Roll of the dice

Recently I was gifted a pair of spanking dice – two innocuous looking items in a cheery blue. One lists on its six sides a variety of implements: paddle, hand, cane, crop, tawse and brush. The other die a succession of numbers: 1,2, 4, 6, 8 and 12. Used together, well, I’m sure you get the idea…

The dice got well broken in, of course. Six rolls, each punctuated by the application of its decree. Two with the crop to start, followed by strokes with the hand, cane, and tawse. Then later, with another set of dice, a group of five girls all rolling for each other (with only a small bit of mischief), the results tallied and administered by two gentlemen who were quite up to the challenge.

And now… my mind turns to other scenarios in which the dice might be used. A couple separated for a week, the young lady left with the dice and instructions. Each evening before bed, she’s to roll them once and record the results. For seven nights she’ll perform the ritual, knowing that at the end of the week all seven rolls will be delivered to welcome her back.

Or perhaps another option. A combination is chosen; something traditional such as six with the cane, or maybe a more American twelve with the paddle? The girl is then handed the dice and told to roll. Each roll will be followed by the administration of its strokes, continuing until she rolls the chosen combination. There are 36 possible pairings. How many rolls will it take her to land the right one?

Chasing silence

This is the story of my last caning at Shadow Lane by the capable (and a bit gleeful) Mr. Allen:

So far I had laughed, joked, and teased.  I’d played the troublemaker and the penitent.  Now I want something harder.  Want to chase the edge of pain and slip over the the line to where it’s all just a little bit too much.

“Now do you want to see Emma get beaten?  Yes, I thought you did.”

Not quite so brave now.  He’s talking to That Girl Marie, whose own caning just a minute prior would make anyone reluctant to take her place.  Kneeling up on the chair and over the table, I let the silence fill me.  It has been waiting for its chance amid the noise and chaos.

“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”

It was the strap first, just enough to warm, to waken.

“What do you have to say?”

Somewhere, just out of reach, are the right words.  But the silence is still struggling to reclaim lost ground and it’s the other me that answers,

“Ow?”

I can’t help but smile, hearing him throw the word back at me, then pointing to the canes and bidding me to choose.  A moment’s blank look, glancing from one to the next, all deceptively similar in appearance, and he makes the choice for me.  Lighter, more sting than thud.

Six.  I close my eyes, slip a little deeper into silence.  I hear my name in the whispers behind us but can’t focus on the words, can’t focus on anything but the bright lines being left across my skin.  Somewhere in the next six my breath catches, shoulders shake.  I feel the weight of his hand on my back.

“Are you ok?”
A nod.  “Yes.”
“Six more.”
This time I look up.  “More than six?”
“We’ll see.”

I lay my head back on the table and watch as he selects another cane, taps it lightly, so I can feel its weight.  The first stroke lands, so different from the ones that came before.  Deep breath.  Relax.  Next.  Repeat.  After one stroke my leg comes up off the chair and he doesn’t say anything, but touches the cane to my calf, waiting.  I put it down and he resumes.  Somewhere along the way I lose the rhythm and by the sixth stroke my breath quickens, becomes shallow with the pain.

He tells me to slow my breathing, and once I have, to stand.  The chair scrapes back across the carpet, away from the table, and he has me kneel once more, hands on the carpet this time in a position that leaves me feeling especially vulnerable and not a little unstable.  I’m ready for the first stroke to land, each one will bring this set closer to the end.  When it comes, it’s hard.  These feel like the hardest so far, but I’m trapped by the position, there’s nowhere to go even if I wanted to.  I don’t, of course.

When they’re done I struggle to stand only to be sent back over the chair, laying across its seat for the final six.  Thirty-one* in all, but I’m not feeling them now as I stand and get wrapped up in a quick hug.  As he releases me he asks

“But we’re not done yet, are we?”

I can feel the heat and the lines left by the cane, but I shake my head and answer honestly,

“No.”

