on being a grown-up

I spent Christmas this year with my partners and family of choice. My parents have just moved overseas (which makes it slightly easier to have a porn career, I'll admit), and while I'd normally want to spend Christmas with my lovely brother and sister-in-law, this year their filial duty required that they visit her family. My sister-in-law is practically my sister, and I love her to bits. I was sorry not to be able to spend the day with them, and as soon as my first glass of champagne was poured on Christmas morning I phoned them up to wish them merry Christmas.

We gossiped for ages, and I chatted about how weird it was not having my mum and dad around. But it was balanced out by how awesome a time I was having, sharing Christmas just with friends and lovers. "I mean, we could have sex on Christmas day and everything!" I exclaimed, "it's a complete novelty!" My sister agreed enthusiastically, saying that this was exactly why she and my brother had gone on a dirty weekend just before Christmas.

Of course, because this is us, my Doms and I didn't just have Christmas sex. I was the happy recipient of two Christmas spankings this year, one from each of them. My sister isn't quite close enough to want to know about them in detail, but hey, that's why I have a blog.

For D, I wore a figure-hugging minidress in festive red, fully-fashioned stockings, and my new Christmas shoes. I'd made him and Tom stockings this year as a surprise, traditional red velvet with white fur trim like the ones my mum made for me when I was little.

After D. had opened all his presents I was fooling around wearing the empty stocking on one foot, and making bad puns about being a stocking filler.

"Go on then," he quipped, expecting me not to have brought stockings with me, but I had. I'm good like that, me. So I grinned and nipped next door and got dressed up, and he sat down on the corner of the bed and he tied my red ribbon around my neck, the one that I wear to remind me I'm his. It matched the dress and made me feel like a present ready to be unwrapped. Then he kissed me and pulled me over his lap, and gave me a firm and sensual spanking that pressed all my buttons and made me more than ready for the fucking he then gave me, with my reddened bum lifted for him and my face pressed into the bed.

Yum.

I saw Tom the next day, and we had langourous morning sex with the sunlight spilling into his room - giving his bed, with its white cotton sheets, a profound sense of peacefulness. This we proceeded to thoroughly disturb with a slow, hard over-the-knee spanking that had me moaning. Every other stroke he paused to rub my tingling cheeks, and I clung to his thigh and wriggled in delight.

No edgy play, no implements, no scene formalities. (No santa hats, either, despite the photo.) Neither of them sought to push me and the mood was joyful, celebratory. I may even have laughed with delight, inbetween yelps. It was simple and loving and perfect.

If this is what being a grown-up means, I'm all in favour.

Affinity

Merry Christmas! I hope everyone's having a brilliant holiday. Today was my first day "back at work", but I'm afraid I haven't achieved very much. Having spent the last four days drinking, carousing and staying up all night with my family of choice, I'm still recovering. I got up this morning, blearily checked my email, cursed my freezing cold flat, and at the point I discovered I had neither hot water for a shower nor milk for tea, I gave up on the day and went back to bed.

I absolutely don't regret this decision, as I can catch up on work later in the week, and my morning was delicious. I didn't go back to sleep, but I ate all of a Thorntons Eden box of very sinful chocolates, and finished reading Affinity, the new Sarah Waters novel which was my Christmas gift to myself.

Sarah Waters' books perfectly map a substantial part of my fantasy landscape. The only difference is that her Victorian London is queer, and mine is queer and kinky. The queer relationships she describes tend to be tragic and complex; full of repression, oppression, changing alliances, dysfunctional power dynamics and unrequited longing. As a queer woman I kind of wish she applied her formidable skill as a storyteller to describing healthy, cheerful lesbian relationships ... but hey, they make much less interesting stories. (And, I'll be honest: her portrayal of same-sex relationships pretty much matches my own experiences so far. I hope to meet a woman one day with whom I can enjoy romance without unnecessary drama, but haven't yet. This might say more about me than anything else though.)

The lesbians aren't the main reason I love Waters' work, although as a submissive I adore the unjust power dynamics in her romances. And I admire the sophistication of her narrative techniques, her twisting, thrilling plots that never fail to surprise me. But her main appeal, shallow though this may make me, is the immersive, compelling way she writes about Victorian institutions.

