heavy blade of the Fleck riding crop to lay a number of impressive stripes across my bare bum. Now I began to speculate nervously. Would it be the Fleck again, or more of the strap that Sir had used to such real effect only a few moments earlier. 

Pain and Pleasure!

Quietly, Sir continued ‘Young lady, it is clear that the previous punishments were ineffectual in suppressing your urge to light candles in this apartment. Despite my earlier efforts to discipline you for it, you just continue to ignore the rules about candles. However, I am hopeful that some progress can be made in improving your compliance with the rules. This is to be achieved by the simple expedient of giving you a sound caning.” 

I had to admit that he had a way with words, but Dear reader, as you know the mere mention of the word ‘cane’ is enough to get me going. I could feel goosebumps rise on my calves, and then spread over the whole surface of bare skin.  Although keeping my statue like composure, my breathing increased markedly.  He stepped forward placing the cane on the seat of the chair. Instinctively I looked down, and immediately swallowed hard. This was not just any cane. From its brass bound leather handle, to the end of the thick polished shaft, this was a yard long piece of workmanship designed to deliver a lesson in intense discipline. It rejoiced under the euphemistic title of ‘Senior Cane’. Oh deary me, now my legs began to tremble, and somewhere inside my stomach a squadron of butterflies took flight. Senior it may be called, but for sure it is the granddaddy of the species.  

“Have you had the senior cane before?” Sir asked.
“Yes Sir, a long time ago.” I replied, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice, as I recalled the previous occasion that yours truly had experienced the impressive effect worked by one of these beauties across my girlish tail. Truly the perfect curative for disobedient girls!
“Good" said Sir, "Then you know that this polished shaft is not just for appearance, but to sharpen the effect. And in just a few moments the impact of that polished shaft on those soft bare cheeks of yours is going to serve as a timely reminder of just how intense that effect is.” Sensing the moment, Sir picked up the cane and said “Right young lady, bend over the chair.” 

Determined to maintain as much hauteur as could still be mustered, I arched my back, and squaring my shoulders, stood with legs straight and heels together. Then, resting my tummy against the back of the chair, gracefully bent over, placing my hands on the seat as before. I wanted my body to look it's best, for what I rightly anticipated as a first class punishment.
“No” Said Sir, “I want you right down, with your arms on the seat.” 
I obeyed, now feeling a real tightening in my legs and bum. Sir ran a hand over my bottom, now stretched smooth and taught. He commented with satisfaction. “Ah that’s better, this nicely taught bottom will make sure you feel the full effect of a good caning , But will it have the desired effect of giving you a sharp lesson in obedience?”
My mouth was dry, and I struggled to find my voice. “Yes, Sir.” I croaked, knowing only too well the ‘full effect’ was to be an exquisitely painful experience and the ‘sharp lesson in obedience’ a profound certainty. 

A sharp lesson in obedience

Seconds later, I felt the cane slowly sliding up and down the curve of my rear, then some light taps as Sir adjusted position. There I was, your favourite girl, naked, from my long chestnut locks to shapely ankles, all gym-honed curves on full display, a fine figure of womanhood, positioned across the chair. For all appearances a delightfully erotic artistic pose, except that through my incorrigible disobedience, I was not posed for an artistic rendering, but instead for a intense study in penitence. 

In Sir’s talented hands, the senior cane swiftly and efficiently achieved its designed purpose of extracting contrition from someone of even my inveterate naughtiness. The red lines evenly inscribed in the soft flesh of both cheeks were evidence that each successive stroke had been skilfully delivered to a fresh portion of your sweet darling’s poor botty, and thence insistently demanded improvement in my behaviour. Needless to say, Sir was gratified that all this was accompanied by satisfying sounds of my distress. Long after my punishment was ended, my incredibly sore bottom, bore a testimony to my transformation. I resolved to never again have a candle in the apartment.

The tour of inspection and my punishments over, Sir departed. Sir has been twice more and I have been truly fortunate that nothing has deserved the cane. Well have I lit any more candles? I hear you ask.  No I haven’t …. so far.

But dear reader, as you will know, it is usually while soaking in the bath, that wayward thoughts creep to my mind. The twin sensations of pain and pleasure, agony and ecstasy, are like two mischievous imps playing with my thoughts. “Go on you can light a candle…..No, No, Never, Never…..Well perhaps …….but not yet”.
Sir comes again in a few days, and as you may expect, this morning I bought ……..a candle!  

Would you like to be Sir? On a visit to my apartment you can spank me as your maid, or give your secretary a taste of the strap, or even as a naughty schoolgirl make me bend over, have my regulation knickers pulled down, and be given a proper caning. 
To find out more just visit my website at    

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Consequences .............

The consequences of a strict afternoon .......

Soaking in the bath on the Sunday morning, I was still feeling the consequences of a strict encounter from the previous afternoon. Oh, it felt delicious to stroke the bubbly lather over my tender cheeks. It had been nearly two weeks since having a session, and I was definitely in need of it! 

MarQe is the esteemed host of the MarQe's Study blog ( ) to which I am a guest contributor. I was delighted to be asked to join a site which recently recently exceeded a staggering total of 1.5 million visitors. MarQe originally visited me a while ago and following our renewed acquaintance promised a new visit to deal with yours truly. Like most of the gentlemen, who visit me, he is a really nice guy, but on matters of discipline he is most strict. His emails included a detailed description of the discipline that was to come, and from memory I knew exactly what to expect. Given my naughty streak, I always worked a tease into the responses, which stimulated MarQe's resolve for making your favourite girl more respectful! Visitors to his site could share his intentions as the time for our meeting approached.

On the day, I was scheduled to collect him, but, as often happens was a bit late getting there. I drove my little car like Jenson Button, because knowing MarQe is a strict disciplinarian, my lateness would certainly be taken into account!

When we got to the apartment, I served refreshments, allowing MarQe to settle after the journey. We had a relaxed chat about things in general, and the spanking scene in particular. When the moment was right, it was time to go and change into MarQe's choice of clothing, which this time was school uniform, of white blouse, blue skirt, and of course white socks and knickers. When I re-appeared he had, as expected, transformed into disciplinarian mode. As you know I never take things seriously, and had the inevitable giggle, so found myself summoned to stand in front of him.

