New photographer: Daniel Regan

I'm in discussions with a new photographer about working together for my work-in-progress spanking site. I've got some ideas for photo galleries which draw on the aesthetics of high fashion, classical art, and modern grunge style to create some iconic punishment and D/s imagery, and I've been looking for the photographer to realise them.



I'm toying with the idea of moving away from the inevitable film + stills format. As someone who's worked in both photo modelling and film acting, it seems to me that taking stills distracts from the energy of a good film shoot - and if you want to focus on gorgeous stills, your priorities are very different from when you're filming. If you're doing them well, stills and film each need different lighting setups, different mentalities from actors and camera technicians. Although both film and a photogallery for each scenario is expected, I'm not sure it's necessary. As a viewer, I'd be perfectly happy with screencaps and a dozen nice promo images to accompany a spanking film - a few sites do this already, and don't seem to suffer for it. If I've watched the film, I don't need to click through 100+ photos as well. As far as I'm concerned, photos accompanying a film are mostly for promotion and sharing. I'd rather have a smaller number of high-quality photo galleries which visually stand out, than endless photostories tacked onto films which replicate the same scenario. I don't know if I'm alone on this one, but either way, as someone who's come to spanking porn via the art nude and fetish fashion modelling industry, I have a clear idea of the visuals I'm looking for in photographic erotica - and high standards.



All three of the photographers I've worked with so far have been excellent, and I intend to use them again. But I'm all about variety, and ideally I'd like a stable of photographers with different styles and strengths, so I can pick and choose the best photographer to suit each project. Oh, and while I'm at it, a pony wouldn't go amiss either ;)



I love Daniel's work, and am thrilled that he's interested. He's not photographed spanking stories before, but he's no stranger to the kink scene and I think his style could work really well with my ideas. I'm aiming to book a shoot sometime in the next couple of months (I need to save up first!) to see how we work together. I'm looking forward to working with him - and I'll let you know how it goes!

a wee rant about size

As you'll have already gathered, I've put on weight lately, and I have mixed feelings about it. My weight has always fluctuated a lot - I have different jeans for different times of the month - but I've gone from a size 8-10 to a 12-14 in the last few months, and a lot of my clothes no longer fit. Now, I don't know a single woman in our culture who doesn't have issues with weight and food to some extent, or hasn't had at some point in their life, so I'm hardly a special snowflake. I find unpacking this stuff helpful and empowering, though, so bear with me while I do just that.

Trigger warning: I talk below about my history of food issues and disordered eating - please skip this post if mention of the above is going to hinder your own recovery.

Thing 1: For a few years in my late teens and early twenties, I had badly disordered eating, although I was never diagnosed with a disorder. It was a symptom of depression and anxiety; it started after my first attempt to quit self-harm; it was exacerbated by the stress of graduate education and the weird, petri-dish culture of my small university. I calorie-counted obsessively, careened through a self-destructive starve/binge cycle, and for 18 months or so I abused laxatives quite heavily (don't try that at home, kids - my digestive system has never been the same. Seriously unfun). These days I identify as "recovered" rather than "recovering", but I still have to be careful to avoid certain mental habits, and I'm not really capable of dieting or deliberately losing weight in a healthy way. I've steered my control impulses around food into healthier outlets: low-impact, sustainable food sourcing; interesting vegetarian and exotic cooking; planning elaborate meals and compulsively feeding everyone who ever enters my house.

Thing 2: These days, I'm an advocate of fat acceptance. This has arisen from my feminist and gender egalitarian politics, but although I believe fat is a gendered issue, our culture's fatphobia harms people of all genders. (Of course, it's not only women whose bodies are publically scrutinised and criticised - the whole penis size fetish in our culture is totally fucked up, for a start.) At the personal level, all my partners are heavier than me. I've always been attracted to strong, bulky men and strong, curvy women; these days I'm just less conflicted about it. (I used to be attracted to tiny, fragile women as well, but after three flings in a row with selfish, eating-disordered, manic pixie dream girls, I am so over that.)

Thing 3: My size is extremely dependent on my contraceptives. I take hormonal contraception because without it, I have very long, heavy, irregular periods, bad PMT, and bad skin. I suffered from acne from the age of 9, and as an adult, feeling spotty seriously knocks my self-esteem. The pill controls my bleeding and my moods, reduces my androgen levels and keeps my skin under control. Too much oestrogen and my depression, anxiety and moodswings go through the roof; too much progesterone and I get bad breakouts, loss of libido and emotional intensity. Oestrogen makes me gain weight, progesterone makes me lose it. So the balance I'm striking in my hormonal contraception is between all sorts of conflicting things, and my weight is not actually the most important of them. I'm fatter on my current pill than I would be without it, but I'm also happier, saner and more functional.

Thing 4: I still live in this society, I was still raised in it, and it's a lifetime's work to unpick that level of cultural brainwashing. I talk the talk of body positivity, but battling the impulse to slim down is a daily project for me. It weighs on my mind more than I'm happy with. (The mental hook that motivated me to finally start recovering from my fucked-up eating patterns was the realisation of quite how tedious a person I was. When you're malnourished you're incapable of thinking about anything other than food; calorie-counting is quite literally a full-time job. Shit, but I have better things to do with my brain and my time.) I don't like this stuff taking up valuable mental space and energy; and yet it's like a persistent weed, remarkably difficult to kill.

I'm used to battling down the fatphobic impulses that creep into my thinking when I inspect my rolls of fat, my flab and curves. That's second nature now. But I find myself pre-occupied with a whole host of other issues and irritations. Like clothes sizing.

See, a lot of the size small clothes that I've been valiantly squeezing into over the last couple of years officially now no longer fit. Not even a little bit. I still haven't decided what to do with them. Keep them as costumes for my spanking site, to lend to slimmer models? Keep them with the intention of letting them out or getting them adjusted? Keep them in case my weight randomly goes down at some point in the future, because they took me years to accumulate and good clothes are hard to come by? Or sell them, because their presence is a reminder of my weight gain, and every time I try something on that's too small, I feel bad about my size all over again? Sell them, because I can't afford a whole new wardrobe that makes me feel good without making some cash off the stuff I can't wear any more?

While I'm being indecisive, I'm collecting new clothes in bits and pieces, raiding sales and charity shops for things I can afford. It's reminded me all over again how CRAZY women's clothing sizes are. Here are my current measurements:

height: 5'8
bust (fullest part): 93cm / 35"
waist (narrowest part): 74cm / 29"
hips (fullest part): 108cm / 42"

In Primark, I'm a size 8-10, which is just bizarre. In M&S, I'm a 10-14. In Debenhams, I'm a 14-18. In most ranges, I'm two sizes bigger on the hips and bum than I am on top. I never have any idea whether I'm a Small, Medium or Large. My boobs are too small for most dresses that fit over my hips. I can't buy clothes online any more, because the size guides are so wildly conflicting that I just don't want to risk it.