Huge households, where the family and staff form an insular hierarchy, with the lowest servants at the mercy of those above them. Asylums for the insane, where women are straitjacketed, subjected to electroshock and cold water treatment, have their hair cut and are punished for not conforming. More indirectly, she also writes about the intricate, written social institutions of the Victorian underworld: the theatre; sex workers; families of thieves. In Affinity both these trends are continued with a story that threads between three settings: the dark circles of Victorian spiritualists, dabbling with ghosts and mysticism with their own set of rules and expectations; a miserable great house rife with tensions between aristocrats and servants; and a ghastly, towering women's prison cut off from the rest of London on its own grim island.

I bought the book since writing my last post, without even realising what it was about. Having finished it, I'm finding it harder than ever to get my image of prison out of the 19th century.

Affinity doesn't contain any mention of CP, but every scene seems to be pregnant with the possibility of it. The strict rules of the prison and the ogreish matrons who patrol it. The tragic stories of the women who find themselves there - abortionists, attempted suicides, prostitutes, pickpockets - most of them poor, few of them with other options. The aristocratic ladies in Waters' books are rarely sympathetic, and her working-glass characters tend to be far more real and interesting.

My fantasies tend not to focus on deserved punishment, but on unjust mistreatment; what better setting than a barbaric, miserable prison populated for the most part, not by criminal masterminds, but the gutsy victims of misfortune?

Affinity is packed full of details to delight the kinky imagination. The rigid structure of the prison day; the lessons given twice a week from tattered textbooks, in which the grown women stand with hands clasped before them to recite their Bibles. Visits to the prison chaplain; the chief Matron's office with its wooden posts and shackles. Cruel forced exercise; pointless work that makes your fingers bleed and your eyes itche; stockrooms full of chains, hobbles and handcuffs; tiny, damp, freezing cells buried deep below the Thames where rebellious women are straitjacketed and shut up for days in the absolute dark.

Or maybe the details aren't important. Maybe the point is the system, the institutional structure intended to shut down all humanity ... and yet, conversely where the tiniest glimmer of kindness seems to glow all the brighter.

Sadly, I don't have the budget to make a spanking film set in Millbank Prison. But if it's possible to make a film that captures the essence of the institutional context - the controlling, oppressive, punishing atmosphere and the inspiring way that the human spark can respond to it - then, I think, I'll be on the way to expressing one of the most important internal narratives of my kink.

All I need now is for Waters to write a book set in an educational seminary for young ladies, and I'll be set.

prison stories

Christmas is approaching surprisingly fast. Particularly if you're me, and only started getting ready a week ago. I bought most of my presents online in a panicked spree, and am now sitting at home with one postal day left, despairing that any of them will arrive in time. That'll teach me.

What with that, planning and shopping for TWO Christmas dinners (one with each of my partners) and all the complexities of seasonal poly house-hopping, I haven't had much time to think about spanking films. Which is starting to worry me a little, as Amy Hunter and I are flying out to Eastern Europe in the first week of January to film with Pain4Fem / SpankingServer, and I haven't come up with a story yet.

If I understand correctly, we'll be doing one day shooting clips and one day shooting a longer film. They've said they want to do a straightforward movie with a prison theme, using the cane and some of their infamous spanking furniture. I haven't been told anything else yet, and probably if I did no more planning between now and then we'd improvise a simple punishment story on the day. But Pain4Fem have high production values, and may well be open to suggestions - and I've been thinking that it would be a shame to waste the opportunity to make a truly memorable film.

The problem is that I'm lacking inspiration. If I think of spanking in prison, my first thought is of reformatories, Dickensian workhouses, Magdalen laundries. Birching blocks and dirty petticoats. I don't really have imaginative set-pieces based in clean, modern Eastern European rooms with well-made furniture and good lighting. Of course there are the classic juvenile detention, smuggling stories but I'd like to do something a bit different, if Pain4Fem are willing.

You're an imaginative bunch - have a think about it over the Christmas break and let me know if you have any bright ideas. I can't promise anything, of course, because any suggestions will have to be okay with Amy as well as the producers, and I don't know what limitations they have in terms of sets and so forth. But if you're familiar with Pain4Fem's work and know what you'd like to see, I'd be very interested to hear your ideas...

on dialogue

I'm a sucker for plot in spanking films. It doesn't need to be jam-packed and twisty, but the characters need to interact in a meaningful way, with discernable motives. There's nothing worse, for me, than a punishment clip which doesn't bother to explain what the punishment is for, or a "naughty girl" whose disobedience is completely inexplicable. Dialogue is one of the most efficient ways of developing character development, and the more engaged I am with the characters, the more powerful the scene is to watch.