Obeying MarQe's instruction, I bent down and touched my toes. Gripping the waistband of my white knickers, he swiftly pulled them down over my bottom. Dear reader, when I tell you that he then picked up a cane, you will understand that I became double-extra OMG nervous! Here I am, with no warm up, touching my toes, while this strict disciplinarian has one of John Allen's finest canes, resting across the sweet cheeks of my derriere! Much to my relief, if only temporary, MarQe was just setting the atmosphere for the afternoon's proceedings. But, you know me, just the mention of a cane, is enough to get the butterflies doing aerobatics in my tummy.

In the true style of a gentleman, and knowing I can take a good long punishment if warmed up, MarQe bent me over his knee, commencing with softer smacks and progressing to firm spanks over several minutes. MarQe's preference is for discipline to be given on the bare, so my white school knickers were soon removed. Once warmed up, it was time to experience his reputation for sound spanking, and he soon had me squirming each time his firm hand found one of my cheeks. He paused regularly to give me a rub, and I have to tell you guys, that's the best way to ensure a gal can just keep on going. After this thorough spanking, MarQe instructed me to stand up, and after a reprimand for not saying 'Thank you, Sir'  inspected my bottom, which now had a lovely warm glow.

Wheelbarrow Position  (image Red Charts)

But, things had barely started, and at his instruction took up the wheelbarrow position for the next phase of my punishment. There was a tingle of anxiety at what for me, was a completely new spanking position, and being held firmly I anticipated the imminent meeting of my bare bum and MarQe's legendary hard hand. You have to hand it to the guy, he certainly made sure my entire backside received the attention it deserved. Though he paused, and rubbed my bottom regularly, there was no escaping the stinging sensation as each stroke found its target. MarQe said, with undoubted satisfaction, that my wriggles and involuntary noises, revealed of the effectiveness of the punishment, and I could certainly feel my poor botty getting quite hot.

Once again I was made to stand up, and this time MarQe was gratified to note that my bottom was displaying an appropriate testimony to his handiwork. Now, I was told to kneel on the divan so that MarQe could further encourage my contrition by the application of a hard leather strap to my tail end, and very effective it was too. so much so that I was soon squirming  away from the impact, and earned a stern instruction to keep my bottom up, with a few hard smacks to reinforce the point. Being my usual scatterbrain I kept forgetting to call him 'Sir', so the chance of additional punishment was getting closer by the minute.

"Hold your bottom up!"

Well a man has to do, what a man has to do, which in this case meant the long anticipated conjunction of my bottom and that cane! As demonstrated at the start of the session, only 30 minutes before, I was about to have a renewed acquaintance with of one of John Allen's beautifully made canes. It's a smooth thick cane with a comfortable leather handle topped with a brass cap. Now, like you dear reader, MarQe knows about me and canes, and to further the process of my atonement, he piled on the tension to perfection. MarQe made me wait as this final stage of my punishment was described in detail. As he flexed and swished the cane my knees quivered, and the butterflies in my tummy got airborne in formation. At last, I was told to get into position, part of me longing for it to be over, and part thrilling in anticipation. MarQe pulled the punishment stool into position, and I was bent right over it, legs straight, tummy resting on the top, gripping the stool legs on the far side. Even when just stroked with the cane, I could not help taking a sharp breath, and feeling myself rise on tiptoe. 

Using an innate understanding of my limits, combined with commendable accuracy, MarQe ensured that each stroke made its impression across the cheeks of my bare bottom. Odds Bodekins!! The effect of the cane on the derriere of your favourite girl was just electrifying, every stroke making me gasp and squeal, but again I was sternly warned to keep in position, or get extra strokes. I could feel the perspiration on my hands as they constantly changed grip on the legs of the punishment stool. MarQe paused every few strokes to give a much welcome and relieving rub. He said naughty girls like me needed to be disciplined (Got to admit, he's right there) I was reminded (as if I needed it) of the teasing remarks made in my emails. At halfway, MarQe paused and let the cane rub over my, now very sore, backside, and prepared to apply the remaining strokes. I made a promise to myself to be more respectful to him, and even plaintively said that I would be a good girlie (well it was worth a try) but he just smiled in reply. So with all the mixed emotions of anticipation I just awaited my fate. MarQe obliged, and again the thick stem of rattan left its neat red signatures across my backside. At last it was over!  I composed myself, as the conflicting feelings of discomfort and elation fought inside me. MarQe, gentleman that he is, fetched a bottle of some nice oil I have, and spent a long time massaging it into my truly sore botty. The feeling was divine.

"Mixed emotions of anticipation"

So there I was on Sunday morning, soaking in my bath, soothing the consequences of the day before. An email from MarQe contained some very sweet remarks and speculated that if my future conduct was not more respectful the consequence would be additional punishment next time we met. I stepped out of the bath, towelled myself dry, and applied some moisturiser, paying special attention to my sore cheeks. Wrapped in a robe I went to my computer, and keyed a response to MarQe's email. Needing no reminders of the previous day I composed an oh-so polite reply. But just as I was about to punch the 'send' button, paused. Should I include a cheeky tease in the reply? To do so could mean consequences. It would be quite a while before I would see MarQe again, and my naughty side just couldn't resist adding a cheeky ending. Oh, consequences!  

If you have the desire to discipline a very naughty girl, then give me a call on 07515 007 720 or visit my website at

Friday, October 15, 2010

My first caning

My web site tells of the first experience of getting the cane from our games teacher at school.  Many of you, dear readers, have asked to know more about it. As the experience is so vivid in my memory, it's no effort to recall the details. At school, games was one of my favourite activities, and I was never happier than when playing in matches. The games teacher was in her thirties, married, had children, and took games part time. She was no battle-axe, so punishments did not figure large in her repertoire of teaching skills, but she was pretty tight on discipline, so us boisterous girls were bound to get into trouble sooner or later.

Her 'weapon of choice' was a rubber soled gym shoe, the 'AK47' of private school discipline. Punishments were delivered after matches while we were having our showers. If a girl deliberately fouled another player, was caught cheating during a game, or some other unsporting offence, the teacher would call out the name of the guilty party. Said named and shamed girl would, still dripping wet, go to the end of the shower room and bend down and touch her toes.

Now as you might expect, during her school years, your favourite girl had experienced many an intimate acquaintance between the sole of a gym shoe and the cheeks of her botty. Dormitory patrol, after lights out, by the duty screw (or teacher as they preferred to be known) would often yield of crop of miscreants, eating sweets, reading forbidden magazines, sending texts to friends, or even consuming contraband alcohol. Offenders would be made to bend over for a dose of the gym shoe over their pyjamas. But somehow, I always managed to avoid looking remorseful, and with a bit of cheek or a smirk on my face, managed to motivate the teacher to amplify my share of the punishment. The feel of my pj's being pulled down and baring my bottom was a great thrill, as it still is! Then accompanied by a chorus of gasps from the rest of the dorm', there followed the distinctive sound of the gym shoe being applied to my soft girlish derriere.