I spent four hours going up and down a big London high street in search of a new swimming costume. I wanted a plain black costume to swim in. Everywhere I looked had a billion bikinis, but only 1 or 2 two full-length suits. Those they had were either horrendously coloured or patterned, far too short for my long body (so that the top didn't even cover my nipples, in a few cases), with narrow shoulder straps that cut into my shoulders and would have made it very uncomfortable to actually swim, or "body shaping". WTF? Since when does a size 12 costume need to be fucking body shaping? This is a weird clothing trend that means "incredibly tight and uncomfortable" in the interests of squeezing your tummy into a more conventionally acceptable shape. Fuck that. I'm going swimming, not walking down a catwalk. I want to be free to use my body, not contorted and squeezed at the cost of my own flexibility and comfort. After trying ten or twelve different mainstream clothing chains I eventually found a size 14 costume that fitted in M&S, by which point I was thoroughly pissed off with the whole clothing industry.

Now, I look like a normal, healthy, pear-shaped weight. I'm bang in the middle of the "healthy BMI" (although as it happens I think BMI is total bullshit). I didn't have these problems when I was smaller; I could be reasonably certain a size 10 or Small would fit. Why has it suddenly got so much worse because I've gained a couple of inches?

So yeah. On the one hand, I have better things to think about and fret about than this shit. On the other, something is seriously broken in our culture in terms of how we think about female bodies and women's clothing, and the only way to deconstruct that is to talk about it. I find myself increasingly fascinated by the semantics of body size and how it relates to gender, sexuality, cultural expectation, the weird and subtle ways in which so many normal body shapes are penalised.

I want to close with some silly photos I took in the bath the other day.



I was fascinated by the way my view changed depending on how I was holding myself. Arch my back and my belly swells into view; push my hips and ribs forward and it disappeared under the water. My boobs are pretty small, but shot from the right angle they look enormous.



Modelling has always allowed me to disengage from the cultural baggage of body shape in this way - it's all about learning to manipulate the camera, which means learning that bodies are subjective, fluid, that people's perceptions can be easily changed. When you can make yourself look fat or thin on demand, it's much harder to take the whole issue particularly seriously.

Proof of Innocence

Kaelah has written an in-depth report on our shoot together the other week, called "My First Day At School - On Camera!" It's quite amazing realising how many 'firsts' were involved in the day for her - one of those watershed experiences where you plunge feet-first into a whole pile of new things at once. I'm full of admiration for her courage. Any Klingon would be proud.

She's posted a synopsis and a couple of images from the second clip we filmed, so now it's public I may as well do the same. It's called "Proof of Innocence", and although she wasn't playing a Klingon warrior, her schoolgirl character was based strongly on principles of bravery and honour.



Kaelah designed a storyline drawing heavily on her personal experiences, which made it not only very powerful, but much easier for her to act convincingly in a second language. (She did great in both clips, despite her nerves! Her English is bloody good, and she's a fantastic roleplayer.) She played Adelheid, the bookish Head Girl, a teacher's pet and "goody two shoes" who gets top grades, but isn't very popular with her fellow pupils. Reports from other students, combined with evidence found in her locker and an apparent motive, all point to Adelheid as the culprit who vandalised the art school. The cumulative evidence is so convincing, in fact, that the Headmaster, Mr Clarke (played by Ludwig) insists that Adelheid must face the music. She must be punished to set an example to the other students - and so that no-one can accuse him of favourable treatment. Her form tutor, however, Mr Purvis (played by Tom) believes her claim that she is innocent, and sympathises with her plight. When Adelheid suggests a rather unusual method to clear her good name, Mr Purvis accepts her idea, and becomes her ally in presenting it to the Head.



Adelheid's plan succeeds - through her courage, fortitude and quick thinking she manages to demonstrates her good faith to the teachers. But this means that the student who reported that Adelheid was guilty must have been lying. Enter Rosemary (moi!), who is immediately summoned to account for herself ... and ends up having to face the same music as Adelheid. But it turns out that the chain doesn't end there. The teachers uncover a web of deceit, and are determined to get to the bottom of it...

Kaelah has already written some interesting analysis of Adelheid and what she got out of the role - I recommend you read her post. I can't really improve on what she's already said, but I can add a little about Rosemary. I wouldn't normally cast myself in the role of someone like Rosemary, but I had great fun with it. Her excuse for framing Adelheid was that she was put up to it by the class bully - but perhaps her resentment of the cleverer, more successful student made her easier to persuade. So, okay, Rosemary isn't actually evil - but she's perhaps a troubled teen with a tendency to get into trouble, not very applied as a student, unsure how to stand up for herself or anyone else, trying to fit in. Good at heart, perhaps, but weak-willed.



So I played her a bit sulky and provocative, the classic "I don't care" adolescent attitude - but not so bitter and broken that she lacks all compassion. When she sees what Adelheid has gone through to prove her innocence, she is shocked. And when she looks in her eyes, she starts to believe her.

Suddenly she feels ashamed of giving in to those bullies, and sorry for Adelheid. She starts to soften towards the Head Girl, seeing beneath the strict, straight-A exterior to the vulnerable girl who doesn't understand why the other students don't like her. But she's afraid, still, of the social consequences if she grasses on the bullies.



By the end of the clip, I wanted Adelheid and Rosemary to have been brought together by their tangled predicament, and by being witnesses to each other's suffering. I'm always a fan of sympathy between victims, especially when it comes out of some sort of conflict resolution. Kaelah was great to work with in this respect, giving me all the emotional feedback I was looking for and more.



And the gents were brilliant - Tom playing a gentler top than his usual on-screen persona in the kindly Mr Purvis, but still wielding the cane with a precise ferocity. I very much enjoyed receiving my first twelve strokes from Ludwig (sorry, Rosemary) and he made a solemn and imposing Headmaster in the mortarboard and gown I lent him. Although he didn't half make me blink when I saw him behind the camera out of the corner of my eye...

Hands pinned to the floor

Remember that moment I mentioned during my recent Bars and Stripes shoot, when I was over Paul's knee being given a "welcome back" spanking, and Zoe Harrison took the opportunity to pin my hands to the floor with her heels?