More dialogue isn't always better - I realise the advantages of minimalism. Non-stop chattering during a punishment isn't always realistic, and silence can create intensity. In TV and film all dialogue serves a purpose; the same rule applies to the best spanking films. In real-life scenes as well as on-camera ones, it's generally a good idea to only say something if you've got something to say - talking for the sake of it will just weaken the emotional impact of the scene.

But I can get very bored watching long action sequences where nothing happens. If not dialogue, then please let's have some variation in tempo, some struggle, some unpredictable response from the spankee.

And since dialogue in most spanking films is improvised, there's a pressure on the actors to come up with something witty and interesting. If the cameras are rolling and I can't think of anything to say, does that mean that nothing needs saying and I should keep my mouth shut, or does it suggest a failure of imagination?

Last weekend I was filming with Northern Spanking, and - unusually - we only shot one film all day. The rest of the time was spent with Paul, creating classic Blushes-inspired photostories. Stills involve a very weird kind of acting. Slow-motion, silent, interspersed with off-camera asides. And yet, like moving through yoga poses, I can get really immersed in my character for stills. I'm much more likely to make myself cry for stills than video, because I have so much more time and space to imagine myself in my character's situation and work up an emotional response.

When we started shooting the film, a straightforward period maidservant punishment, I wasn't really warmed up for video. I'd been told to answer the Master of the house back, thereby earning a more severe punishment, but I've done quite a lot of historical maid roleplays and you really don't talk back. You say yes sir and yes miss and you bob curtseys and don't make eye contact and you don't say a word you don't absolutely need to until you're back downstairs and among your peers.

I was being punished for failing to make the beds properly, among other things, and beforehand I was trying to think up excuses. I decided to pass the buck and claim that I'd been shown how to do it differently, but Michael Stamp (who was playing the Master) pre-empted me with the line, "I know you know how to do it properly, don't try and tell me you don't or you'll be sacked on the spot." So I was a bit stuck, really.

I risked an outburst (of the "it's not fair!" variety) which was really quite ridiculously out of character and would have instantly lost me my job, and then during the punishment itself I really couldn't justify any further cheek. It would have been unrealistic, and I couldn't think of anything else to say. So I just reacted to the strokes, and said "yes sir" a few times at the end, and felt a bit like a failure as an actress.

When I confessed my anxiety to Lucy she reassured me that it was fine, that my character wouldn't have argued back - and Niki told me that she thought I'd been outrageously rude. I don't know if I was too submissive or too rude. I expect that a lot of the people watching the film won't be bothered either way. But as an actor it's hard to judge, sometimes, how much dialogue is enough. Films which crackle with witty banter are very satisfying to make. Quieter films can be very immersive if you've planned them that way, but if it's just that I can't think of a plausible line then I worry that viewers will lose interest.

The thing is that when I'm playing at home I'm usually pretty obedient. I do as I'm told, most of the time, and I certainly don't say much once I'm in subspace. When I'm bratting on camera my mind is constantly racing to try to provide material. It's a lot of fun, but it doesn't come naturally to me.

I know dialogue isn't the only thing that matters. If I'm watching a spanking movie I'd rather no dialogue than unconvincing or corny lines. The photography, the quality of the CP, the context, the spankee's reactions are all just as important. Non-verbal communication is very powerful, and I always try to be physically and vocally expressive - it's just as important at home, when I need to communicate my responses accurately and respectfully to my Dom but am disinclined to do so verbally, as it is when I'm working. But when I'm on camera, dialogue can seem like the most important part of my job, and it's easy to worry I haven't got it right.

The Australian Governess

I've had a few requests from readers lately asking where they can buy DVDs starring me. I'm extremely flattered to be asked, and somewhat frustrated to tell you that while I've filmed six feature-length DVDs over the last two years, only two of them have actually been edited and released thus far. (I'm working on the others - I want to see them!)

'The Australian Governess' was released in four parts by Northern Spanking just over a year ago. I'm not, in fact, the star. The stars of the piece are Faith Andrews and Zoe Montana, who show off their beautiful figures and fantastic acting skills in two power-switching roles that completely steal the show. I defy anyone to watch this film and not fall half in love with one or both of them. Two sensual women who are equally capable of dishing out stern discipline or submitting to it - what more could you ask?

