Pride

Recently, myself and bandree found ourselves in a position to offer hospitality to several scene friends. It was a lovely weekend, everything clicked just right. The conversation was honest and easy, and a dog had accompanied the group, a big floppy friendly "bring me for a walk" kind of a dog.

The weekend was in a remote cottage in a fairly unknown part of the country. It has a small scale feel, which is very calming and quite captivating when you settle in. We bought the house several years ago and use it as a bolt hole for ourselves or other family members.

By the second afternoon, the party had reduced slightly such that we were myself, bandree, two other girls and the dog. This weekend had come together at short notice and there was no pre-arranged agenda of play or anything like that. It was quite genuinely just an opportunity for a few friends to eat, drink, chill out and chat.

And the chat was very good, exactly what I would expect from these participants. As well as chat, though, there was dog walking, swimming (the cottage is near water), canoeing, and general messing around.

Even when there was no conversation and the girls were just lounging around (and the dog), I felt an indescribable wellness. Of the group, bandree is the only one with whom I have a formal "relationship", so what happened inside my head was entirely a subconscious fantasy, I suppose.

I felt very at home. This was my place, in which I was able to provide the resources for their leisure. As they fooled around, I found myself remaining a little aloof. I let them take turns with the canoe, but did not indulge myself; watched them all swim, but didn't swim myself. Reflecting subsequently, I can only describe the sensation as that of a proud lion, watching over his pride (and I suppose the dog was a cub).

Thank you all for a very empowering afternoon.

Kitchen Play

Subtitled - "Why It Can Be Dangerous to Squirm"

Finding bandree in need of the application of a little correction in our kitchen, I cast around our collection of wooden stirry/slappy thingies.
B had been out shopping recently and returned with these additions.


The third one is an interesting device, able to leave a variety of sizes of white blobs outlined in red.
Anyone got any ideas what its 'nilla use may be?

However, I was looking for something a little different.
My eye fell on the nearest kitchen equivalent to a steel rule:


This is an old French Steel carving knife, repeatedly honed over the years, such that it is now very flexible. Bandree had her back turned, her elbows on the kitchen bench and her skirts hoiked up, and had no idea what I had chosen. Told to stay very still, she took five or six strokes, of the flat side of it of course, stoically, with little yelps, but no movement. On the next stroke, she squirmed as the flat of the blade impacted. Her reward, a lovely, though almost painless, reminder of the experience (I did tell you we keep it very sharp, so its an almost surgical line).



Unlike the red glow which receded within a few minutes, the thin straight line is still visible one week later. That line would have been observed by someone else recently, someone who had reason to call bandree to account for repeated lack of preparedness.

But that, as they say, is another story.....

A Creed To Live By

The interweb is full of comfy images of fluffy kittens, both verbal and pictorial.

However, I encountered the following piece first when I heard it read, only later tracing its author on the net. At a first glance, it can appear a bit saccharine Christian . But read it again, from the perspective of those of us who are different but caring, who might feel a little bit socially outcast but really want to make like minded friends. These verses offer great comfort for those brave enough to be themselves.

A Creed To Live By
By Nancye Sims

Don't undermine your worth by comparing yourself with others.
It is because we are different that each of us is special.

Don't set your goals by what other people deem important.
Only you know what is best for you.

Don't take for granted the things closest to your heart.
Cling to them as you would your life, for without them life is meaningless.

Don't let your life slip through your fingers by living in the past or for the future.
By living your life one day at a time, you live all the days of your life.

Don't give up when you still have something to give.
Nothing is really over until the moment you stop trying.

Don't be afraid to admit that you are less than perfect.
It is this fragile thread that binds us to each other.

Don't be afraid to encounter risks.
It is by taking chances that we learn how to be brave.

Don't shut love out of your life by saying it's impossible to find.
The quickest way to receive love is to give love.
The fastest way to lose love is to hold it too tightly;
and the best way to keep love is to give it wings.

Don't dismiss your dreams.
To be without dreams is to be without hope;
to be without hope is to be without purpose.

Don't run through life so fast that you forget not only where you've been,
but also where you're going.
Life is not a race,
but a journey to be savored each step of the way.

Copyright © 1996 Nancye Sims

One Year On - Five Years On

Last weekend was the first anniversary of our "coming out" to public playing, at Nimhneach. Coincidentaly, it was also the fifth birthday party of the club itself.

On the way in, I realised that I was quite subdued. I had thrown a few toys together without a lot of thought and most of my anticipation was about meeting a couple of new friends rather than anything particularly Dommy.