A gym shoe certainly stings, but when applied, after games, to a bottom still wet from a shower, the experience reaches a whole new spectrum, in short, it bloody well hurts!

It was once said that the conflicts of the world were fought on the playing fields of Eton. Whoever wrote that had not seen, normally well behaved girls, play with unbridled aggression in netball or hockey! It was rumoured that the girls' school hockey finals at Wembley, had rougher play than any football Premier League grudge match. But our school was different. Enduring the experience of contact between hard rubber and wet botty, while touching your toes, works wonders for ensuring good conduct on the playing field! If this was not a sufficient deterrent to errant ways, it was nothing compared to the consequences that befell anyone misbehaving in a match with a visiting team from another school. The games teacher was determined to maintain the reputation of the school, and so ensured this by increasing the level of punishment for any serious misdemeanours. This meant only one thing, the cane. It may have only happened a few times a year but was most effective for all that.

Caning was never done in the showers. The condemned damsel would shower and dry off, and dressed just in her towel would report to the games office. This 'office' was really just a changing room for the games staff, with its own showers. But it had a table and chairs, so maybe that's why it got called the office. Most of the girls had never seen a caning, except those who had suffered one! Oh, for those brave enough to hang about in the corridor near the office, a caning could be heard, and that was bad enough. The swish of the cane through the air, followed by the snap of rattan against sweet young cheeks, especially if followed by a wail from the recipient, sent a chill down the spine of the audience. Any girl returning to the changing room with six red stripes across her bum, guaranteed the rest of us played fair for the rest of the term!

My turn came on the day of a tournament against visiting schools. A number of matches were held, and tensions were running high with each school bent on victory. It was in the second half of a match in which we were leading. In response to a pass, I jumped to catch the ball, but feeling a stab of pain in my side, dropped it. A girl in the other team who was marking me, had just delivered a punch to my kidneys. I whirled round and gave her an elbow in the ribs, shouting 'f**k you' as I did so. The whistle went, play stopped, and the referee came over. The inevitable happened and we were both sent off.

Equally inevitable were the consequences. I was to report to the office. With a lump in my throat the size of a cooking apple, I showered and dried off. The showers were very quiet that afternoon, with me getting concerned looks from the other girls. Of course, dear reader, yours truly had acquired a reputation for taking punishments in my stride, but I was about to enter a new league. Wrapped only in my towel I padded down the corridor to the office. Going in I was surprised to see the games teacher was not alone. The games teacher from the other school was there, and so was the girl who punched me, like me dressed only in a towel. My look of confusion was answered instantly by our games teacher. Apparently the other teacher had seen what happened, and had asked that her girl receive the same punishment. Well, it was fair of the other teacher, but not surprisingly my mind was focused on the instrument now being flexed in the hands of our games teacher. My legs started to quiver, as they still do when I see a cane about to be used on my rear end.

The teacher told me to remove the towel and bend over with my hands on the seat of a chair in the middle of the room. The lump in my throat had gone, to be replaced by very large butterflies zooming around in my stomach. I was grateful for being able to be dealt with first, so the other girl had to watch my punishment, before getting her own. I removed the towel and went straight to the chair and bent over. As my hands gripped the side of the seat, I felt very anxious, but ready to take my punishment. Six strokes followed, with little delay between. All I knew was the pain started with the first stroke and got worse with each that followed. When it was over, I stood and rubbed my botty for all I was worth. The other girl's face was completely white, and I was glad that mine was first. As I watched she got the same six strokes, and though the teacher was not caning hard, on our soft girly cheeks it still hurt like billy-oh. Being dismissed, I left the office to see a crowd of girls in the corridor, still spellbound at the sound of the two punishments. On returning to the changing room, there followed an inspection of my stripes with intense comments of admiration from the other girls

Within a few days the red marks faded, but by that time most of the senior school had viewed them in awe. Yes, dear reader, I was one of only a dozen or so girls in the school who had been caned, but also was already starting to wonder how long it would be before I could take another dose of the rattan devil! It was four more times in all before I left. Oh, there were other punishments, with the gym shoes, and leather straps, of course, each delivering its sublime dose of pleasure.

Spanking has been part of my life ever since, but I strictly ration myself, because I want each punishment to be completely real. After all, a punishment that isn't a punishment, isn't a punishment!

If you feel that this girl deserves some more discipline and you would like to apply it yourself, then just give me a call on 07515 007 720 or email My website is at

Friday, May 21, 2010

Hawaii, or sailing into trouble! Part 1

'Hawaii' said the booker at my agency, 'Nice!' I replied. 'It's yachts she said, 'Ooo, even nicer!' I replied. That's how yours truly was sent almost halfway around the World to the wonderful islands that make up Hawaii. Now I don't know much about boats, but these yachts, were just delicious. Me, I could never afford one, and only know a few who could, but it was nice to get close to something luxurious, even though Mr Abromovich would regard them as a dinghy! Now, I did soon learn something about the marketing of yachts. If you go into WHSmiths and browse the sailing magazines, its pretty common to find pictures of boats being sailed by Richard Geere look-alikes, with a pair of 15 year olds in white bikinis sunning themselves on the front (or is that prow?). Take a look next time. However the more upmarket yachts try for a more subtle approach, as clients wives get to see the brochures, well I say brochure, its more of a very expensively produced coffee table book. These wives can get a bit turned off by teenage eye candy, younger than their own daughters! So makers of this class of product skip the jail-bait sexual imagery, the craft themselves are sexy enough! But even luxury yachts need some human interest, in the guise of us models in matching exclusive sailing fashions. All very Cape Cod

Despite a stopover in Seattle, we girls and the creative crew arrived pretty knackered. As I have written before, we might get to some cracking locations, but its not a holiday. We often get straight into the job, the first morning spent with the make up girls trying to hide the bags under our eyes! And its a challenge for the photographers trying to get us to hold a pose when we are yawning so wide the shot looks like a dentistry manual. The owner of the yacht building company clearly had ancestral roots as a native Hawaiian. But the usual sunny outlook of the Hawaiian people was replaced with the pleasant if taciturn expression of a successful businessman. When he smiled it was genuine, but most of the time gave little of his thoughts away. He rejoiced under the name of George, and clearly was not someone to play poker with. He was no fool, and when he saw our jetlagged band, immediately suggested a little R&R. He arranged for three of his boats to take us out for a trip on the first day. The sky was beautiful, but the sea was quite rough, and a few of our band fell victim to 'mal de mer'. One of the photographers decided to try some action shots, and arranged for my friend Pippa to hold the wheel, legs braced apart, hair streaming in the wind, holding a gaze to the far horizon. The truth was her enigmatic, detached, and faraway expression was simply Pippa's desperation to hang on to the contents of her stomach. The shot looked brilliant and made it to the brochure. Pippa says every time she sees that picture, she feels sick all over again!

