I have never been to a massive International Spanking party, and the last time I went to the States, other than being in transit in American airports, was thirty years ago. So going to Lone Star was a fantastically exciting prospect. We had booked it ages ago, but this year has hurtled past like a speeding train, so suddenly here it was. Matilda and I were about to go! All I know about this event is that the spankos take over 3 floors of a hotel somewhere in Houston, attendees are a mix of professionals and life-stylers, a lot of networking and a hell of a lot of spanking goes on, but other than that I had no idea what to expect. Would everyone be paddling each other with huge wooden paddles? Would we have to refer to bottoms as ‘asses’ and ‘butts’? And what on earth does one pack for a trip like this? The night before the flight, we stared at our bulging suitcases.
‘We’re packing for 4 people, really.’ It’s true- never mind echos of ‘there were 3 of us in this marriage’ - when you are a professional spanko you take another character along with you, and that persona demands multiple looks and outfits. That’s a lot of gym-slips, knee-socks and white knickers in Matilda’s case, and a lot of stockings, heels, pencil skirts and pussy-bow blouses for Miss Iceni. Let alone ‘normal’ clothes. Luckily, in retrospect, we got the packing just about right. given the amount of filming and dressing up we did while we were there. Maybe some more comfy clothes and fluffy socks would have been helpful, but we’ll know for next time.
The spanking started long before we even got to Texas. At the airport in London, giddy with excitement, Matilda was frog-marched from the boarding gate to the baby-change bathroom and spanked on her bare bottom until she stopped running around in a tizzy. After refusing to settle down on the plane, she asked the stewardess for sugar in her tea, which she knows is not allowed, and after a ticking off, a lot of fidgeting and sulking, and some defiance, the naughty girl was taken discreetly into the plane loo and spanked in there as well. In the end she settled down and slept. On arrival in Houston, mentally I had my story prepared for immigration - the purpose of our trip? Oh, you know, just hanging out with some friends. (Partly true). Any further questioning and I had decided I would come clean and tell them I was attending a big spanking party, just for fun, but it was not necessary to divulge that information in the end. I was welcomed to the USA and waved through after a cursory and friendly few questions. As was Matilda, who even managed to get herself smacked on the bottom on the monorail, en route to the hotel from the airport, for leading us off in the wrong direction. At last we were there at the hotel, checked in and installed in our vast beige and brown suite. The walls were hung with framed photos of cowboys, and drilling rigs that reminded me of the opening credits to ‘Dallas’, and the bathroom had a poster of a cowboy on horseback, swirling a lasso, with the title ‘A Great Western Drama- reckless riding- thrilling situations’. Adrift on our white raft of a bed we floated through jet-lagged sleep until the next morning.
The first day was a blur and a whizz. We registered for the event, greeted by smiling, friendly people, and we collected our name-tags with colour-coded lanyards, denoting top, switch or bottom. It felt strangely corporate (in a good way) to have a name badge stating ‘Miss Iceni: Performer/Pro D.’ I felt important and recognised as an expert in my field, something that rarely happens in this line of work, which is often cloaked in secrecy and seen as anything but a professional endeavour. The name badge is still displayed in the bedroom at home, in a prominent position, as a lovely reminder of our trip! We had several filming commitments already organised during our stay at Lone Star, so first things first- to see Sarah Gregory and John Osborne, and film 5 spanking scenes with them, with scenarios including a demanding sports Mum and her gymnast daughter, who had failed to bring home first prize at a regional championship, a posh Aunty disapproving of her niece’s choice of a date, and insisting she chaperone them, Matron and an over-familiar staff nurse, and a naive daughter accompanying her Mum on a business trip, and failing to understand that room service and mini bars do not come for free. We ended the filming with Sarah and Matilda as exchange student friends, in a pillow fight on the bed, resulting in hand and slipper spankings for both naughty girls, while in their cute pyjamas. Who doesn’t love a pyjama spanking? It was a delight seeing them both again, and working with them. We also met the inimitable Dolly Mattel, who helped film and take photos. What a hoot! It would have been lovely to hang out and relax, and have a good catch-up, however we knew they had a packed schedule and a lot of organising and co-ordinating to do. There would be time later for socialising. Matilda and I left on a high. A friend of ours, who Matilda now refers to as Uncle Max, arrived, and after some excited chatting and hugs, and a handover of high-value goods like Dairy Milk chocolate and Sudocrem, he very kindly lent us some canes to add to our collection of implements for the event.