There was a good mix of faces, some new, some familiar, at the meet and greet. Unusually, entering that pub held a little frisson of excitement. "Excuse me, what's in the bag?" from the bouncer at the door. Now, I've always been ready, but never been required, to prove to the doorstaff at the club that the contents of my bag was sufficiently kinky to be let in. Here was a sudden turning of the tables. How do I explain that I am not going to start a fight in this Saturday night pub, armed as I am with length of chain, heavy rubber paddle, flogger, handcuffs, rope and other assorted bits and pieces. My murmured "clothes and stuff" seemed to satisfy them and I was spared any great expose in 'nilla land. This was all witnessed by EmmaJane from just inside the door who found my discomfiture highly amusing - ah well, plenty of opportunity to arrange for her public discomfiture later.

I am well aware that there have been visits to Nimhneach in the past year when I was doing the socialising, being recognised and starting to play with others whilst my Bandree was obedient, loyal and being there because she knew that is what I wanted. This night was different. I could sense her self-confidence, but without sacrificing her respect for my role, and that pleased me. This meant that she actually spent more time doing her own socialising and moving around. Despite this, I think we played more scenes together than at any previous Nimhneach.

I enjoyed the opportunity to play the blindfold trust game with Catherine, finishing up with a light spanking on the new chain spider's web. This was curtailed to allow a bit of space for poor Ginny to recover from her little mishap with the adjacent (collapsing) cage.

EmmaJane was later led to the same web for a rather more business like application of a Coventry Canes Loopy. This is a deceptively innocent looking little toy, silent, but quite severe and all sting. In effect, its a piece of basket cane folded back on itself, so two and a half strokes for the effort of one! For EJ, there was the added piquancy of finding herself only a few inches face to face through the web with those queuing for the bar. For a player who normally has her back, and her bottom, facing her audience, this was a new discomfort. I felt pleased with the scene and appreciated EJ's responses. Catherine was later to feel the same loopy, but across my knee.

However, my most intense plays of the night were with bandree. What caught me unawares was that I had not set out with any great gameplan, but as the evening unfolded, and we met as we crisscrossed the club, our play got harder. Bandree is a responsive sub, she squirms, cries ouch, kicks and writhes. Sometimes she feels bad about this believing she should be still and stoic. Several times in the night, I had to reassure her that "Ouch" is not a safeword, and there is no loss of face in a bit of yelping. I had enough peripheral vision to recognise that those who watched us play also appreciated bandree swing her hips in response to a firm whip of my belt. Our later scenes all finished with a glass of water, a long cuddle and a slow surfacing back to sitting upright again.

In between this, my lovely girl made more friends, chatted, played a bit with others and was a general credit to me. The night ended on a much more emotionally intense note than I had anticipated heading in on the bus. I felt very close to my lover, wife and best friend. It was just under a year ago that I made my first blog post describing that first Nimhneach night and the step on the road of our discovery which it represented. Rereading it now, I realise that my bandree chose the same knickers to wear this time. I couldn't have chosen a better way of rounding off our year than the way the night worked out.

PS. Does anyone know if the lovely girl serving behind the bar was a patron who either volunteered or was pressed into service or was she a member of club staff who was entering into the spirit of things. How else can we explain the collar round her neck and the multi-tailed flogger sticking out of her back pocket? Either that or crowd control techniques in Dublin clubland have moved radically forward recently.

"Commemoration of Ottoman Massacre"

There it was, the headline bottom right of page 37 in the Independent on Sunday.

It was Sunday afternoon and I was in a strangely quiet post-volcanic UK Ryanair airport. On my right, lilemmajane was deep in work papers and, on my left, my Bandree, head buried in a book. Nothing for it but to stretch my legs and go look for a Sunday paper.

24 hours earlier, we had all been admiring Eliane's new house and, in particular, her new furniture. For a girl who has only a passing acquaintance with the Lowewood pupils, and their teachers, B fitted in a little too well.

Quite early on, Abel overheard B encouraging the others to join in with her in a slightly disrespectful song about someone called Mabel. Perhaps it was all an innocent misunderstanding, as she claimed, but he was having none of it. She was summoned to stand behind the back of the sofa, facing the assembled company, and this is where she started to squirm. Her upper cheeks became suffused to a lovely blushing scarlet as she attempted to explain her predicament to her chastiser.

Still protesting that she had intended to run upstairs and decide which of her pretty underthings to wear before the party started "in earnest", Abel took her firmly by the wrist, bent her face down to the sofa cushions and hiked up her skirt. I wasn't counting, but it didn't take long before my pretty lady had four matching crimson cheeks to show everyone. Some may even have been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her jewellery, but everyone was too polite to say anything.

Later, after the excellent Singapore Slings and other diversions, I had the opportunity to lead my B to Eliane's library and examine the new furniture piece, the brown leather covered Ottoman, only a couple of days old. On testing, it was a perfect height for a kneeling penitent girl and a doubled strap wielding punisher. We tried out Eliane's lovely new rubberwood paddle too. I can't decide between it and her short little, uber accurate, rectangular strap, both of them were a joy to use.