In fact the action shots that day looked about the best we took. The creative director, Clive, got very precious because we had not had make up and hair done. With a 'gale' blowing, and stacks of spray about we had a windswept freshness about us. And let's face it, seawater spray and make up do not go together. By the way, another trade secret of the yacht marketing trade: Most 'action' shots are shot in a studio, and the sea added afterwards! The shoot was spread over several days, during which we girls got to wear some stunning clothes. George was ever present, and showed a shrewd understanding of our art, making a number of super suggestions for set-ups. He succeeded in making us look as though we really did know how to sail.

Now, when it comes to modelling clothing, it's necessary to have particular attention to undies. Take a look at women anywhere in fine weather. Nearly always there is an outline of bras and pants, can't be helped with thin fabrics. Even the waistband of a thong might show under a clinging fabric. We models have a secret way to prevent our undies showing, we don't wear any! You must have seen documentaries on the fashion industry, with behind the scenes shots at fashion shows, and photo shoots. The girls are all in the buff, slipping from one garment to the next. That's how former model, now first lady of France, Carla Bruni wears those figure hugging linen shift styles made for her by Chanel. The fabric drapes over the contours of her shoulder blades, and down over the georgeous curves of her bottom. There's is only one way she achieves that perfect look, wear nothing underneath except a slim thong. Notice how she always stands with her shoulders back, it helps to keep her boobs nice and pert.

But I digress. We used the cabins as changing areas, avoiding going on deck in the niddy nuddy. Our photocrews were used to us being unclad, but in consideration of the sailing crew and a desire not to attract half the male population of Hawaii, we needed to be covered when on deck. George kindly provided us all with waterproof sailing gear which was a very practical idea. Actually, George said his sailing crews had seen it all. New customers often went on trial cruises on one of George's boats before buying one. He said it was quite common for the wife or daughters of prospective customers to sunbathe on deck. On one memorable occasion, the very haughty wife of the millionaire prospect was a statuesque blond, straight out of the pages of Vogue. Once they were at sea she waltzed up on deck, dressed only in a bikini bottom, which she peeled off and then lay down in full view of all!. Unfazed, her hubby just carried on listening to George describing the finer points of handling the boat!
On one afternoon, between changes, I was wearing one of the thigh length sailing coats over my birthday suit. While I made my way down the swaying deck, a sudden lurch caused a loss of balance. I reached up and grabbed one of the stays holding the mast. In those few seconds one of the photographers caught the moment. When processed that shot showed me reaching up to grab the stay, with my bottom displayed in all its glory! They framed that picture and gave it to George! Cool as ever, he accepted it politely, and had it hung in what was called the 'Club Room', a cross between a showroom and a very exclusive sailing club bar for entertaining prospective customers.
On the last evening, the final set piece shoot was to be a 'dockside party' scene, with the sun setting over the water. We were togged up in our party gear, looking very Southampton. (Not Hampshire UK, Long Island NY). Wardrobe had decked me out in a classy outfit including a pair of Jimmy Choo high heels, which I was warned to return undamaged. Knowing that the photo shoot 'party' was likely to become a real last-night bun-fight, I took the precaution of taking a 'cardie' and a pair of lovely, soft leather, flat soled pumps that I bought locally for a fraction of what they would have cost at home. Strolling down the dockside, I remembered having left my camera on the boat that we had been using that afternoon. I nipped up the gangplank and crossed the deck towards the cabin. There was this very loud and angry shout from behind me. I turned and saw George, absolutely puce with rage, shouting for me to stand still. Given that this man had always been Mr Cool, I froze immediately. He followed my path looking at the deck as he went. By the time he got to me he was boiling. Then he let me have it with 'both barrels'. I had just broken one of the dockyards cardinal rules, never, ever, to walk on the teak decks with hard soled shoes, or in my case high heels. There were signs everywhere, even on the gangplank. I looked down and could see what he meant. Sure enough right across the deck were neat little dents from my heels. (Houston, we have a problem!).

I had sinned, big time! Rather too late, of course, I stepped out of my shoes. George, was livid, because, he said, the cost of repairing the marks was humungous! Also he had a customer for the boat which was soon to be delivered, and could not sell the boat like this. Oh dog do do!  I told him the agency was insured and that all costs would be covered. That didn't help much. George sternly announced that he was going to speak to the location director. (Oh not good news at all, my dears!). As he crossed to the gangplank, leaving me quaking, George called over his shoulder, "I hope he gives you a tanning". Well dear reader, I took this to mean that he was less concerned that my arms and legs acquired a sensuous shade of brown, than my backside acquiring a bright shade of red!  Now, you know that your favourite girl never misses an opportunity to use her derriere to get out of a spot of bother. This was an awfully big lot of bother. So as he got to the gangplank, I called after him "George, you should be the one doing the tanning". He stopped, turned, and still glaring furiously, came back towards me. Before he said anything, I repeated what I had called out. No reaction, but through clenched teeth he hissed "Are you jerking me around?". I realised he thought that it was a tease. Saying nothing, I reached into my bag and took out one of the pair of pumps. Holding it around the heel section, I slapped the palm of the other hand with the leather sole. No reaction. I turned slightly and made to spank my rump with the sole of the shoe. George raised an eyebrow. (Houston, we have lift off!).

From that moment George took control and led me down into the cabin. He sat on one of the side bench seats and I obediently lay over his knee. As he took a hold across my back, I could feel the excitement of the coming spanking, mixed with the nervous anticipation of submitting to a real punishment. His hand felt very hard and had me squirming, letting out gasps and an involuntary 'Ow!'. I can tell you one thing, I was grateful to be still wearing my skirt and undies! When George finally stopped, I barely had a chance to give myself a rub before he asked for one of the pumps from my bag. Still smarting from the effect of his hand, I passed him the shoe, whereupon he pointed to the chart table and told me to bend over it. Well, this was one of those times that yours truly did exactly as she was told, with no argument.