Well, Michael Stamp has very kindly sent me a preview shot. Here it is:



It felt just as helpless and humiliating as you can imagine. Mmm. *shiver*

Taking the plunge

I thought, when I moved out of London with Tom to a much bigger house, that it would be easier for me to find opportunities to film for my work-in-progress spanking site. Living with my Dom, a bedroom big enough to set up a camera and lights - I was looking forward to being able to shoot more easily than when I was in London.

But so far, it hasn't turned out quite that way. I've ended up getting very involved in setting up Tom's new business, and since we moved, working on that has taken all my spare time outside paid work. At the same time, the stress of the last couple of years combined with the exhaustion of moving and starting a new enterprise has seriously compromised Tom's health, and one of the things which has been put on hold to give him a chance to recover is our sex and spanking life. It's tough, but hopefully temporary.

When Ludwig and Kaelah said they were coming to the UK and would like to come and stay, I jumped at the chance - it drove me nuts not having enough space to play host in London, and I'm revelling in the fact that our new home has a spare room. Ludwig said he would potentially be interested in filming a clip or two while they were there. Him and Kaelah's relationship is one in which they only play with one another, but since Ludwig has prior experience appearing as a switch in spanking videos, they've agreed to make an exception for filming. They've filmed one clip together at home, but Kaelah said she might be interested in sharing her first experience shooting with other people with me, Tom and Jimmy.

Well. With so flattering an offer, how could I refuse? We worked out that a "professional" shoot where I hired them, got them to sign releases etc, probably wasn't what they were looking for this time, for various reasons. So we agreed that we'd shoot some free clips for the blogs, just for fun.

On previous shoots, I've always made sure I had experienced industry people around to help me with the cameras, lighting and audio. As a producer I've been able to delegate the technical side of the day entirely, and focus on everything else. This time, since I wasn't filming commercial content which would justify the expense of a camera crew, I decided to go it alone. Jimmy (who has a lot of technical confidence, but not much experience) offered to help out behind the camera, and I decided to take the plunge, and get to grips with the equipment I bought last year but have never operated myself. I was going to have to learn at some point; I want to be able to shoot informally at home if Tom and I are in the mood, without it having to be a big production with camera crew each time.

It felt a little weird agreeing to produce blog content with Ludwig and Kaelah when I'm frustrated by not having time to shoot material for my site, but in the end it was the right decision. It removed a certain amount of pressure, and liberated us to work out the dynamics of shooting together for the first time, in a new location and without outside technical assistance, without feeling like I had to "get my money's worth" or meet any quotas.

So it was a day of firsts: Kaelah's first experience bottoming and filming with someone other than Ludwig; and my first experience not only shooting with them and in a new venue, but also operating independently behind the camera.

There was lots of planning by email. I sent over a few scene ideas, but in the end Kaelah wrote the two scripts we ended up using on the day. Both were school scenes, reflecting her desire to participate in the more "innocent" end of the genre, rather than any explicitly erotic or sexual scenes. An awful lot of thought and creativity went into the final concepts - most of it Kaelah's. I've been very busy with vanilla work lately, and so wasn't able to be as active a part of the planning phase as I'd have liked, but we worked out two plots with two tops and two bottoms, and two different but matching school uniforms. I found myself in the unusual position of being the voice of realism, reining in Kaelah's enthusiasm and perfectionism with the pragmatism I've learned the hard way. Normally I'm the one to try and take on too much - it was odd being the one to suggest that we should avoid being too ambitious and not bite off more than we could chew. I think I've learned my lesson there, at least!

They arrived on Sunday night, and we enjoyed a relaxed evening cooking, eating and catching up. The next morning we were up early to start at 9am, since we only had the venue until 5pm and I wanted to make sure we had plenty of time in case anything went wrong. At the last minute, Tom realised he wasn't able to spend the whole day away from his office, so we rewrote the first scene for a single top, and arranged for Tom to join us after lunch.

I was glad I'd left us as much time as I had. It allowed us to set a leisurely pace without getting stressed out. The venue I'd found was beautiful, but we had to spend a fair amount of time moving furniture around to create the desired headmaster's study/senior common room effect. My lights worked but I couldn't find the bulbs, so there was a mission into town to buy new ones. We were using Ludwig and Kaelah's cameras, and the four of us spent a couple of hours blocking the various shots and working out where to put everything. It was slow work for four newbies, but we managed it without any strife. By midday we'd set up everything for both scenes, so we wouldn't have much faff after lunch, and we were ready to film the first clip, "The Protection Racket".

Kaelah had written a story about two schoolfriends who both come forward individually to confess to the same crime, creating a tangle which their teacher needs to somehow sort out. Both girls have good reasons for believing their friend to be the culprit, and want to save them from punishment.



But neither is a particularly good liar, and their teacher doesn't need to be a genius to work out that neither story rings true.



He applauds their spirit of self-sacrifice, but lying to a teacher is still unacceptable. They won't be punished as much as if they had been the culprit, but they still need to be punished.



In the end, it all came together okay. Jimmy was an absolute star managing both cameras while I was acting, and I really enjoyed working with him behind the scenes - I think it bodes well for our future collaboration. By the end of the day I felt totally exhilirated at the knowledge that not only had we produced some good content without any stress, in a new location and with new people, but that we'd done it totally independently, without needing to bring in outside help. As a producer I seem to be learning from past mistakes every time I make them, and this time I think I managed not to cock anything up. Quite an awesome feeling! I feel much more confident about shooting my own material in the future now, and am looking forward to having the time.



I had great fun working with Ludwig and Kaelah, and was really impressed with their enthusiasm and dedication. Kaelah has written a brief update about the shoot on their travelling journal, but I'm sure they'll have more to add once they get home and recover from their trip. It was an honour to help Kaelah have her first experience of filming with other people. I'll post the clips as soon as they're ready to share.

A lady worth worshipping

Sometimes, an image just takes your breath away.



My favourite perv J sent me a link to the above pic yesterday. I've seen a fair amount of The Upper Floor's content go past, and a lot of it is a little too overtly gang-rapey for my tastes. (Not that I don't enjoy a good rape fantasy, but generally I prefer my D/s porn to be a little more psychological, and a little less in-your-face.)



Some of it, though, is pitched so perfectly for my tastes it could have been designed for me. I like that their models aren't all identikit skinny. And their subtler D/s stuff is absolutely beautiful.





Only three days until my lady Penny is here for the weekend ... somehow, I doubt she'll need much persuading to bring a corset and strap-on. But I'm not very good at waiting!

New latex

I bought a new latex dress recently; the first new item in my fetish wardrobe for a while. I've gone up a dress size or two over the last couple of years, and all of a sudden I've reached the point where a lot of my uber-tight clubwear doesn't fit any more. Since I rather like my new improved curves, haven't gained the weight for any reason other than getting a bit older and my body naturally changing shape, and don't really fancy going on a permanent diet in a miserable attempt to try and thwart nature, I only have one remaining option: buy new fetish clothes. Oh noes! Can you feel my disappointment?