I know what’s coming next, that I’d asked two days ago, on a wave of curiosity, courage, and sleep deprivation, if I could feel his tawse, but I’m not really ready for this.  He has to tell me twice that I can pull up my panties before my brain clicks out of the fog it’s in and puts meaning to the words.  He has to ask twice again for me to put my hands out, but this time only nerves are to blame for my slow response.  For a brief second I consider backing out, I’d told him, after all, that I would.  I’d regret it if I did, though.  This is what I need.

I hesitate as I put my hands forward.  I have a general idea of the position, but I’m not entirely sure and he fusses with them a moment before standing back.  I watch as he holds the tawse out along my fingers, as he judges the distance and then warns me not to move.

This is an entirely different thing than being spanked, and it feels far more vulnerable to be standing in front of someone, your face and all your emotions on display.  I close my eyes tightly, as though I can hide, and the first stroke lands, stinging across my palm.  The next two come mercifully quickly, but the burning builds with each one.  I switch hands, and he tells me to watch these.  I remember opening my eyes, watching as he again measures the distance with the tawse.  These three fall quickly as well and leave me gasping; this new pain temporarily obscuring the soreness elsewhere.

It takes a few minutes, after, for my brain to catch up to my body.  Minutes where I feel oddly energized, like I can take on the world.  It’s a little bit later, sitting among our friends, listening to them talk and laugh, that the energy drains away and the quiet washes over me again.  This is the moment I was waiting for, and before I give in to the silence I smile up and say the only thing left,

“Thanks.”

* There was an extra somewhere, I think just before he switched canes but I’m not really sure.

Welcome to Shadow Lane

In case you’re confused, I am not writing my Shadow Lane posts in order.  Chronologically this post covers the first day and night at Shadow Lane.

By the time I arrived at the hotel for Shadow Lane on Friday I’d been reading tweets from those who were already there all afternoon and was ready to join in.  I didn’t even bother to unpack before heading down to the newbie party, which was ending in about 15 minutes.

I had no idea what to expect, but figured I could at least meet a few people and get a feel for what the rest of the weekend might be like.  I was greeted at the door by Jersey John and took a few minutes to chat with me before taking me around to introduce me to the other attendees.  I was so nervous that when John asked right away if I was a top or bottom, I stammered out “top” first, then had to laugh and correct myself.  Off to a good start, Em.

Next up, I picked Judy up at her room and we headed up to meet Indy in her suite.  It took a couple of minutes after we knocked for the door to be opened by a disheveled looking Indy flanked by Mr. Allen who had been busy giving her a warm up spanking before we’d interruped.  For some reason she declined our invitation to continue once we’d all settled in.

After chatting for a little while and some “facilitation” on Indy‘s part, Mr. Allen agreed to give me my first Shadow Lane spanking, which was also incidentally, the first time I’d been spanked in about three years.  We started with me otk on the bed and him using his hand, just long enough to lull me back into the swing of things.  Next came the plimsoll (I think, but it’s equally as possible that was a totally different spanking) which was new and different.  Then there was a belt (strap?) over the end of the bed, which I think will always be my favorite sort of implement and position.  Last, but not least was the cane.  I’ve felt a cane before, but always wielded much more like a switch, so this was definitely a new experience.  He used a light cane, which was more sting than thud and left me intrigued and interested in trying more.  It was not a very hard spanking, in deference I’m sure to my near virgin skin, but I’ve always colored and marked ridiculously easily and by the end my bottom came close to resembling my bright red panties.  In fact, a recurring theme of the weekend seemed to be me assuring people that it looked worse than it felt.

Dinner and the vendor fair followed, and were notable only because this is when I finally got to meet Serenity, Chris, Lucy (and the rest of the Brits), and Bronte, plus her roommate SpankCake.  After dinner we headed back to Indy, Mija, and Paul‘s before moving along to the Brits’ suite for their Spank Olympics event.

Before going further, I feel I should mention that I am actually very shy in new situations and around people I don’t know.  I am much more likely to hang back and observe than to jump into the fray.  So you’ll understand that I was perhaps more surprised than anyone else when instead of ending up a spectator I found myself registered as a competitor.