Now to my complete astonishment, he lifted my skirt, folding it over my back. I was wearing satin french knickers, and in a second he pulled them down, and they fluttered sensuously against my legs to settle in a silken heap at my ankles. Dear reader, you will know that this situation is very special to me. The moment when my botty is completely bare, and about to experience the effect of some real discipline, a buzz goes through me. Again, there was the added anxiety of this being a strict punishment, of which my bottom was already only too aware! Shortly the cabin resounded to the sound of leather being applied to naked flesh, with my audible response to the stinging of each one. Eventually George was satisfied that my punishment was over, and I was permitted to straighten up. When I turned he appeared to have regained his usual composure, and slipping on his jacket, turned to leave, saying he hoped to see me at the party. My precious derriere was very tender indeed, and I was even careful pulling up my silk knickers. I restored my make up and headed back to join the others at the after-shoot party. Dear reader, you will not be surprised to hear that I now remembered to carry my high heeled shoes across the deck!

When I arrived at the party, I was greeted by George, as urbane and charming as ever, just as if we had met for the first time that evening. Sarah asked if I had been running, as my face looked flushed. I replied that it was not half as flushed as my backside. (You will know from my earlier blogs that Sarah is a fellow spankee). She flashed a broad grin, and asked who, where, and why. I replied, George, the boat cabin, and walking on deck in high heels. "Oh, Henry! That's mega naughty" she said, now looking concerned, "What was it like?". "Very effective" I replied,"I have learned my lesson on that one!" Sarah grinning again, pointed down. "is that why you are still carrying your high heels?" She was right, they were still in my hand, then suddenly, we both burst out laughing!  The next day everything was packed up and the rest of the girls and location crew headed for the airport. As is often the case, I had done a deal with the hotel to stay on a few days, just so I could see more of the place. I heard a friend was doing a shoot over at Pearl Harbor, and after calling her, decided to head over there.        

Sunday, May 16, 2010

My new web page

Well, I have finally done it! My own website with the domain name; Just click on the link to go straight there. There are lots of pictures of me in various outfits, uniforms, and even in my birthday suit! This blog is linked from there as well. It's only been up a few days and I've had lots of calls and emails. A caller commented that I really appeared to deserve a good spanking. How right he is, this girl deserves every stroke she gets!
My contact details remain the same, mobile 07515 007 720, and email .

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Corporate Punishment

Here are 2 questions, I get asked.
Q: Do I have spanking experiences on all my photo shoots/modelling trips?
A: No, on most shoots and modelling trips I don’t get that lucky. Normally, its unsocial hours at airports, dawn wake-ups and long days. But, I get to visit some very lovely places, and meet really pleasant people. I always try to take some time off, if somewhere nice, even stay over a day or so at my own expense. You can miss so much of the world if it’s a round of airports, hotels, and locations only. You get home without any memories of the place.

I remember a shoot on an island in the Indian Ocean. It was paradise. At the same time there was another party of models at the hotel, including our very own Kate Moss. I know the woman has done it all before, but she arrived in a limo’ and disappeared into her room, only to emerge each dawn to go to the shoot. When she returned it was back to the room, where she stayed. Her balcony doors remained firmly shut. On the last day, it was straight back from the shoot, and limo’ to the airport. Ok, she had a luxury suite, and flew first class, but she might have been in Belfast for all she saw of the place. There weren’t even many of the press about, so that wasn’t the problem. No wonder she has such bad skin! (All right! miaow, miaow!). Anyway, if I get any spanking action while modelling, you get to hear about it!

Q: Do I get spanked on other occasions.
A: Well actually yes, apart from gentlemen who visit me, there are other occasions when I unexpectedly find myself over a knee, panties round my ankles, being given some sound discipline. It was because of this question, I thought that you might like to hear about one such occasion, resulting in my bottom getting some well deserved attention. So read on about my Corporate Punishment.

Geoff is the PR manager for a company that sells office equipment. His company have an annual event where the sales force receive awards for achieving targets. It takes place at a hotel in London, on a Friday night, with the awards being presented after a dinner. Geoff asked if I would help by presenting the awards. It all seemed a bit of a lark, and the fee was attractive, so I was up for it.

The evening arrived, and I turned up in a designer dress (borrowed, of course, models and actresses never actually buy these clothes!). The event started with drinks before dinner, and there was quite an atmosphere of expectancy. What was so special? Who could get exited about an award of a ‘Weekend for Two in Wigan’.

Now, as you all know, I am a very liberal minded girl. If a gentleman makes nice comments about my clothes, or my figure, or even discreetly pats my bottom, I take it as a compliment. Even a mildly saucy comment whispered in my ear, may well get a smile and wink in return. But there was this one guy, who apart from disguising his bad breath with substantial quantities of Stella Artois, was totally lacking of anything like gentlemanly conduct. A handful of my, and several other ladies’, derrieres in vice-like grip does not count as a discreet pat. Hey, we like guys to notice our cleavages, but pressing his nose in so close did nothing to commend him to us girls. His poor wife did not know what to do.

Once we went in to dinner I was able to escape to the safety of the company chairman’s table. It was his big do, and enjoyed playing the host. He was really very polite and charming, and told some funny stories which no doubt got trotted out every year. His wife was very pleasant, but just a teensy bit old for Spandex ( Ok, Miaow, again, I know that deserves a good spanking for!). The dinner was typical of a London hotel, predictable and bland, but yours truly tucked in anyway. People are always astonished at the amount of food I eat, and yet keep my figure. Its all those hours of running and working out at the gym that does it, boys.

The dinner finished, and the speeches started. It was the usual load of self congratulation and dodgy humour, so we slipped off to organise the prizes. When the last words were spoken everyone subsided into a vaguely alcoholic trance, broken only by guffaws at yet more unfunny exchanges.

The moment for the presentations arrived. We stood on a raised platform, at one end of the room. The evening’s compere, who looked like a younger Brucie, started off the carnival with some smooth words of introduction. The compere introduced each prize, describing its category. As the name of the lucky winner was called, they came forward onto the platform and I gracefully gave them a full, beaming smile, and delivered the coveted award.