The downside, of course, is that fetishwear is notoriously expensive, so I suspect my new wardrobe is going to be accumulated slowly. So I jumped when I saw this beautiful, size 12 Inner Sanctum dress being ebayed by a friend of mine:



She let me try it on before I bought it, and given how much taller and smaller-breasted than her I am, I was amazed to discover how well it fit. She's only worn it once. I bought it on the spot.

It takes about 45 minutes to get into, and requires an awful lot of wriggling and tweaking and buffing and polishing. I modelled it for D last Saturday and the effect on him was ... remarkable (but that's a story for another post). I can tell you that it was definitely worth the effort ...

Now I just need some fetish events to wear it to (October Subversion, anyone?) and some decent pics by a proper photographer. D did the best he could with a digicam and low lighting last weekend, but I certainly wouldn't say no to the chance to wear it again. :)

Back behind Bars

So last Sunday I had my second shoot with Bars and Stripes. It's been a while coming. I was first admitted in January 2007, sentenced to 12 months for repeated and aggravated shoplifting - a youthfully naive vendetta against the capitalist system. Bless. Once inside, my character's sulky, self-involved behaviour earned her the contempt of the guards, and her sentence the mistrust of the other inmates. Her social isolation reinforced her sense of victimhood, and all in all, she emerged from her 12 months behind bars more paranoid, angry and socially incompetent than she'd been before.



At her trial two years later, for another incident of theft, she pleaded not guilty. Nonetheless, she was sentenced to another two years. The prison was the same, although it had since moved premises; some of the staff members were familiar, others not. I wanted to leave it deliberately ambiguous as to whether she had committed the crime she was prosecuted for. Her claims of innocence are hard to take seriously given her conviction that everyone is out to get her; on the other hand; her reputation during her previous sentence was undeserved. She didn't indulge in petty theft from other inmates once she was inside - she just wanted to be left alone - but she was treated as if she did, and punished for it too.



My plan for this shoot was that her social paranoia would escalate during her second spell inside until she started doing seriously stupid things, like pre-emptively moving everyone's possessions around so that everyone in her cellblock would be suspect, and she would be less in the spotlight for once. But it didn't quite work out like that. Turns out that plot hinging on a relationship with the other inmates is quite hard to communicate when you don't have any other inmates to hand, so the storyline ended up focussing much more on her relationship with the guards. It was wonderful to work with Paul Kennedy again - such a gentle, clever, warm gentleman who gives hard spankings, intense in-scene eye-contact and amazing post-caning cuddles.

The other guard was someone I hadn't worked with before: a certain Zoe Harrison, whom I've rather fancied ever since seeing her in (as yet unreleased) Control and Reform film Cruel Correction (of which I have a review to post as soon as it's released ... hint hint, Mr Stamp!) Zoe is the hot, deliciously wicked new guard who recently, to my delight, appeared in a Bars scene with her real-life spankee sister Natasha:



(How hot is that?!)

A lot of Zoe's experience to date has been doing F/m work with a rather broader BDSM remit than most spanking porn. I don't know if this as affected her style, but I found myself deliciously plunged into a whirlwind of unfair, vicious, sexy, playful domination which made a delightful change from the traditional "firm but fair" domination normal to the spanking industry. (Firm but fair is also lovelylovelylovely, but I'm a sucker for variety.) The shoot involved some things I haven't done on camera before, some things I haven't done with a woman before, and lots of wonderfully intense psychodrama, mental games, verbal abuse and CP hard enough to make me giddy.

Highlights, for me, included:

• During my intake scene, being held down by Zoe while Paul spanked me - her elbows digging into my back, her weight pressing me to the table. I felt a little long to be bending over that low desk, with my legs stretched out behind me, but I love being pinned down so much I promptly forgot all my self-consciousness.
  
  
• Also during my intake: after removing my knickers, I lobbed them moodily at Paul. In response, he picked them up, arched an eyebrow, and proclaimed "These are wet. Disgusting."
  
  "They are NOT!" I squealed in outrage. (Of course, in fact they probably were. But my character isn't kinky, so the guards must have been lying...)
  
  "Harrison. Confirm." He handed them to Zoe, who made a great fuss about how soiled they were before stuffing them into my startled mouth. I was totally taken by surprise. Now, normally I am the first person to go "ew" at this trope in spanking porn, but somehow with these people and in this context it just worked for me. It wasn't about how horny my character was - rather, it was an unfair tool the guards were using to further degrade and abuse me. Which rather set the tone for the rest of the day...
  
  
• And yet, tellingly: I was putting on the familiar, too-short red prison uniform, with much moaning and whinging. Before the scene, I'd checked that it fit (the label said size 8, but since it fit over my size 12-14 butt it must have been lying, or else they were cut REALLY loose). However, I'd neglected to check the fit of the regulation black prison panties. Cameras rolling, I pulled them up to just over the knee before realising they weren't going any higher.
  
  "Mmmffmf mffmfmff mm!!" I said. Paul and Zoe watched me expectantly. I pulled my panties back out of my mouth and complained "These are too small, sir."
  
  "Well," sneered Paul without missing a beat, "you'll just have to go without, won't you?" So I did.
  
  After the scene, in the dressing room, I said to Zoe, "By the way, thanks for not taking the opportunity to make a fat joke there. I mean, it would have been in character I guess, but I wouldn't have liked it."
  
  She started at me in astonishment. "God, of course not! We wouldn't do that." Hooray for compassionate tops who take it for granted that they need to be decent about sensitive topics, even in the middle of a humiliating, improvised verbal abuse scene.
  
  
• Having Zoe pin my hands flat to the floor with the toes of her stiletto shoes while I was over Paul's knee getting a hard hand spanking. I didn't see that coming at all. She was careful not to crush my hands, but she put enough weight on them that I was trapped and ... oh. I can't describe the sudden, overwhelming, frightening helplessness of it. It was intense.
  
  
• Over the course of the shoot I had my face slapped by Zoe about ten times, each one harder than the last. I love having my face slapped - it's not an erotic sensation but the D/s play of it is really powerful. The last was so forceful I skidded across the floor, hair flying and ears actually ringing. (I'd earned it: I think my character had made a comment about whether Zoe's dysfunctionality was a result of her being abused as a child...) I felt shocked and giddy, and as I stared at her, trying to collect myself and I remember thinking very clearly, wow, so THAT'S what they mean in books when they refer to your ears ringing. Afterwads I was practically bouncing up and down with glee. However, I refrained from earning myself another clip round the ear that day.
  