Whilst this was going on, we were joined by S. At the conclusion of B's spanking, I invited S to try out the new toys, which she was only too happy to do. She chose to lie flat on the Ottoman with her legs straight out behind her. The height was still just right for easily aimed swings of all three tormentors.

So how did the Independent on Sunday, within a few short hours, pick up on the Story of the Ottoman massacre at the epicentre of the UK spanking scene?


post script:-

Returning the next morning to compare hangovers and decide on a lunch venue, B was caught out knickerless again, initially by a cane wielding Emma Jane. Now once is unfortunate, but twice, careless, so she got no sympathy from anyone. Her bleating that she didn't think there'd be any spanking the next morning displayed an incomprehensible lack of foresight or understanding of her fellow party-goers.

So yes, a lovely time was had by all.

Thank you everyone for a great weekend.

Does This Make Me a Switch?

Recently, I paid money to a girl to hurt me.

We met at the appointed time. She was probably half my age, and smaller than me, but she carried herself with a confident authority. We had a discussion in which we agreed that this relationship involved invasion of personal space (mine), and power (hers) to inflict physical discomfort. We also agreed a safeword and when I, in an attempt to ease the mood, said I might thump her if she hurt me too much, she replied that I wasn't the first client to make such a threat.

At one stage in the proceedings, she permitted me to hold one of her toys and use it, if I wished, to apply a counter irritant. This, surprisingly, worked but she didn't allow me this release for long.

When we were finished, I felt cleansed and refreshed. I can now see why subs experience a sense of well being after play.

Before I left, I made a next appointment with my Dental Hygienist.

Older, Wiser, Sexier

Its about ten months since we "came out" to the scene community in Dublin. In that time, I have been observing the effect this has had inside my own head, the effect on the love myself and Bandree share, the impact our new friends have made on us and, in all humility, the impact that we have made on our new friends.

I have certainly growed up. I have had to confront subliminal prejudices which I had intellectually rejected years ago but had never really been called upon to challenge. I now realise that the Radical Ecstasy workshop, run by Dossie Easton, last summer was the watershed. That was where I had to grit my teeth and confront close contact, both physical and emotional, with strangers of all gender and sexual orientations. Before you get all excited, there was nothing debauched going on. We all kept more clothes on than the clientele of the average gym, but we spent two days being assigned partners for differing relationship exercises. Key words - "being assigned" - no participant choice here. It was down to random positioning. When we took up our places for any exercise, we didn't know if it was one or two circles, clockwise or anti-clockwise progression, there was no comfortable line dancing predictability for the knowledgeable or the cute.

The effect wasn't instant. Its only now that I can see my own discomfiture relaxing at anything other than conventional male/female contact. Being an intellectual liberal is piss easy, you only have to bullshit about it. To publically, even in a scene setting, hug another bloke because you are a dom and they are a sub, and they need to be comforted, is a considerable step beyond a business-like embrace because you're at a meeting in Paris and we all know the French are funny that way.

In my relationship with Bandree, my wife of 31 years and my lover of 34, the last year has felt like a public declaration of our wedding vows, and more, all over again, but with an added twist of really knowing what we mean. It has also prompted much discussion between us about our relationship, about our beliefs, about our moral principles, and about ageing.

We are both in the second half of our fifties and, unlike some noteable names, we were not founder members of alt.ssanything. Sure, I know that I probably have it easier in that there will always be a demand for silver haired schoolmaster looking types (though I'm not a schoolmaster) but I still have days when I ask myself what kind of silly ageing hippy am I consorting with people less than half my age in a nightclub or at a party at 2am. I don't have a particularly hairy chest but I still feel that all I am missing is that stupid big medallion and dangerously large motorbike.

Then I recall the affection, concern and respect that I have seen these friends show for one another, regardless of age, desires, body shape or taste in fashion. Why am I so self aware? Because, lets face it, we all are. Even in this most non-conformist of social groups, I am watching very carefully to learn the etiquette, to blend in, to not appear gauche or crass. It is, of course, the role of the Dom to take the lead, to be assertive, to establish the rules. There is, however, a conflict when the Dom is relatively new to an established scene. The role carries inherent responsibility, and its not that easy to act confidently and responsibly whilst still trying to work out what is going on and what all the different relationships are.

I have been surprised by, and take comfort from, the number of our new friends who have approached us with supportive remarks. These are generally along the lines of "we're really pleased (for which the cynical could read "surprised") that you have joined our scene with such enthusiasm". Well, there is a saying that youth is wasted on the young and I suppose if the interweb had been around earlier, we might have discovered all this a few years ago. But it wasn't and we didn't and so here we are now, wiser, sexier, more experienced, confident and eager to learn.

We don't want to lose it, so we better keep using it.