I didn’t even have much time to settle into the idea as our team (composed of Mr. Allen, Judy, and myself) was selected to compete first after the opening ceremony (featuring a naked Caroline Grey in the role of virgin carrying the Olympic torch through the room).  Since we had the only three person team, Judy and I planned to switch off and I was taking the first event – sprinting – in which teams were competing to give 100 spanks in the fastest time.  So, for only my second spanking of the weekend I went over Mr. Allen’s lap in a room which had become decidedly more populated by total strangers than when we’d first arrived.  We came in last (surely more my fault than my partner’s), missing the top score by about 10 seconds.

Judy competed in the second event, dressage, which involved music and coordination.  Being a true friend, she agreed to take all such events, as I found them much more intimidating than simple paddlings & canings.  She also took the relay at the end, and I believe earned a medal for it.

My other two events were tennis and shooting.  Tennis had originally been described as a 5 minute paddling, with points being awarded for consistency and reaction.  Because a five minute paddling sounded not-so-fun, Judy & I had planned to split the event and each take half, but just before the event the Olympic committee reduced the time to two minutes, which seemed much more reasonable for me to do alone.  Mr. Allen held up his end of this event beautifully, but I’m afraid I faltered a bit on the reaction portion, as was pointed out by someone in the crowd during our “performance.”  I am not theatrical and tend more toward going quiet when being spanked, though someone else did kindly mention that I was laughing, and that should count as a reaction

In shooting, last event, the teams were competing to land six strokes of a cane as close together as possible.  Again, we were up first, which in this case was probably a good thing.  If I’d had to watch everyone else be caned before hand I might have been a lot more nervous when my turn came.  For this event, as with tennis, a chair was pulled into the center of the room for us to bend over, and of course jeans and my much commented on argyle panties had to come down to make a proper target.  Since the winner would be decided by how close together the marks were, Mr. Allen took his time setting each one up, which gave me a bit of respite between each stroke.  All I had to do was try to stay still so as not to interfere with his excellent aim.

Now, if you read that last paragraph you may have considered how the judges would know which team put their strokes closest together.  You would be one step ahead of me on the night in question.  After the sixth stroke landed I prepared to get up and right my clothing, when Lucy’s voice rang out behind me to please stay in place for a moment while she took her measurements.  Being half naked in a room full of strangers is one thing while you’re being caned and your attention is obviously elsewhere.  It is entirely another when you’re suddenly the center of attention and a woman with the most proper sounding voice ever is approaching your behind with a ruler.  To be fair, it would have gone quicker had I been able to stop laughing, and Lucy was very nice about doing her best to measure around my giggles though she did eventually have to tell me to stay still. We won a silver medal for this event, being narrowly beat out by about 1/16 of an inch by Miss Chris and Jenni.

Overall the Olympics were a great deal of fun, and I especially loved watching the other teams compete, some of whom came up with fabulously inventive routines such as Zille in the dressage event, Amy Hunter and Caroline Grey, and a couple of other teams whose names I don’t know.

Though it was pretty late by now, my evening wasn’t over yet.  Bronte had arrived during dinner and come with us to the Spank Olympics event.  Like me she was new to Shadow Lane, but she also had the distinction of never having been spanked!  She’d arranged an introduction into our little world with Mr. Allen, who’d suggested she might feel more comfortable with a friend along.  I was nominated and, well… that will be story for another post.

The fireman’s hairbrush (and other things…)

I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Serenity and Chris online for what seems like quite a while now, and was so looking forward to meeting them both in person.  As it turns out, they were the first Shadow Lane attendees I saw when I arrived at the hotel, though not the first I spoke to.  I was in line to check in and kept glancing at the couple ahead of me, thinking, “I bet that’s Serenity.”  I later discovered I had been right, but I didn’t say anything at the time because it seemed accosting strangers in line at the reservation desk was probably not the thing to do.