  
• After the first full body search Zoe gave me, Michael Stamp stopped us and asked her to do it again more roughly. "Like this," he said, grabbing my shoulders, twisting me off balance, and 'patting' me down with brusque slaps. Zoe watched intently.
  
  "Shall we start again?" she asked Mike.
  
  "No, just give her another one, you don't need a reason, do you?"
  
  I'm sure it's not normal to enjoy your job this much.
  
  
• Getting a double paddling from Zoe and Paul. This was my idea, at first - but I'd envisaged, you know, one top on each side, taking turns to whack me at a normal sort of pace. I didn't expect to be grabbed round the waist by Zoe and for them both to start smacking away in unison at top speed. It was agonising, and I couldn't stay still - I yelped and twisted in their grip, bucking helplessly, not even in enough control to stay attractively bent over. It was so. Very. Hot. God, I'm getting turned on again just thinking about it.
  
  
• Zoe played the mean, teasing guard to full effect. After I was caught snooping around in someone else's cell (my character was trying to find a razor to shave my legs after Zoe's humiliating comments about how 'stubbly' my character was - I mean, come on, razors aren't normal in prison, are they? But you need friends to get access to the black market...) she bent me over the bunk and spanked me. Then she proceeded to trash the room and abuse me until I admitted having done it myself - and admitted having stolen things from the cell. It got deliriously intense. Reminiscent of those classic doublethink torture scenes; there are five lights...
  
  
• Over the course of that scene, Zoe pulled my hair; smacked my face and my legs; shouted at me; threatened to shave my eyebrows off with the razor (and pretended to actually nick a bit off, although she didn't really); made me kiss her shoe ("I'm not hearing kissy noises!"
  
  "I ... don't make kissy noises when I kiss shoes, normally."
  
  "Well you're going to make them now!"); and removed MY shoe, wiped the sole disgustedly on my tunic, and then proceeded to whack me with it over the knee until my whole bottom felt bruised.
  
  
  
  
• Of course, after Zoe reported my misdemeanours, I was punished for them. A judicial session in the punishment room, stripped naked and bound to the horizontal cross for a whole-body flogging. Taking pity on my battered self, Paul and Malc chose the softest, loveliest of suede floggers, and I took 40 hard strokes on back, bottom and legs. I had to try and react enough to keep the scene visually interesting despite the lack of dialogue, twisting in my bonds and throwing my head back - and of course I had to act as if it was as severe as it looked - but inside I just wanted to float away, hang my head and lie there limp as a rag while the dreamily soft, thuddy, strokes rained down on me and took me straight into subspace... Ahh, it felt gorgeous. Definitely a scene to revisit another day, when I can relax and enjoy it...
  
  
  
  
• In the final scene, my character, driven to desperation by her friendless situation and the peculiarly focussed and weird torments inflicted on her by Zoe, approached the Guv to offer her services as a snitch, in return for being moved to a different cellblock. I won't tell you how it ends, but I managed to earn myself one more caning before we wrapped for the day. I'd picked the cane called Excalibur: Michael Stamp's pride and joy, stiff and thick and not horribly heavy, with a steel sheath that he just loves to draw it from with a big flourish.
  
  I was more bruised and tired than I realised, and by the time I'd taken 6 firm strokes I could feel the tears start to come. Normally I'd relish the chance to have a good cathartic weep during the last scene of the day, but the storyline demanded my character stay stoic. So I had to cut the scene - "Sorry, I just need a bit of a breather, I'm about to cry and I don't want to do so in character..." and took deep breaths while Mike rubbed my back and made soothing noises. I refused to let them stop the scene there, or give me light strokes for the rest of it - I can't think of anything more frustrating for the viewers, or for me - but they didn't want to push me too far.
  
  In the end we agreed a compromise: I'd take three more light strokes with the camera on my face, and the last three would be medium-hard to finish. I'm not sure how good my acting was - I was a bit shaky and spun out - and I felt a bit cheated when the last three weren't as hard as I could have taken. But I really appreciated their care. Afterwards Mike gave me a massive hug and told me well done for cutting and that it was the right thing to do, which was utterly lovely of him. A couple of years ago I would have felt terrible about it and angsted for hours, but on this occasion I'd quite clearly done it for the scene's sake, and I didn't feel too bad about it. I snuck up to Paul while we were finishing up the stills and claimed a much-needed cuddle, though.

How lucky am I to work with such amazing, warm, empathic people, who know me well enough to take me safely on an emotional rollercoaster, push me to my limits but no further? It was an exhilirating, hot, hard shoot, and I had a huge amount of fun. Now, it's just the long wait until the results come out...

Oh, and we ended on a cliffhanger, so you never know - there might be more of this story to come. I'll leave that in the Governor's hands, though!



All stills from my first shoot with Bars and Stripes in 2007.

The belt

D sent me the link to this story a few hours before he was due to come and visit that evening. We hadn't spent the night together for a couple of weeks, but during that time had met up a couple of times during the day. The most recent lunch hour had involved delicious kisses, some quality snuggles and no small amount of horny talk whispered into my ear. I went away purring and molten, eager for the chance to take him up on both threats and promises.

After an extended two-week tease, it was delicious to have that desire re-awakened when he sent me the link that morning. Reading that story and knowing he was thinking about doing all those things to me and more, my desire to see him became even more urgent.

A miscommunication when he arrived threw things off course a bit, although we made it up relatively quickly. I wasn't initially sure whether our evening plans would recover from the stumble; once I'd calmed down I was ready and willing to pick up where we'd left off, but I wasn't sure if he would bounce back so quickly. I hoped that he would.

He was sitting on my kneeling chair, looking something up on my computer or his phone - I'm not sure. I knelt by the chair and rested my head in his lap. Deep breathing, feeling his warmth, the calm and comfort of being together in that unspoken but intimate way. He stroked my hair absently, and then he put his phone down and kissed me properly. I was kneeling still, yearning upwards towards him with my whole body; his hands lightly caressing me, running fingers down my spine, slipping around my side to ever-so-slightly graze my nipple through the fabric of my dress.

I thrilled with happiness; my whole body was singing with love and desire for him. Everything was okay. The power exchange in the energy coursing between us was definite and palpable, but I wasn't constrained by formal expectations - our flirtation involves giggling, in-jokes and usually a bad pun or two. At one point in our banter he deliberately misinterpreted what I'd just said (I can't remember the context - and amusingly, having just asked him, neither can D - he might have said "Are you saying I'm fat?") and I replied with somewhat uncharacteristic cheek: "If I say yes, will you beat me?"

