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.        

My new web page

Well, I have finally done it! My own website with the domain name; www.naughtycatherine.org. 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 naughtycatherine@gmail.com .

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 www.naughtycatherine.org
There you will find all my contact details

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 www.naughtycatherine.org 
Would you like to spank me for yourself? then call me on 07515 007 720 or email me at naughtycatherine@googlemail.com .

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 www.naughtycatherine.org 

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

Sorry if you got no answer

Have just got back from a modelling trip, and rather well tanned as it turns out. Don't fear for the effects of excess sun, this was the other sort of tanning! Sorry if you have been trying to call me in the last week, but the art director starts throwing his toys about if we use our phones during shoots. I will tell you more about it when I get a chance.

The web page will be updated in the next couple of days, with a new picture reflecting the warmer weather.

Got to run, bye for now.

Brazil - Where the nuts come from

With the civil unrest in Guadeloupe, the planned modelling shoot has had to be postponed. But all is not lost, as I have another assignment in Brazil.

As soon as Brazilian men see the paler skin of a European girl, their testosterone kicks in, and they get into a state of permanent, how shall I say, arousal. It's the same with the British crew going with us. We European girls can wander around with next to nothing on, and they take little notice. The moment they spy the locals with their dusky skin, dark hair, and brown eyes, their priapic tendencies become all too obvious.

To be fair, Brazilian girls, at least when young, can be utterly gorgeous, so I don't really blame the lads. But I can't say I am attracted to Brazilian men though. Call me old fashioned, but I like the men closer to home. So it's no sunbathing in public, even though we girls get 'minders'.

Anyway I'll tell you all about it when I get back. In the meantime watch this space for a posting on my trip to Rome.

Check out my web page at www.naughtycatherine.org

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

When in Guadeloupe, do as the French do

Well, in a few weeks I'm off on a modelling shoot to Guadeloupe. "Where's that" I said to the agency booker, "French Caribbean" came the reply, which makes sense because we will be working for a French company. And, for you followers of soccer, it is the favourite destination for Thierry Henry. And do you know, they use the Euro, even being all of 5000 miles from France. Remember that, it has to come up in a pub quiz sometime!

Mind you the last time I was in the French Caribbean, in Martinique, things got a bit hairy when I decided to go topless on one of the beaches and was arrested. I was taken back to an infested hole they called the police station. I didn't fancy spending any time in there while officialdom, particularly bureaucratic French type officialdom, took its course. I tried my winning smile; no luck there. I tried my most sensual charm; but no luck there either. So it was down to my 'weapon of mass attraction'. You guessed it, my derriere. Yours truly has used her botty to get out of a lot of tight corners. Why is that? Simple. No red bloodied male can deny having the desire to give a woman a spanking, but most don't get the opportunity. By submitting to such desires, as every woman should, I have my own 'get out of jail, free' card.

So I suggested to the three nice policemen, that a little fessee was in order. Following an initial look of disbelief, and a furtive scout about for any senior officers, they very politely led me to an interview room. OTK was the order of the day, and it was not long before my sarong was lifted, bikini bottoms pulled down, and some large and very strong hands applied to my bare cheeks. These guys took to it like ducks to water, each having several turns. My 'sentence' duly over, I tripped off back to my hotel, although I have to confess, I was still sore the next morning!

Well I'll keep you posted about the trip, after it happens. In the meantime have you seen my web page with the, recently posted, gallery. It can be found at this link: www.naughtycatherine.org

With a hint of Spring around, and before Easter and the holiday season arrives, it could be time to come and show me your own preferences for dealing with a very naughty girl.

The land of the, er, well, midnight!

As usual it started with a phone call from my model agency booker. "Ever been to Lapland?" Not a place I had been to so it was the usual images of midnight sun, reindeer, father Christmas, etc. Trying to be positive, I said " When is it, June?" "No" said the booker "January". Well Sir Ranulph Fiennes might be tempted by temperatures of -20 C, but me I'm a warm blooded bird. "You don't need to worry about the cold, the shoot is for a late season ski wear promotion. You'll be in high fashion, multi layer, high tech, skiing kit".

So I went for it, and a week later was on a plane heading for somewhere north of the Arctic Circle. Now Finland is not a crowded country, 70% of the population live within 30 miles of Helsinki, which is way down south. By the time you get to Lapland, there are very few people indeed, and not a Pizza Express to be found. The place we stayed at was a massive lodge made of wood, a bit basic, but quite cosy. Two things immediately struck me, it was horrendously cold, and dark, like 24 hours a day. At mid day there was a dull glow on the southern horizon, otherwise permanent night. I noticed that in the middle of the day, while still dark, there was an eerie glow to the snow covered landscape. Quite striking really, and the photographer just raved about it.

Needless to say I had come prepared. An aunt had lent me her Damart thermals, as most of my underwear is designed for anything but warmth. The first day of shooting we all piled into a tracked vehicle and headed to the location selected for our shoot. When we got there it all looked terribly romantic, what with the scenery, some of the locals, actually called Lapps, and, of course, some tame reindeer.

Then came the bombshell! The client wanted the campaign to stress the thermal credentials of his ski kit, so as well as choosing a location 500 miles north of any respectable ski resort, he wanted the contrast of his clothing being shown against bare skin! That's it! We were going to be starkers except where covered by the high tech clothing!

We all started fully clothed if naked inside, but soon the photographer was getting us undoing zips, and ripping velcro, for some shots that were certainly going to give the Sunday supplements a bit of a lift. There were certainly more pert nipples on show than around Sainsbury's cold counter! To be fair the shoot was over quite quickly, spurred on by our demands to keep the kit on until we got back to the lodge!