When all the prizes were gone, the compere rounded up by thanking everyone bar the office cleaner. Finally he said, “ I know you would like me to thank the lovely Catherine for bringing such grace to the prize giving”. Well, at that moment my outrageous sense of humour got the better of me. So I walked up to the microphone, and with a big smile, started speaking. I don’t remember the exact words, but it was along these lines:-
“ I would like to thank the company for inviting me. However I feel the evening would not be complete without one extra award”. There was silence. “ In a class of his own, no one could beat Charlie Rankin for the ‘Slob of the Year’ award!” There was uproar. A number of people, and most of the wives, stood up and applauded, others just laughed or cheered, there were whistles and cat-calls. The chairman and sales director went purple, the chairman’s wife rocked with laughter, but, more worrying, Geoff looked like a condemned man. Dear reader, it was clearly time for me to make a hasty retreat, so I headed for the cloakroom, and home.

Now, if this was a Victorian novel, following the fall from grace of the heroine, there would be a chapter called ‘The Consequences’. And consequences there were.

The following morning I was not surprised to get a phone call from Geoff. Apparently, after I left there was complete chaos. The chairman, who was beside himself with indignation, very nearly fired Geoff on the spot. But the chairman’s wife, using her long-experienced, and no doubt wily skills, managed to persuade the old boy to note of the way the staff had reacted. He was still annoyed but took the matter to heart. Now I have always been told that the most influential person in any company is the chairman’s wife! How true that is! Geoff went on to say that my prank was highly irresponsible, and nearly cost him dear. Sensing a need to make amends, I suggested he come over that afternoon.

Having just returned to the flat after a run I was still in my Lycra top and shorts. I had allowed enough time for a quick shower before Geoff was due. But he arrived early. I opened the door and he entered, pushing the door shut behind him. I sensed that your favourite girl was about to get her come-uppance! Afraid so! Taking my arm he led me into the flat and with few words I was pulled over his lap. Taking a firm grip of my waist he began spanking me, quite moderately at first, but then over several minutes, building up the force of each impact. Before long I could feel my bottom getting very warm. Any attempt at movement was prevented by his strong grip, and now each time his hand landed, I let out an “Ow!”. I was grateful to still have my running shorts on as they reduced the sting of his hand. When eventually freed, I stood up and gave myself a good rub. My botty was really burning, and I have to confess it was really pleasurable! I felt a bit smug. Well, that’s it then, all forgiven, tea and bickies, and we all go home! But, I was wrong, oh yes indeed. Geoff announced that I deserved a more serious and effective punishment. Now that, I admit, made me quite anxious. Tilting my head on one side, I gave him my very best pleading eyes, but to no avail.

“Right my girl” said Geoff, “You deserve a good caning”

Well, as my readers know, the mere mention of the word ‘cane’ and my anxiety reaches new levels. My stomach gets full of butterflies and my knees quiver. Its always been like this, since the very first time. At Geoff’s instruction I obediently bent over the coffee table, as he went over to the corner where the implements are kept. He returned carrying a thick cane. ( As a matter of interest, this is a cane made by John of Baker St, in London. Its a work of art, as all John’s canes are. Each is expertly crafted, and carefully adjusted for feel and length, to give a near perfect balance, which helps the accuracy.) Geoff placed the cane on the table.

“ A good caning on the bare bottom” said Geoff.

Moving behind me, I felt him grip the waistband of my lycra running shorts. Stretching the waistband, he peeled the clingy fabric over the cheeks of my bottom, and down the thighs, until finally, the shorts fell to my ankles. I was wearing cotton panties, and I felt the material slip away as these too were pulled down my thighs, and joined the shorts at my ankles. (Even in moments like this, dear reader, the ritual of taking down my panties or knickers always gives yours truly a real buzz! )

But, as Geoff had said, this was to be the more serious and effective punishment I deserved.

‘Serious’, too right! When I am getting the cane it is serious, the impact of rattan on the curves of my sweet derriere is a very serious matter!

‘Effective’, on the button there as well. In a very short while, that cane would magic up all manner of regrets and remorse about my behaviour! (Let me tell you, that when in schoolgirl role, and the headmaster is caning me, I experience real regrets about not doing the make-believe homework! Canes effective, oh yes, very effective!)

‘Deserved’, well, not so sure. Ok, ok, guys, so I probably deserved it! And to be honest I’m lucky not to be touching my toes for this one!

No escaping it, I was about to experience the profound effect of one of John’s stout canes, firmly applied to my completely bare, and very exposed, bottom. The butterflies in my tummy were now doing summersaults in formation!

Let me explain something. With other commitments, I don’t get spanked as often as I would wish. Some girls get lots of spanking ‘exercise’, and this helps them build up a high tolerance to the pain of being spanked. When getting a sound spanking, strapping, paddling or caning, I really feel it, and rely on my considerable natural enthusiasm for submitting to the noble art of corporal punishment. It’s a real pleasure for this girl, if a punishment leaves a red and hot bottom. Now, the cane is the ultimate implement, and I find it supremely painful to take. My squeals, ouch’s, and gasps, are all 100% genuine. But when its over, the red stripes, with a feeling of soreness, is just the ticket! On the other hand bruises and weals, just don’t do it for me, at all. I leave that sort of thing to girls who get their ‘exercise’ daily. Gentlemen who visit me say my genuine response to punishment is what makes me different. That doesn’t stop them giving me a very sound spanking though!

To return to my account of Corporate Punishment. Here I am, shorts and panties around my ankles, nervously awaiting my fate. As Geoff adjusts his position, I can feel the light brush of the cane against my bare botty. Any second now that cane will have quite a different feel, so my eyes were glued to his shadow on the floor. He paused, I waited for what seemed ages. Then the shadow changed as his arm drew back. I forced myself to relax just before the first stroke landed, across both cheeks. I let out a gasp, then another, then another. I was mightily relieved that after every 3 strokes, he paused to rub my bottom. (Now, dear reader, here is a tip. If you are punishing a girl, with hand or implement, stop to give a rub regularly. We really appreciate it and can cope with longer punishments).

After twelve accurate strokes, each accompanied by the appropriate sounds of my discomfort, I felt duly chastised. After Geoff left, I could not resist a look at my bottom in the mirror. Clear red stripes and a hot stinging feeling. They were still there after my shower, and I just stood looking at them. As Geoff had said it was a most effective and deserved punishment!

Next would be the chapter in the book, now that your heroine, was duly chastened, called ‘Redemption’.

The following Monday the company chairman sent for Charlie Rankin, who was well and truly carpeted. Then the chairman having regained his sense of humour, playfully suggested to Geoff that I deserved a good spanking! (cheeky!) Geoff joked that perhaps the chairman would like to do it himself! (Now, that is a good idea!) Even the chairman’s wife suggested that I present a ‘Slob of the Year’ award, next year just to keep the lads on their best behaviour. ( I start to warm to this woman, she can wear as much Spandex as she likes!) So all ended well, dear reader, but it probably won’t be long before yours truly is getting into trouble all over again!