He thought for a second. "Yes," he decided.

I grinned at him. "... Well, in that case, yes."

He kissed me again lustfully, and indicated with pointed tugs at my garment that he wanted it removed. I shrugged it off over my head; my knickers he had dispensed with on the balcony an hour or so previously. (A kiss, mere feet away from the customers below us; him sliding a hand over my rump and expressing startlement at discovering a panty line; him reaching under my dress and slowly pulling them down, looking into my eyes the whole time; me wondering if he was going to bend me over the railing or slip a hand between my legs right then and there - but no, just a kiss to melt me and a cheeky grin as he tweaked my dress straight and pocketed my underwear.)

Then a disarmingly gorgeous smile from him as he jerked a thumb at the bed. His wordless dominance style always makes me feel flustered and self-conscious, nervous chatter dying on my lips as I blush and follow his sardonic, gestured instructions.

On the bed, he arranged me on my knees, bent me over so my cheek was pressed against the duvet. My knees were tucked underneath me so that my rear end was bent double and hopelessly exposed. My wrists were folded behind my back and tied with soft black rope. I whimpered a little, tilting my head as I was forced to use my face for balance. He spanked me a little with the palms of his hands, each stinging slap eliciting a squeak from me, half-pleased, half-fearful. I desperately wanted to ease the angle to make the skin on my arse less stretched and vulnerable, close the exposed gap between my cheeks and legs, but I didn't dare move. He wanted me there, and I wanted to please him.

He had the belt in his hand. I remember it slapping against my arse, not too hard at first, the sting warming first to a glow, then a burn. Bent over like that my bottom felt desperately vulnerable, and I was terrified that the tip of the belt would land in my crease, but it never did. I stayed as still as I could, the duvet smothering my moans.

When I was aroused and lightheaded from sensation and obedience, he helped me to kneel up. I was unsteady, shifting my weight. My hands tucked neatly behind my back, secure in their bonds, all of me open and responsive, trusting him absolutely but heart pounding with anticipation. My ankle is pretty much healed now, but kneeling, especially on a squishy surface like my goose-feather duvet, still makes it twinge, and I whispered to him that I might have to ask to move if it got too much. He nodded. I spread my knees a little and met his eyes. And he raised the belt to whip my breasts...

I was already melting as the first stroke landed. Too light; it bounced off me. My breath caught but I maintained eye contact. His green eyes seemed omniscient as he returned my gaze, full of promise and reward. I couldn't help shutting mine as the belt snapped again, harder now, catching my nipples, making the small weight of my breasts bounce under the leather. I groaned and arced my body, obediently maintaining my vulnerability, my cunt gushing at the thought of having my breasts whipped but the rest of me flinching at every stroke.

I was rewarded, then, for my obedience: his hand trailed down my body and found the soaking wetness between my legs; his fingertips grazing my erect clit and starting to massage it gently. I strained towards him even more, closing my eyes and letting the sensations engulf me. It took a little while for me to come but when I did I came hard. I bore down on his hand and he pushed two fingers inside me, letting me rock my hips against his hand and wrist. My breasts and throat were flushed pink and my nipples were throbbing. Did his other hand wrap around my throat, then? I'm not sure; it would explain the intensity with which I ground myself against his fingers, cried out and came again.

After that I wanted nothing more than to go down on him, and he let me with pleasure. I knelt forward, off-balance, almost falling onto his cock. I felt tousled and limp, putty in his hands. He pulled the foreskin back for me; I managed to restrain myself enough to twist my tongue around the head of his cock, tease him by flicking my tongue against his frenelum. Then both our patience gave out and he sank his cock into my mouth with a grunt. I opened to him, letting him slide past the sensitive point in my throat, relaxing to take him all in. We subsided on the bed until we were spooning back to front, his hands cupping my head as he fucked my face. Then he knelt up over me, thrusting deep into my throat a couple of times before withdrawing and letting me lick his balls. I pleasured them enthusiastically, loving the rich scent and taste of him, the noises he made. I drew my tongue along the crease between his legs and tongued his hole, teasing his most sensitive place with tiny licks, slipping the tip of my tongue inside and feeling his muscles relax and welcome me.

By then we were both more than ready to fuck. He tipped me onto my back, hands pinned beneath me, and pulled my ankles onto his shoulders. I felt so hot and helpless, writhing on top of my bound wrists, body displayed and vulnerable. He positioned himself between my legs and gave me a long look of lust and love. I desperately wanted his cock inside me, and he obliged with a single, hard thrust -

- but despite my wetness, immediately the wrong sort of pain made me grimace. Recent gynae problems had left me sorer than I'd realised, and I felt the fragile skin tear slightly as he entered me. "You okay?" he asked as I winced, and I had to tell him that the angle wasn't working for me. "Shame," he whispered, "you look so pretty all bound and helpless," and I shared his regret, longing for the intensity of eye-contact as he fucked me.

But he flipped me over, and pounded me as hard as I could wish for, while I tipped face-first into the bed and gasped and screamed, coming again and again until I lost all ability to balance and the duvet was smothering me for real. "I can't breathe!" I managed to gasp - and he grabbed hold of the rope holding my wrists and hauled me backwards; seized my hair and held me up like a marionette. I bounced underneath his thrusts, utterly helpless, sobbing and overwhelmed as he rode me to his own orgasm.

Afterwards: sweat, kisses, laughter; he rested his forehead on my back and trailed loving fingers on my skin, not wanting the closeness of our contact to lessen. I made jokes about doing this on a hard wood floor next time, where I wouldn't be accidentally smothered. I could feel a swelling soreness in my cunt from the rough friction but I hadn't torn again, and the pain was worth every moment of pleasure.

In any case, when I'm suspended in his control like that, the two are very hard to tell apart.

e[lust] #18

HNT Courtesy of Barefoot Dreamer - Photo by Jon H.

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #19? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Off Limits for 30 Days - "You don't listen very well," I heard her hiss. "That's off limits, damn you." And there was a crack and fiery agony clawed into my back.

The Joy of Sucking Cock - I wonder at times if that is why I am such a “good little cocksucker” as W calls me. When I am deeply into it, I almost enter this place where I am both the sucker and suckee, and it is as though it is MY cock being sucked on.

This intensity gets me riled when I am tied up (photo story) - James picked up that evil strap again. I watched helplessly as he positioned himself to use it on my pussy... Ever so lightly he started. Flick, flick, flick.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Ask Lilly: How do I know if a sex toy has phthalates in it? - The studies going around are saying that phthalate exposure can damage all sorts of organs, and can possibly cause cancer. There are a lot of harmful things in our world these days that we can't avoid - so when we CAN avoid something like toxins in our sex toys, we should.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Portal. Confession #493 - It truly is a spiritual give and take, these sexual relationships I form. I can cross the threshold and see however much of someone that I choose to see, with whomever it is that I am involved with.