When we got back to the lodge, there was a very pleasant surprise. Paivi the woman who ran the lodge offered us the use of her sauna. Now being a liberal minded girl, I have always regarded saunas as, well, a bit, you know. But this was the real thing. It was huge, like the lodge all wood, with shelves at different levels, and absolutely blistering hot. Welcome was not the word for it, we all loved it.

After being in the sauna for quite a while, Paivi told us that the locals would follow a sauna by a roll in the snow. Well, being a game chick, and risking cardiac arrest, I was the first out of the door and plunged naked into the snow. I cannot describe the feeling, not at all what I expected. The heat in our bodies just seemed to protect us. Of course, someone had to throw the first snowball and soon there was snow flying everywhere, with us girls charging about in our birthday suits.

Then we saw them, about 200 yards away, these figures clad in white, on skis, and carrying guns! They were standing still, watching us. That soon stopped the hijinks, and we all dashed back inside, in a blind panic. Paiva just laughed. The white clad figures were soldiers. Either NATO, or Russian. Neither are supposed to be in Finland, the NATO guys being stationed in Norway, and the Russians based to the east. But in that part of the world borders don't have much meaning so they both have patrols criss crossing northern Finland. Well, all I hope is that the sight of our heavenly bodies did something positive for east-west relations!

Then it was back to good old UK. But as we all know only a couple of weeks later we got some snow of our own. On February 3rd, the second day of the snow fall in the south, I was meeting up with a photographer to discuss adding a gallery to my web site. We were just moaning about how such little snow had brought things to a standstill. Then I got the devil in me, off came my skirt and panties, and I ran out into the garden, my lower body absolutely bare. Now, the garden is overlooked by surrounding properties, but I didn't care, it was time to defy the gloom of winter, the economy, tax demands, etc. The photographer followed me out and got a few great shots. We immediately put one on my webpage, at www.naughtycatherine.org

That's enough of my ramblings for this post. There will be more about my life, times, and misadventures in future postings. I can be emailed at naughtycatherine@googlemail.com or if you feel his girl needs to have her recently chilled bottom, given a thorough warming up, then call me on 07515 007 720

Being a schoolgirl just comes naturally

I get asked to role play many different themes, but the traditional schoolgirl scenario is still popular in this otherwise fast changing world. It is easy to see why. The Headmaster/ Pupil relationship fits so naturally with the role of the Dom and Sub. I don't have a favourite role play but there is a certain buzz when I am asked to be the delinquent of year 12!

For me it starts as soon as I put on the uniform. From the gentle embrace of the regulation knickers, to the careful knotting of the striped tie. I then immediately fall into the role of the wilfully independent late teenager in need of some sound corrective therapy. The mood changes as soon as the 'headmaster' starts to point out what a disobedient pupil I have been. His authority seems to envelope me as we play our respective roles towards my inevitable punishment.

Watching the 'headmaster' sit on a chair and command me to bend over his knee, starts the clock of my anxiety ticking. The feel of the muscular thighs beneath me with one firm arm around my waist, is as fresh every time. With the first fall of the hand, muffled by my clothing, I am off on that roller coaster of thrill and anxious anticipation.

After the almost conventional dozen or two spanks over my clothes, there is that pause, the waiting, but not for long. The hem of the skirt is turned right over to my back, and those masculine hands grasp the soft waistline of my knickers. Techniques vary, a headmaster may gently pull the waistband over my cheeks, just to the top of my thighs. Or he might use the arm around my waist to manfully raise me up from his lap, allowing the complete withdrawal of my knickers, right down to my knees.

Again that pause; I can feel the cool air on my cheeks. And then there is a sensation of movement as the hand falls on to my unprotected globes. If its a gentle start then that is fine, but then so is the first fall of the hand which makes me gasp. The headmaster is in charge, and that is what matters.

Because I am really naughty, a spanking, even a firm one, will not teach me the error of my ways. So the headmaster may need to use a succession of implements. Sometimes I remain over his lap. Other times I am bent over a chair or table. It does not matter as each application of the implement gives me a distinct, if painful thrill.

Each implement is different in how it feels. The leather paddle, may make a dull sounding impact, but it leaves an all over glow to the bottom. The strap has a snap to its sound, and a real sting to go with it. And the feeling lasts, each stroke adding the sensation. An old school punishment implement is the tawse, which has a justified reputation for being very painful, but with it comes that feeling unique to a real submissive, that of wanting more, even though, at the same time, the pain may seem unbearable. Its difficult to explain that double sensation. Wanting the pain to stop, but yet willing the headmaster to continue his domination. The martinet or flogger is a particular favourite of mine. I just love to be whipped with them.

The ultimate implement is the cane. They, of course, come in all types and sizes, and both headmasters and their delinquent pupils have their preferences. The cane can be applied in many positions, but whatever the angle the sensation is unique. A cane applied with authority is the way to an altered state of consciousness. Its like climbing that last few feet to the top of a mountain. All the pain is forgotten in the exhilaration of getting to the top.

For the true submissive, the experience of being told to adopt the classic caning position, is an essential part of the experience. Just to hear the words makes one quiver with nervous anticipation. "Bend over and touch your toes". When the headmaster speaks that command, I find my legs literally shaking with emotion. The exposure as the skirt is lifted and the knickers pulled down is more profound than in any other position. It is complete exposure, complete surrender to the headmaster's will. the wait for the first stroke, can seem like hours, rather than seconds. It is this moment that encompasses the whole reason why the schoolgirl/headmaster scenario has stood the test of time.

Well, I hope you boys enjoyed sharing my innermost thoughts. Perhaps you would like to try the experience for yourself? Take a look at my web page at www.naughtycatherine.org
. You can call me anytime on 07515 007 720. or email me at naughtycatherine@googlemail.com When I have time, there will be more excerpts from the life and times, and misadventures of Naughty Catherine.