To see some pictures of me, just go to my web page by clicking on
There you will find all my contact details

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

When in Rome, do as the English do! Part 2

If you have not read Part 1, Then scroll down a few posts to read it first.

To continue, dear reader.

Sarah and I are standing in Leopoldo's study. We are very still, and silent. We remain looking down, our hands clasped in front. A door on the far side of the room opens. We hear someone entering the room, we know it is Leopoldo, but don't look up, or move, until told to, as that can mean extra punishment.

Sarah and I know Leopoldo well, and have enjoyed his polite and friendly hospitality many times. But once we are in his study, doing a scenario, while he will always remain courteous and polite, the atmosphere is one of strictness. Upon his instruction we move in front of his desk, and are permitted to raise our eyes. Across the desk stands Leopoldo, with a kind but firm look about his face.

Before going on, let me give you the low down on Leopoldo's study. Don't get the idea this is some poky little office in a spare bedroom, this room is just palatial. The floor is marble, of course, with a very thick dark blue carpet in the middle. Leopoldo's desk is a feast of dark wood, with gold inlays, topped with a surface of ornate design including inlays of minerals and ivory. It's not my taste mind, but probably worth a fortune. Around the walls are pictures and mirrors in ornate frames. In places, against the walls, are tables every bit as ornate as the desk, but with marble tops. One of these has been moved to the centre of the room. On this table is an opened bottle of champagne and three glasses. Leopoldo himself is resplendent in the full dress uniform of a cavalry officer in the Italian army. The uniform is pressed, the brown leather riding boots gleaming.

At the word from Leopoldo, Sarah and I turn and go to the marble topped table in the middle of the room. We stand on opposite sides and then bend across the table so that our shoulders almost touch. On the way to the table I heard Leopoldo make two clicking sounds with his tongue. I knew exactly what that meant. When moving across the room I looked briefly in the mirrors I had passed. Now when it comes to mirrors, I just can't resist the temptation to look at myself. It's no good I can't resist. However in these scenarios, looking in the mirrors is just not allowed. Leopoldo had seen me do it, so I would get extra punishment, nothing nasty, but enough to start the butterflies flying around my stomach.

You see, dear reader, I find this sort of thing really exiting. I just love the tension of rules which inevitably I break. The best part of a scenario is paying for being extra naughty. Even in everyday life, I just love the thrill of doing something I shouldn't, particularly if it results in a punishment being firmly applied to my bare bottom. But, as ever, I digress.

Once Sarah and I are in place, heads down, bottoms up, still and quiet, Leopoldo comes over to the table and takes hold of one of our dresses. You see, these uniforms have been cleverly designed. Instead of the back seam of the skirt being sewn as normal, the whole length of the seam from the waist to the bottom hem is fastened with poppers. Leopoldo simply pulls each side of the seam and the skirt parts all the way to the waist, leaving our silk clad derrieres exposed. When he has prepared each of us this way, the fun begins.

The session starts with some hand spanking. Being a true gentleman, Leopoldo starts with fairly gentle smacks to warm us up, before applying firmer strokes, pausing regularly to give some nice rubs. He may be elderly, but after 20 minutes of dealing with each of us in turn, he is just getting into his stride, and our botties are feeling delightfully warm! He carries on, moving between Sarah and I, until finally finishing with some smacks that would not shame a world class athlete!

After the spanking, Sarah and I are permitted a short break. When bidden, I pour some of the champagne into the three glasses, and take one to Leopoldo. Once I made the mistake of putting Leopoldo's glass on his desk. How was a girl to know that his desk was sacred territory? He remained composed, but it was clear that I had committed a great sin. What a hoohah! Trying to be helpful I suggested the mark would soon come off with a bit of Mr Sheen, but to no avail. In the end it amounted to some hours of work by a specialist from the city, and for me touching my toes for one of the sorest bottoms in a long time. I know what you are thinking. If I get a thrill from the consequences of my naughtiness, then surely I would have done it again. Trust me, every rule has an exception, and this one was it.

After the bubbly, it was time for more fun. As we bent over the table, Sarah giggled. The click of Leopoldo's tongue meant he had heard it and she would pay later. But Sarah is a real submissive like me, and usually does something to merit some extra discipline. Sometimes, fuelled with champagne courage, we compete for who gets the most extra!

From his desk Leopoldo produces a masterpiece in leather, which looks like a cross between a paddle and a strap. The workmanship on this implement is superb. Not only is the patterned stitching unique, but the surface is finely tooled. Apparently, Leopoldo acquired this piece while he was at university in Cambridge. After each session it is taken away by one of the staff and carefully oiled. It's an antique, but still has plenty of life in it!

At this point there is always an air of expectancy and the butterflies in my stomach are flying in formation like the Red Arrows. Leopoldo puts down his glass, so we prepare ourselves for what follows. Hopefully by this time the champagne is doing its job. He pauses behind us, and holding the waistband of our silk knickers, pulls them right down. Its nice to feel the air, which seems cooling to our hot and red bottoms. Once again we are dealt with in turns. I like the way he places his hand firmly on my lower back, the entire rhythmic motion of each swing being transmitted to my body, before the delicious stinging impact of every stroke. Leopoldo continues applying the strap with an enthusiasm of a man half his age, pausing to give a gentle rub and moving between Sarah and I every ten strokes. (Remember they're metric the Italians, no six or twelve of the best for them) Now call me old fashioned, but the feel of a skilfully applied leather strap to my bare bottom just pushes all the right buttons for me. With this implement it is impossible to keep still, after each stroke there is some inevitable squirming, but too much and Leopoldo's tongue starts to click!

At last, Leopoldo returns to his desk, and we know the strapping is finished and we can stand up again. But the session is not over, there is the matter of our extra punishment. When Leopoldo first came into the room he was carrying a riding crop, not out of place with his cavalry officers uniform. But this is no ordinary riding crop, it is made to an unusual design by a German company called Fleck. Instead of the usual round tapered shaft with a folded flap of leather at the end, below the handle, the entire shaft is flattened and leather covered over its length.

