I just bashed out these memories while trying to write copy for my Scarlet Blue ad. I have ventured down many paths during my extensive BDSM career but I will always be most at home over someones knee…

What drew me to spanking? I was always a naughty and curious child. I sought out educational books about human anatomy, and used to encourage my friends to ‘play’ sex. Boys and girls alike, I would orchestrate us into the positions from the diagrams of the books like ‘where do i come from’ or play strip poker where whatever I wanted to happen would, of course, be made to happen. I once got caught in the attic playing this game and, aside from a harsh thrashing with Mum’s orange melamine cooking spoon, a veil of shame was cast heavily over me. Or at least that’s how I remember the rest of my school years. I lay awake in bed at night, imagining that Mum would have rung the school to inform them of my indiscretion, and I was sure to be dragged in front of the assembly and chastised for my disgusting sins.

It wasn’t until I was about 30 that I realised that this was actually my kink origin story. Not the fact that the shame had led me to a life of deviance, but that the deviance was rooted deeply inside me from very early on; and that it was not deviance… it was in fact sexual curiosity.

By the time it came for me to be actually engaging in sex, I was already curious about the next thing. I had a boyfriend at 16 then by 18 I was eagerly pursuing girls. My first time hooking up with a girl was at my soon-to-become best friends 21st birthday when I was 18 years old and drinking wine for the first time. It became an orgy and I was instigating most of the play like it was the most natural thing on earth.

So! Being naturally uninhibited and dangerously curious, the only thing for me was to move to New York City and immerse myself deeply into the BDSM scene. One itch that had not yet been scratched was pain play, and I was keen to understand how receiving pain could be sexual. I loved pushing my body, and always remembered that first beating my mother gave me when I was caught naked, shamed and then punished harshly, leaving red welts all over my backside and thighs. I was too young to be aroused by the actual game at that time, but the thrill of the deviance coursed through my body, imprinting on my neural pathways a high far too explosive to ever be dispelled.

I looked through the Village Voice and found an ad for The Den of Iniquity. I rang up and enquired, eventually was directed to a telephone box on a corner of 5th avenue. I rang again and received the address. I booked Mistress Inqrid who was a young German Dominatrix for a spanking session. I had played a little bit by this time, mostly with bondage and clothing pegs, but the spanking I had only ever witnessed and never participated in. I guess I craved the escalating pain that I had seen dished out at the Hellfire club in Sydney, but in a more intimate style.

Long story short, the session was dreadful and Ingrid was a pretty terrible Mistress as I came to learn when I found myself working there a few months later! THe spankings the clients would give me were hard. Very hard. I would cry, but I would never mercy. And I came to live for this. The spankings led to strappings, the strappings to canings, and the canings led me to the UK where I discovered my tribe! Hype polite society, high protocol, role play, hand strappings… you name it.

SO here I am. Selling my story to you in the hopes that you would want to come and luxuriate over your own spanking origin story, while I am over your knee. Your hand warming my bottom. Or my bottom warming your hand. I hope you find all the information you need on this profile page, otherwise my website is linked with more details. I called myself “True Submissive”, not to belittle the other workers who offer spanking as a service, but because in my heart I know nothing makes me more complete than doing a good job for my Dominant, taking my punishment as proscribed and the possibly getting my brains fucked out afterwards and then lying in an endorphic puddle, catching our breath while we cuddle our way back into the world.