See also: Pleasurists #88 and #89 for all your sex toy review needs.


Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Defying Gravity with Carrie Moon
Interview with Dylan Ryan
Is "The Smoking Jacket" a Smoking Gun?
Naked and Famous
That's discrimination! -or- Two Words I'm Sick of Hearing
Very Deserved Wrath- Not So New Problems

Kink & Fetish

10 Things I Love About My Slave
A Rope Pride Flag?
At Last
Correlations
dutch part 6 - the finale!
Discovering DebPorn
Independence Day
Kinkster Me
No Mosquito Fetish Here
Our First Play Time - Part 1
Please
Post Exploratorium HNT
Sex and Kink
Subspace
Thoughts on Single Tailing
THIS is what happens to naughty little redheaded sluts…

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A Declaration of Independence -- From the eXes
Ass to Mouth
Bi The Way - Male Bisexuality and Swinging
Don't Beat Yourself Up
Euphemisms
Flying The Red Flag
Natural Born Swingers
Partnerships
Transtastic: On Coming Out as a Political Act
The Ins & Outs of Anal Sex
The Cialis Effect
Unusually High Sex Drive
Where is My G Spot?
Why Won’t Anyone Respond? — Help for Your Swinger Inbox

Erotic Writing

Adventures in Fisting
A Collision of Desires
boo full
Creature of habit pt. 3
Flashback: Our First Time
Fred
Fantasy: Australia Day
Good Morning
Get Down, Dirty & Get The Hell Out
I want...
Licked to orgasm
Sweat & Summer
Sparkly Vamp Erotica
The Ordeal (part one)
Upstairs. Now.
Wrestle

the motivation of a model

Kaelah has written a fascinating post on the subject of online exhibitionism, exploring what she is comfortable with, what she isn't, and why:

I'm not afraid of anyone looking at a picture or clip and just saying: “Wow, this is beautiful.” My fear is that someone uses or abuses me mentally. Which means first of all, I wouldn't have any problems with someone watching a picture or clip and maybe getting aroused by it, thinking: “It's cool to watch what that kinky couple, Ludwig and Kaelah, are doing there.” Because obviously that guy would just see himself as an observer and in his fantasies it would still be Ludwig and Kaelah doing things together. Interestingly, a group of viewers who wouldn't scare me, either, are those people who watch so much spanking porn that they can't remember the faces of the girls the next day. Even if someone like that would directly masturbate when watching the clip, focusing on the visual stimuli thinking about what he would like to do to that “deserving bitch” (I know I'm exaggerating!) it wouldn't be a problem. Because to that guy I wouldn't have any importance as a person, which makes me feel that this doesn't really have anything to do with me.

So, it comes down to the following: I'm obviously afraid that there might be males in general or male tops in particular who watch film clips or look at pictures showing me in a vulnerable position, placing themselves in the position of the top (or partner for vanilla sex), using the visual stimulus directly for the gratification of their sexual urges, imagining what they would do to me or with me if they got the chance.

The post is well worth reading, and she asked people to contribute to the discussion with how they watch porn, and the motivations of people who have decided to publish intimate material online. My comment was far too long to fit in the comment box, so I decided to answer her excellent questions here.

When I model for or produce internet porn, I am doing so both, like Kaelah, to "create beautiful and aesthetic images that should give others impulses for their own fantasies" (what a lovely way to phrase it!) and in the hope that people will directly use it as stimulus for their own gratification. I think human sexuality is a beautiful and healthy thing and that being taught to be ashamed of our desires is invariably damaging. Masturbation and respectful self-love are hugely important, and I genuinely believe that people should approach solo sex with the same compassion and respect that they should approach sex with others. I want to help people feel okay about what they're into, to be reassured that they aren't alone and it doesn't make them sick or disgusting or whatever; but I also want people to feel good about their sexuality, and to engage with it in an affirming way, whether alone or with others.

The other thing I want to do is try to help improve the general humanisation of erotica. Visual and verbal stimuli can be really important in a healthy sex life - which is where porn comes in - but I don't think it's so healthy for those stimuli to be consistently objectified and dehumanised. So if there's a film which has a concept that gets you hot, and an actor good looking enough that you want to imagine interacting with them directly, then I think it's more humane - and your attitude to sex will benefit - if your fantasies about that person include some aspect of their personhood, and not just their visual appearance. This isn't just down to the individual's response, it's down to the nature of the porn as well.

I'm not only presenting my ideas to stimulate people's library of fantasies; I'm also presenting a direct visual stimulus which is intended to be sexually appealing. Some people seem to find my appearance attractive, others don't; that's cool, everyone's different. When people do, it's useful to me because it gives me the opportunity to reach a wider audience in sharing my fantasies, which is my primary motivation in making porn. The more people think I'm "hot" or "spankable" or whatever, the more people will watch my material, which means I get to show my ideas and fantasies to more people. And as a creative type, communicating my ideas and inspiration to an appreciative audience is my motivation for most of the things I do in life.

Is there also a dollop of exhibitionism and vanity, where the knowledge that someone is finding my body arousing, as well as the fantasy I'm enacting, is pleasing to me? Yes. But my exhibitionism is of a specifically self-contained submissive type. When I'm by myself, I don't wank to fantasies of you lot masturbating over my videos. The idea isn't arousing in that way. My exhibitionism is closer to that of a performer: when I'm making spanking porn, the knowledge that I will have an online audience (and the immediate audience of the film crew and other actors) gives me an adrenaline surge and the desire to impress. It allows me to access my submission and masochism internally, without needing a specific dominant person to submit to. My masochism is very linked to my submission - it's hard for me to enjoy punishment if I'm not in a submissive headspace. My submission is too important and precious to me for me to be comfortable submitting to just anyone, and I'm not sufficiently in control of my responses enough to trigger those feelings in myself independently (hence not being very well suited to one to one spanking sessions). There is a sense in which my desire to please a director or producer contributes - but that's just professionalism, not sexual submission.

The internet offers me a way around this. I live online; I believe the internet is one of the most important things to happen to the human race; I'm genuinely passionate in its advocacy. I take the internet seriously, I'm familiar with its ways, I'm a digital native and very comfortable swimming its vast and varied waters. An online audience is big and broad and varied enough to suit my purposes. Not everyone will like my work - but some will, for loads of different reasons. I'm not submitting to a particular taste or desire, but a cloud of desires in which my own tastes are reflected. I can be eager to please an online audience without being constrained by the preferences of a single individual; effectively, it liberates me to please myself, comfortable in the knowledge that I will no doubt please a mixed bunch of other people for different reasons. An online audience gives me a reason to work hard to impress, and stops me feeling entirely inward-looking and self-indulgent.