Picking up the crop Leopoldo returns to face us. From previous experience we know the crop is applied in the classic touching toes position. I usually take first turn. So down I go, touching the toes of my shoes, the muscles of my legs and bottom pulled taught. I feel Leopoldo pull the two halves of the skirt apart, leaving my bare, red, and very hot bottom completely exposed. The butterflies in my stomach are flying in spirals as the adrenalin flows. Usually at this point I wished I had drained the whole bottle of bubbly, or better still ignored those mirrors. Then after what seems an eternity, there is the swishing sound of the crop passing through the air in its descending arc, followed by the heavy leather shaft landing squarely across both cheeks, with a sound not unlike a cane. The pain comes in one flowing wave, and I need to let out a gasp that allows me to keep in position. There is always a pause between strokes. These pauses seem the longest in human history, but hey! this is what I joined for. Today I'm lucky and its only five strokes. I stand up, feeling the high I always get from well applied discipline, and part of me even wishes that I had giggled or looked in mirrors a bit more. I give Leopoldo a genuine kiss of appreciation and stand aside for Sarah to take her turn.

When its all over we run down the corridors back to our rooms, giggling like schoolgirls. Its time for a long bath and and an application of moisturiser to our poor botties. The next morning its back to the grind of changing in draughty summerhouses, trying not to let our dressers see our backsides. And of course lunch is a grabbed, stand up affair for Sarah and I, as sitting with the crew on hard wooden or stone benches just doesn't appeal to us! But there is always a comment about how bubbly we both are, and enquiries about what we had been doing the night before, to be so excitable.

The Villa Patronni may be all luxury, but it does not add to the pleasure of being spanked. I get just as much pleasure in my playroom, over the knee of a gentleman who is pulling down a pair of M&S panties. Leopoldo is very nice, but I live in the real world of today, and enjoy the company of people, who like me, have to work hard for a living.

Now, dear reader, I believe the Fleck is the ultimate punishment implement. The feel of that hard leather covered shaft is just the business It hurts more than a cane, but without the threat of damage. I got one for myself. Its not surprising that gentlemen who visit me have the same opinion. They like its heavy feel and comfortable handle, and really enjoy applying it with verve to my naked rear. Its no secret that my favourite position is be punished lying bottom up, on a huge leather bean bag. Oh the sheer pleasure of it!

If after reading my blog you would like to know more about me then just click on 
Would you like to spank me for yourself? then call me on 07515 007 720 or email me at .

Saturday, April 18, 2009

When in Rome, do as the English do! Part 1

"Rome" said Jan the booker at my agency. "The client has asked for you and Sarah" she added. "Ah, is it the Villa Patronni?" I asked. "Yes" she replied, and we both had a naughty giggle. Now the Villa Patronni is quite a gaff, and is just the perfect location for photo shoots. It is situated in the hills outside Rome, and quite apart from the views from the grounds, it has just everything. The Villa is breathtaking, marble everywhere, of course, absolutely full of paintings, statues, and period furniture. The formal gardens are beautiful, with lakes and fountains, a huge grotto made from volcanic rock, and even some really ancient Roman ruins. There's also a vineyard on the hillside below. While very old, it's all kept in magnificent condition, which can also be said for Leopoldo its owner! My agency has been able to use the Villa several times, which really hacks off some of the other agencies who can wait for years for permission to use it. But my agency has a secret formula, me and Sarah.

People think models have a luxury existence. Ok, if your name is Kate Moss this may be true, but for the rest of us it's long hours of being treated as just an object to hang clothes on. Well, when we use Villa Patronni I have, just for a short time, a real taste of luxury. While the other models and the location crew get to stay in hotels, Sarah and I are put up at the Villa. Ok, the plumbing is a bit quaint, but you only have to imagine me luxuriating in a marble bath, the water scented with real rose oil, to get some idea that quaint it may be, heavenly it definitely is. There aren't many staff around these days, but I prefer that, as you can have a stroll about, without some flunky giving strange looks. I remember, at another one of these period locations, leaving an apple core in what turned out the be a very rare and valuable bowl. The owners thought it really funny, but it took three of their anal retentive staff to bear this little trinket away to be cleansed of contamination.

But I digress. To return to the Villa Patronni. Apart from the Leopoldo's family who visit regularly, only he and his wife, and their staff live there. The grounds are open to visitors a few times a year, and apparently, because Leopoldo's son is in the government, some meetings are held there, from time to time. So much to Leopoldo's delight, when we stay there it really livens up the place. His wife (the Contessa, we call her) is charming and very indulgent.

But, I know what you are thinking, there is more to this, and you're right!

Each day follows a similar pattern. Various daily locations having already been selected by the creative director, the lighting and cameras are then set up very early. When they are ready we girls get made up, and start getting the togs on. If we are in the grounds, the changing areas can be quite primitive, but in any photo shoot half dressed girls are just part of the scenery. Sometimes the creative director wants an evening or night shot, so everything gets moved around. Anyone who thinks we girls get to lying in bed to 10am is in cloud cuckoo land.

By late afternoon , it's all wrapped up for the day, and the crew go back to the hotels. That's when Sarah and I get to earn our keep. Leopoldo speaks perfect English because decades ago he came over and studied at Cambridge. It was at Cambridge he acquired a taste for one of the English vices (NO, not that one!!), the ancient art of spanking. He is always absolutely charming and courteous but has great enthusiasm for scenarios.

After the shoot, Sarah and I go back to our rooms for a nice long soak in the bath (not together you naughty boys!). On each of our beds is laid out a uniform. This is for the evening's scenario. it is a sort of old fashioned nurses uniform, which has more than a passing resemblance to a nun's habit. Apparently the old hospitals were run by nuns, hence the origins of the uniform. Let me tell you more about it Every garment is pure white, without a trace of any other colour. The underwear is all silk: there is a lacy basque with suspenders, opaque white stockings, and full knickers. (they are definitely not panties!). The shoes are white leather, with a medium heel and a lace-up styling at the front, quite victorian. The uniform is a dress with a full skirt of medium length, with a pinafore covering the bodice and an apron from the waist. The headdress is fitted to a headband and hangs down almost to the shoulders, covering the hair.

When we are dressed, Sarah and I are collected by one of the staff, and we are led in silence to Leopoldo's study. We enter, and the door is closed, leaving us alone in the room. We stand, very still, silent, our eyes looking down, hands clasped in front. A door on the far side of the room opens.............. To be continued in Part 2.

(Of course, I have changed the name of the Villa and its owner, but everything else is just as described)

As you know I love all types of scenario, there are some examples on my web page at 

If you think that this girl just needs a taste of good old fashioned discipline, just email me at or give me a call on 07515 007720.