That evening was the first dinner and drinks- at which we met many charming people in a jet-lagged blur, including a European couple who very much share our spanking ethos and tastes, and who, in a blossoming friendship, we got to know a lot better over the next few days. It was so great to see and meet spankers and models in the flesh that you had only every followed on Twitter (and yes, I’m still calling it that, try and stop me). A pleasure to meet some of the folk we had arranged to film with later during the event, or had podcast interviews booked with. And what fun just to chat to fellow spankers and bottoms and find out about their stories. I lost count of the number of people who came over to introduce themselves and let me know they loved my work, or had been following me for years online, or had bought and enjoyed my films. This was something I had never experienced before. I did get recognised once in public, in London- I was discreetly approached (in the woods near my house!) A smiling man came over, lent in, and murmured ‘Can I just say, I love your work,’ and for a second I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Then I twigged. He told me he’d seen me walking here before, but had not been alone, so could not come over and say hello, and was it alright that he had introduced himself? Of course it was, it was a thrill. He looked so pleased to have met me, like a schoolboy at a rock concert meeting one of his heroines, it was altogether surreal. Well, here it was happening every few minutes, and this continued throughout the 4 day event. Often I felt myself blushing at the overwhelming positive attention. Americans are indeed different- they will stride across a room to come shake your hand and tell you all about themselves and what they like about you- nothing like the perennial lurking in corners that we reserved British tend to do (and I am guilty of that myself sometimes). They could not have been more welcoming; it was wonderful.
The culmination of the evening was the first suite party- you squeezed into a packed executive suite with a kitchenette and living room, and a bedroom off each end. There were 2 massage tables in the middle of the room where people (girls mostly) rotated positions- on all fours, or laid out like face-down sushi girls, plump bottoms on show ready for the spanking, as they engaged with Doms and spankers for their pleasure and our enjoyment. Spankings also took place in the rooms either end, and there were people perched on chairs, sofa-arms, and animatedly chatting everywhere you looked. There was a priority of course- I found Matilda and, holding her by the wrist, dragged her to a spare seat, in full view of everyone, and told her in no uncertain terms that Nanny does not permit wandering off with new friends and not telling me where she was going - no excuses: you do not go skipping off without permission, so now it’s a spanking in front of everyone until you say sorry and promise not to be naughty again. Wriggling across my knee with embarrassment she was spanked soundly, both of us knowing that in our secret, perverted little hearts, we were both thrilled through and through to be putting on a show for anyone who cared to watch. Later Matilda was spanked in the bedroom by Uncle Max. She was put on the bed next to another young lady, who was the one being strapped quite hard. As he couldn’t see the spankee’s face properly, Matilda offered to mirror the girl’s expressions for him, and she yawned and rolled her eyes as Uncle Max spanked the girl next to her, implying that his spanking was boring and she was sassing him, so the poor girl got spanked harder. Then Matilda managed to hide 2 implements under the pillows and blame it on her new friend as well. But there is justice- she got her just desserts in the end. The party swirled around us, drinks and spankflirting and a buzz of conversation and friendships forged in the glow of hot bottoms. Like the lightweights we are, Matilda and I excused ourselves around midnight and fell, face down onto the soft, white bed-raft for another rest, and attempt at sleep.
Mornings started with the hum and whir of the lifts near our room, and the clockwork opening of eyes, like porcelain dolls’ eyes snapping open. Once they were open there was no dozing- we were far too excited and wired, so we headed early every day to the breakfast of champions downstairs. Oodles of weak coffee with creamer, topped up before you had drained half a cup, by a super-friendly waitress, headachy-sweet granola, perfectly incinerated bacon (the only way to eat bacon), scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, mysterious pans of grey stuff next to the eggs and sausages - was that grits? Or oatmeal? And why was it with the savoury stuff? Ah well, we got on board and tried everything, By the third day we were tucking into fresh waffles in the shape of Texas, then ordering pancakes, and drinking so much coffee our teeth chattered. We didn’t know this on our second day at Lone Star, but every day as you came down to breakfast you would notice more and more fellow ‘perverts’ in their lanyards and badges, sitting down gingerly at their breakfast tables, waving across the granola at you, stopping for a quick chat and a grin, nursing hangovers, or full of smiles at the prospect of a new day of shenanigans. By the last day we’d be having breakfast with Madame Samantha B and trying her grits (it’s quite nice in fact, like creamed corn), and giggling about the evening before, and plotting future spanking mayhem. But we didn’t know this yet- this was merely our second day in Spanking Heaven. There was a whole lot more filming and friendship and hard work and giddy fun to come. Our great western drama had only just begun, and the rest of our stay would be packed with thrilling situations.