Like Kaelah, I'm uncomfortable with the idea of someone wanking to my films while thinking "I'd love to fuck that bitch til she screams, the trashy little slut". But that response, if it exists in someone's head, is so distant from me, so utterly uncontrollable and unknowable, that it doesn't really affect me. The knowledge that out there, people are probably responding to my material in all sorts of ways I didn't intend doesn't really matter; it's the price I pay for the fulfilment that comes from sharing my fantasies, connecting with people and communicating ideas. And for every viewer thinking objectifying or abusive things while watching my material, there's someone who's just been introduced to a new aspect of their sexuality - or who has just been validated and reassured that something they find hot is normal and okay - or someone who has had a positive affirmation about their fantasies - or someone who's been prompted to start thinking about their desires in a new way - or someone who just really likes the idea that a woman like me would find such things arousing, and is aroused by that knowledge. There are a hundred ways in which my porn can positively affect someone, and that, for me, outweighs the fear that some watchers are responding in ways I would not be comfortable with.

What I'm not comfortable with is those people expressing their fantasies to me in such a way that their response ceases to be distant and unknown, and impinges on me directly. So for instance if someone commented on my blog saying "I'd love to fuck you til you scream, you trashy little slut", it would make me feel crappy and I would delete the comment. That's my boundary, and I'm comfortable with that.

One of the reasons I decided to put so much of my personhood online in writings and analysis, along with the visual erotica, is challenge people to respond in kind. By accompanying my violent porn with insights into my thoughts and feelings, I'm making it much harder for viewers to dehumanise me. (Which is the main thesis behind my idea that blogging plays a key role in producing ethical spanking porn.) My modelling/acting style itself is tailored with the same aim (e.g. choosing or writing stories with rounded characters and engaging narrative; lots of eye contact and emotional expression, etc). Of course as soon as someone is watching my material outside the context of my blog, they can respond however they like - but in that scenario the distance is maintained, and they're much less likely to force their response on me. And so far, it seems to have worked - the comments on my blog are amazingly respectful, a fact which continues to surprise and delight me. It seems that if you present yourself online as a fully rounded human being deserving of respect, people are that much more likely to treat you so. Which is kind of awesome, when you think about it.

"Whatever tickles your fancy"

Penny D shared the link to this fantastic, and miraculously worksafe, Coco de Mer advert:



It should be fairly obvious which two mini-scenes are my favourite, and I think they are both lovely, positive introductions to spanking. (Inevitable that the spankee would be female and the spanker male, I suppose, but I suspect if they'd swapped the genders they'd have found it harder to avoid crassness.)

I'm afraid I don't get the point of the lady sunbathing on the rooftop, though. What's that about?

Repentance

There's a new photoset going up at Northern Spanking at the moment which was taken on that rainy Blushes-style shoot I did with them the December before last. Now, too, I'm on the south coast buffeted by wind and rain, although these summer thunderstorms are rather more muggy and the landscape of my new town is a little less bleak.



The set is called "Repentance" and features one of my favourite scenarios - understated, formal, erotic and consensual D/s. I love the tension inherent in this kind of scene, the unspoken but nonetheless overt sexuality. Punishment isn't so much a part of my private play, but otherwise something about this scene feels very familiar. I enjoy light-hearted play as well, but this kind of solemn, ritualistic D/s is something I've always found intensely appealing. It's rare I get to enact it on a shoot, and I'm grateful to Northern for the opportunity.







Here's the first two paragraphs of the write-up from Northern's website (which I can't take credit for, although thankyou very much for the implied compliment to those who asked!):

She is awfully, terribly sorry and he knows it. He knows it when he finds her sitting nervously in the bedroom they do not share but in which she is punished. She is punished often but this time she has really let him down badly. This is why she has prepared herself so well, a pretty dress, silky panties that he will adore and the required stockings of course.

Also required is the cane. It sits beside her on the bed where she has placed it. Soon it will be thrashing her and she will deserve and relish the bite of every single stroke he gives her. She will probably beg for more through her anguished sobbing, she usually does.

peeking through the bedroom door

I had good reason to be smug on Friday. A lunch date with my elusive, long-distance friends Zille de Feu and Malc turned into several hours of happy socialising, and watching an extremely hot shoot in which Zille was spanked by elegant disciplinarian Olivia Manners. "I was just meant to be having lunch with Zille," I told Adele on Twitter; "turns out dessert is free porn."

Tom and I had hoped to spend a few days with Zille and Malc on this trip, to make up for not having enough health or time to socialise properly with them on our first meeting last December. As ever, real life had its way: Tom couldn't get away from the management of his new business, Zille and Malc's schedule was crammed full of shoots and family commitments, and I had to content myself with a flying visit to their London flat on my way between two other social events.

But what a visit! Four short hours flew by: a delightful natter with Malc while Zille put on her facepaint, flirting with Zille and Olivia while Zille tried on a selection of retro outfits (I lent her a 50s dress that doesn't fit me any more, and whoa, she looks good in it; I also admired her in a number of ill-fitting-but-ridiculously-cute school dresses that made her look about 13, but was disappointed that I didn't get to see her in the vintage tartan playsuit). Then the shoot itself: giggling over scenes, Malc and I brainstorming plotlines (and being called perverts for our trouble!) and the delectable sight of Zille struggling and whimpering over Olivia's knee, as her blue gym knickers were pulled down and her shoes slipped one by one off her kicking, white-socked feet.

It's a hard life.

I felt extremely pleased with myself, if more than a little sleazy and voyeuristic - Malc, at least, was making himself useful manning the camera, while I was just curled in a comfy chair, swigging cider out of the bottle and appreciating the view. But what a view! Zille has the most delightful little hip-wriggle while she's over the knee - an arch of her back and lift of her slender hips which twists her wonderfully shapely bottom around in ways I could watch all day.

In the event, I had another appointment to dash off to (which turned out happily, so I have no complaints on that score) but before I left, I took advantage of my voyeuristic position to sneak a couple of photos on my cameraphone. Zille was in the bedroom, being spanked again for her misdeed earlier that day ("a spanking in the day means a spanking at night") and I was lurking outside the bedroom door, trying to stay out of shot but wanting to see the action, and feeling for all the world like a nosy sibling prying into her sister's punishment. Not wanting to be caught spying, but simultaneously horrified and fascinated by what she could glimpse: