Do you remember the kids’ fable of Brer Rabbit and the briar patch?

I’ll refresh your memory: Brer Rabbit was a bit of a dick, and Brer Fox decided he didn’t like him much. He made a trap in which to catch Brer Rabbit, and Brer Rabbit walked straight into the trap. On catching him, Brer Fox (who thought he was cunning) wondered aloud what he should do with the rabbit now he’d caught him. Brer Rabbit shouted:

“I don’t care what you do, as long as you don’t throw me in the briar patch!”

“Anything?” said the fox, and at this point I think he could have benefited from a few lessons in critical analysis and not trusting sources with a huge vested interest. “You’d really want me to do anything rather than throw you into the briar patch?”

“Yes,” said Brer Rabbit. “Hang me, shoot me, eat me, just don’t throw me into the briar patch!”

So our hapless fox, who I remember feeling intensely irritated by as a small child, did the opposite of what the rabbit had requested, and he hurled Brer Rabbit into the briar patch. Brer Rabbit, who was also a bellend, danced for joy. Burning all of the bridges marked ‘potential future escape scenario’, he crowed that the briar patch was actually his favourite place to be.

“I was born and bred in the briar patch! Hahaha!”

What the fuck has this story got to do with flogging? I’ll tell you.

I rarely play the ‘briar patch’ game. Leather belts, canes, anything whippy with a biting sting is not to be trifled with. I’ll be up-front about my limits, and clear as day when I give feedback. If I’m being bratty and getting playfully punished, a thin cane gives a genuine reprimand. I’ll grit my teeth, bare my arse, and bite back yelps with each stroke.

The flogger, though? It’s my briar patch: I wasn’t born and bred with it, but ever since I started loving BDSM, it’s always been my happy place. My favourite flogger is heavy and thick – purple suede (obviously), with enough fronds that it falls like a thud. There’s a sting if you place it in certain ways – with the tails whipping round to catch me on the hip rather than the bottom. But if you can place it perfectly, right in the middle of one of the cheeks, I will moan and squirm like you’ve just kissed my clit.

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The following post contains some filthy sex chat about erotic asphyxiation – I’ve put it below/behind the cut so you don’t have to read if that kind of thing disturbs you. Likewise, if you don’t understand that it can be well dangerous, please don’t read on. I realise you can probably work this out for yourself, but occasionally I get linked from Reddit and people leave comments assuming I’m instructing everyone to treat sex like it’s a no-holds-barred Ultimate Fighting championship, and I get stressed. So this message is here as much for me as it is for you. 

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People who aren’t into spanking could be forgiven for thinking that the whole thing looks a tad painful. Harsh smacks on the bare bottom. Occasional whimpers punctuating the sighs. The sound of stinging whacks on flesh.

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Text: For every minute you’re late, I’m going to make you put an ice cube down your trousers.

I was quite proud of that one at the time. He still hasn’t done it though. The pub was a bit exposed and to be honest, it felt like maybe that one was a bit sexual. Ice cubes? Cool. Casual femdom? Fine. Trouser-based activity? Probably pushing it.

I have a friend who is super-sub. The kind of submissive you find in clubs wearing just PVC panties and an expectant grin. The sort of guy I’d playfully ask for a foot rub if my pointy shoes were killing me. A sub who does whatever you ask, then looks at you with those puppy-dog-eyes I’ve heard so much about, eager for you to issue another instruction.

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It’s rare for me to hear of something that’s genuinely new to me, but this week the amazing Cammies on the Floor has done it. She emailed me a while ago to tell me about an amazing kinky game: it’s a ‘hunt’ that she takes part in, and it works like an adult version of the ‘wild games’ you may have played at scouts when you were younger.

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