For as long as I’ve known them, I’ve also heard stories of Chris’ infamous hairbrush and been intrigued.  I’d somehow managed to make it this far without ever being spanked with one and it has always been on the top of list of things to try.  So, prior to the event I’d emailed back and forth a bit and let my interest be known.  Yes, it’s true, I have no sense of self preservation

After a few days and a couple of DMs, Chris knocked on my door Monday afternoon with his bag of tricks.  I was pretty well bruised by then, and expecting to be more so after the evenings festivities, so I answered “yes” honestly when Chris asked if I was nervous.  His quick and easy “Good,” put me right at ease, though.  A moment later I was over his lap.

I know we talked a little in the beginning, but I don’t remember what was said… aside from his commenting that he couldn’t read my panties (I didn’t offer up that they said “sizzling,” apparently I occasionally know when to keep my mouth shut, and as he was busy pulling them down it didn’t seem necessary anyway).  Shortly after he’d picked up the hairbrush, though, my phone beeped and he looked down to see if I was tweeting.  I hadn’t been, the phone was sitting on the bedside table, but a minute later I couldn’t help but reach out and relay the conversation that came next:

“You’re not laughing”
“Do you want me to laugh?”
“It’s OK if you do.”

I may have taken some editorial liberty while typing the resulting tweet: “Firemn_Chris would like me to let you all know that I should be laughing at his spanking.  It is pretty funny.”

Maybe not the smartest thing to say while someone is holding a hairbrush.

After the brush, we both stood up and Chris selected a few more items from his bag, this time a strap, and a couple of non-wooden paddles (I think).  I honestly can’t remember what I was explaining was not my fault but eventually threw out the phrase “innocent until proven guilty, right?”  “No,” Chris explained, “not around here.  You’re surrounded by people who don’t believe in the fifth amendment of the constitution.”  I couldn’t help questioning, “We’re surrounded by republicans?”  For some reason I never got an answer, I think he was laughing too hard.

The last implement was surprisingly my favorite, though I’m sure it could have been used much more meanly than it was.  It was a long handled wooden oval paddle with diamond patterned rubber on one side.  Serenity posted a photo of it to twitter a while back, but I wasn’t able to find it just now when I looked.  Chris was using the wood side, while I was bent over the bed, and I honestly could have laid there forever, I felt so peaceful.  Of course I eventually had to wonder aloud if the other side would leave a diamond pattern if used.  Chris obligingly turned it over and smacked.  No pattern.  “I think you have to hit harder than that to see anything.”  Ouch.  Still no pattern.  It’s OK, the wood side was much nicer.

Chris turned the paddle back over and told me he was going to give me a couple more.  One.  Two.  Three.  I should probably have stood up quickly and said thank you.  Of course, being me what I said was “That wasn’t a couple.  You can’t count.”  Apparently Chris learns best by watching others, as he had me count out ten more to demonstrate.  I hope it helped him, though I’ve suggested he may want more practice

And so, I can now cross the hairbrush (and quite a few other things) off my spanking to-do list, with the added bonus of meeting two wonderful people.

This is not a scene report…

I’ve been trying to organize my thoughts on the past weekend at Shadowlane into some semblance of order so that I may share them here with you.  They number too greatly to bundle together into one post, but the thread that connects them all is so intertwined that pulling them carefully apart becomes difficult.  Even that thread is layered, but this post is about what is at the heart of it, what made this amazing weekend possible.  It’s about safety and trust and friendship – even with people you’ve just met or are meeting in the “real world” for the first time.

I like to pretend that nothing scares me.  I’m pretty good at pretending, and most people who know me believe the lie.  My closest friends and family see only the polished exterior, which shrugs off fear and dives head first into the unknown.  Partially because it’s what I show them the most, but also because it’s all they want to see.  There’s a lot that goes on under that shining and resilient armor, though.

