Don't dream it, be it

I am fully aware that a discipline session does not need to incorporate role play for it to be successful. Not everyone likes role play, or feels comfortable doing it. Some people feel fake or silly pretending. And in those cases I am always happy to provide a straightforward, no ‘acting’ spanking/corporal punishment session where we are just being ourselves. Or a very loose scenario to ease us into the session. However, by nature I have always been at the other end of the scale when it comes to make-believe. I get so involved in roles, that while we are in this dance of domination and submission, there’s a pretty large part of me that believes it. This enables me to come up with convincing back-stories and ideas, to improvise easily, and to take my spankee by the hand and lead them down the rabbit hole with me. I think it can be hugely beneficial as a way for him or her to access the right headspace and hopefully sink into subspace as we progress with the physical aspects of spanking and CP. A good discipline session is not merely about being whacked hard or otherwise- it is far more cerebral and imaginative, and when done well should be an effortless journey through the looking glass, to an altered state.

My ‘brother-in-law’ recently told me, on receiving an authentic punishment spanking, as his sister-in-law, for ‘embarrassing me at a family party’, that he can get into role really easily with me because I do not break role, have a piercing glare, and have no problem making stern eye-contact and scolding convincingly. He said few disciplinarians can do this and be believable, which I found flattering.

I think my fertile imagination and playfulness are deeply rooted in childhood. Even as a young child I remember really enjoying games of ‘doctor and nurse’ with my friends. I have a sneaking suspicion it was the element of either being powerless or powerful (the passive one laid out on the hospital bed being examined or the one in charge examining and prescribing cures) that gave me a thrill. I went to an all-girls’ school and we had a huge area of ‘rough ground’ alongside the gardens, and I remember as a small child galloping about this area with friends during break time, playing a game where we were a herd of wild horses, all interconnected with horsey relationships and passions that made total sense to us. This was the era when everyone was reading ‘Green grass of Wyoming’ and ‘My friend Flicka.’

(Feral horses live in groups called a herd, band, harem, or mob. Feral horse herds, like those of wild horses, are usually made up of small harems led by a dominant mare, containing additional mares, their foals, and immature horses of both sexes. - Wikipedia - interesting in a Femdom sense!)

Around the same age (9 or 20 years old) my brothers and I learned there was a ghost who allegedly lived upstairs from us- we lived for a while in a large house split into two, horizontally. Upstairs lived ‘Uncle Terry’ who was a friend of Dorothy and of Danny la Rue (I have a vivid memory of meeting Ms la Rue once, coming down the stairs. (In my untrustworthy memory he was dressed as if about to appear at the London Palladium, in full make up, gown, feather boa and heels. In reality he was probably not in full drag. In fact, possibly I never even met him, but the memory persists). Anyway, Uncle Terry is a tale for another day. But above his upstairs flat there was a marvellous attic, and he used to allow us kids to go and play up there while he and my mother drank tea, and probably smoked endless fags, as everyone did back then. There was a trunk full of glamorous and musty clothes he said had belonged to his mother, and we used to dress up in them as the adults chatted downstairs. Often when Uncle Terry was out, we still heard someone moving about up there, floorboards creaking and most of all, scraping sounds as if someone was cleaning out the fireplaces. Later we were told the attic had been servants’ quarters, and there was a chambermaid who had tragically died up there, which is why you could still hear her cleaning out the grates and preparing the fires. How can you not have a good imagination when you grow up hearing stories of this type?

My Mother’s favourite book is Alice in wonderland, and it is also a firm favourite of mine. This clever, curious, opininated little girl who goes fearlessly into other worlds was a heroine for me. I later learned how ground-breaking it was for Lewis Carroll to have made the main character in a children’s story a girl, and also for there to be very little moralising in this story, just pure, crazy imagination and fantasy. (and a lot of pure maths apparently).

At school, as young teenager I remember reading ‘She’ by S Ryder Haggard, from the school library, and endlessly daydreaming about the scene where the hero is captured by the powerful woman (She) and led off, hands tied behind his back, to her lair, where she interrogates and dominates him. I played this scene over and over in my head - the handsome, helpless hero at her mercy, and was quite confused by the thrill I experienced every time I thought about it.

Other fictional characters who caught my imagination include Cruella da Ville - at least she was glamorous and powerful and scary, unlike the passive, wet princesses who waited to be saved or married. I was also drawn to the Stepmother in Sleeping Beauty, questioning ‘mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?’ because I knew this story was about female jealousy, the loss of beauty, ageing, and the fear of older women. Far more juicy stories than the bland boy-meets-girl or rags-to-riches variety. Equally alluring was the ice queen in Narnia. Even though she was perfectly evil, I always felt a frisson of admiration when she swept into the scene in her sled, swathed in furs, offering Turkish Delight and favouritism in return for betrayal and pride.

Mine was an old-fashioned childhood, brought up on children’s books like Naughty Amelia Jane, the Famous Five, and Hilda Boswell’s slightly creepy compendiums of children’s stories where you can build an ice child in the snow of your garden, and there are sprites that live inside the fire, and runaway chimney sweeps who turn into water babies. Recently I bought myself a copy of the 1975 illustrated ‘The Grasshoppers Feast and the Butterfly Ball’, and still find its poems and trippy illustrations very soothing and unsettling at the same time. There were wild tales everywhere, never mind the traditional ones about strict boarding schools, Dame Slap and her spanking school in the middle of the woods, or Summer holidays treading on eggshells to avoid angering distant, punishing uncles. Everyone now knows Enid Blyton was a spanko, and even Beatrix Potter stories often featured punishments, thrashings and scoldings. This is what I grew up on-rich characters and other worlds, a vintage view of childhood coupled with wacky time-travel and endless possibilities.

I remain convinced that this is why a good role-play appeals to me and fits so closely into my enjoyment of kink. I like to be totally immersed and involved, and I love to weave a good story. I also think many of my clients are similarly imaginative. Don’t worry- this does not mean I expect you, as a new visitor, to come to me with a fabulous new idea for a session that no-one has ever thought of before. I have plenty of ideas, and I can do the imaginative work for you. You don’t have to be a good actor or role-player either. Many people think they are ‘bad’ at role playing, when in fact they’re just putting too much pressure on themselves to ‘perform’. Just be playful and use your imagination. Children don’t feel they are bad at playing, they just get on with it enthusiastically, and eventually, once the game begins, they are transported to another world where they can be anything or anyone they want to be. And we should enter the world of kink in the same playful way: open-hearted and curious, and willing to see where the adventure takes us.