In the week or so leading up to Shadowlane, I was a bundle of nerves.  I hadn’t played in three years and there were so many questions I couldn’t answer.  Would my tolerance be the same?  Would I be comfortable playing with people I didn’t know?  And most of all: would opening that door again allow the feelings I’d buried from the last time I’d played to come rushing to the surface, or would it do what I hoped and wash them away for good?

I didn’t have to wait too long to find out, because barely an hour after I’d arrived at the hotel, Indy nudged me over someone’s lap (more or less) to test out the waters.  It only took a moment for the nerves to disappear, for me to remember exactly how right this was, and Mr. Allen gets a lot of credit for that.  He was cognizant of the fact that it had been a while, but he didn’t treat me with kid gloves either.  If he had, I might have believed I’d needed them.

Being a kinky girl who hasn’t played in three years at a spanking party is like being a kid in a candy store.  Once I got that first taste I wanted more (I’m sure that surprises you who were there and witnessed my unending ability to toss myself under buses, even when I wasn’t really trying).  I owe many thanks to the people I played with for helping me pace myself when my natural inclination was to try everything as soon as possible.  Without their level heads I probably would have worn myself out by the second night.

Many more thanks are owed to Mija, Paul, and Indy for opening up their suite and creating such a safe and friendly atmosphere for their friends to congregate and play.  I tried a lot of things I never imagined I would (yes, those will be blog posts too) because I was surrounded by people (Judy, Serenity, Chris, Bronte, Paul, and others who I am probably forgetting to mention here but have certainly not forgotten) who wanted everyone to feel comfortable and made it so.

Packing up my room yesterday I marveled at some of what I had the chance to do.  I’ve been used to packing a whole lot of spanking into a little bit of time before, but I haven’t ended such a weekend feeling as whole and happy as I did this one in quite a while.  It was difficult to realize that the difference was in how safe I felt this weekend, and in realizing that, accepting that I really hadn’t felt safe in such situations for too long.

So, to everyone who threw me under the bus, or was the bus, or watched the bus (or all three, in some cases) a very heartfelt thank you.  Underneath all the fun and games, you helped me get a little piece of myself back.

Where do brats come from?

Recipe Wednesday: Asian Style Green Beans

Asian Style Green Beans

Servings:6

Ingredients:

• 1 T peanut oil
• 2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
• 1 lb fresh green beans, trimmed
• 1 T white sugar
• 2 T oyster sauce
• 2 t soy sauce

Directions:

1. Heat peanut oil in a wok or large skillet over medium heat.
2. Stir in the garlic, and cook until the edges begin to brown, about 20 seconds.
3. Add the green beans; cook and stir until the beans begin to soften, about 5 minutes.
4. Stir in the sugar, oyster sauce, and soy sauce.  Continue cooking for several minutes until the beans have attained the desired degree of tenderness.

Results: I love those green beans you find at many Chinese buffets, and was happy to find a recipe for making them at home.  I used frozen green beans, but when fresh ones start becoming available locally, I think I’ll blanch them before adding to the stir-fry, as I like my beans nice and crisp.  The sauce is nicely flavored, I’d definitely recommend mixing the oyster sauce, soy sauce, and sugar together prior to adding for more even coverage.  Some people suggested leaving out the sugar, which I may try next time as well.

Overall this was a quick and easy side, which I’m sure I’ll be making again!

LOL Monday

Recipe Wednesday: Warm Rosemary Olives

Warm Rosemary Olives
Real Simple Magazine.

Servings: 30

Ingredients:

• 6 cups mixed olives, such as nicoise, Spanish, picholine, and Greek
• 5 sprigs fresh rosemary
• 2 teaspoons red pepper flakes

Directions:

1. Combine the olives, rosemary, and red pepper flakes in the center of 1 or 2 large sheets of aluminum foil. Fold the foil to enclose the olives in a pouch.
2. Heat oven to 400° F. Bake for 30 minutes. Serve warm.

This week’s recipe hardly counts as a recipe, it is so easy to make.  It’s a great way to spruce up a popular party appetizer (olives), though.  Feel free to experiment with the herbs you use, as well!

LOL Monday