Faith plays the glamorous young wife of Stephen Lewis, who hires a modern young governess (Miss Bell, played by Zoe) in an attempt to instil some discipline in her new husband's spoiled and bratty teenage daughter. Who is played by yours truly ;) I'm deeply hostile towards my father's new wife, who is almost as young as I am, and resent her intrusion into my over-privileged little world. Miss Bell is, at first, very reluctant to use corporal punishment, which she views as misguided and barbaric, but after spending a short time with her new ward she quickly starts to see its advantages.

I'm only in the second scene of this ambitious four-part film, and I had tremendous fun with it. Zoe and I are old friends and we had a great time with the improvised dialogue. My character has, during her short life, gleefully sent numerous nannies and tutors packing in tears, and is determined that this one will be no different. But her attempts to get a rise out of the relaxed young Australian governess are met with a casual, incredulous indifference. My character just ends getting herself into a tizz, and by the time Miss Bell pulls her over her knee for a well-earned spanking the teenager isn't at all sure of herself.

I'm not a natural brat, and Zoe didn't make it easy for me. She's the embodiment of unflappable calm, and trying to provoke her into spanking me was far harder than I'd anticipated. My character ends up bent over the school desk for a strapping and caning - but Zoe never loses her cool, and as she quietly scorns my adolescent posturing she definitely comes out on top.

If you're still not convinced, I hope Northern Spanking won't mind me reposting the summary of the film from the website, and a small selection of stills:

'The Australian Governess'

Starring
Zoe Montana as The Governess, Miss Bell
Faith Andrews as The Stepmother
Pandora Blake as The Stepdaughter
Stephen Lewis as The Father

CHAPTER ONE - MISS BELL'S INTERVIEW

Miss Bell is attending an interview for the position of new Governess for an unruly teenage girl. Interviewed by the girls' stepmother it is made abundantly clear that the woman has very little time for her step daughter and expects her Governess to apply some fairly strict discipline. Assuming the stepmother slightly batty, Miss Bell goes along with it for the sake of securing the job but has no intention of carrying out these bizarre rituals on her charge...



CHAPTER TWO - MISS BELL MEETS PANDORA

Her first day with her unruly charge, Miss Bell decides to tackle her straight on with a sense of humour and not taking the gobby little Madam too seriously. However, even the laidback antipodean Miss Bell has her limits - as Pandora swiftly finds out when she continues to challenge her new governess.



CHAPTER THREE - FATHER COMES HOME

As Miss Bell cracks the cane with a satisfying thwack across Pandora's stinging bottom, Pandora's father comes to the schoolroom. Outraged to find some stranger whacking his daughter, his temper snaps and Miss Bell finds herself quickly upturned before she can explain herself. If only he would listen to what she has to say...



CHAPTER FOUR - REVENGE
Stephen and Miss Bell confront the wicked stepmother and it is not long before Faith is facing the most utterly humiliating 20 minutes of her life as the Governess she spurned and her husband make her pay.



As it happens, I was filming with Paul and Lucy last weekend, and when I mentioned that I'd had some interest in DVDs they very kindly lent me a small pile of these to take home with me. Members of Northern Spanking can download it from the website, but if for some reason you haven't signed up and would like to treat yourself to one of these for Christmas, let me know - you can buy it via Paypal and I'll post it to you personally. They're priced at £25 each, which is a bargain for an action-packed hour and a half featuring three very different spankees. And if you know someone who might appreciate a kinky Christmas gift, make sure you let me know by Saturday, because there's still time for it to reach you in the Christmas post :)

unexpected consequences

D's style of dominance is inherently intuitive and unstructured. He likes being unpredictable, to keep me guessing.

Despite keeping our D/s relationship deliberately unstructured, in certain other ways he's very methodical. His housekeeping, for example, while not always tidy, is painstakingly precise. Everything needs to be in exactly the right place. We don't have many "rules", but the ones we do have all relate to how I should behave in his flat. Putting the toilet seat down, that kind of thing.

We were out last weekend and chatting about random stuff when he suddenly remembered something. "By the way, I have something to tell you," he said. "When you left my house this morning you not only left all the doors open, so the heat in the lounge and the bedroom escaped and wasted loads of energy, you also left lights on in both rooms all day."

I was confused, and immediately became defensive. "I don't remember going into the lounge this morning," I argued. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. You left the toilet door and the lounge door open. And the lights on. You did remember to double lock the front door behind you, though."

"I was going to say!" I hesitated, realising that it was silly to argue with him ... and, from the expression on his face, that he wasn't just mentioning this to be critical. "Does ... this mean I'm in trouble?"

"Yes." He gave me a Look, and refused to say anything else about it.

I hate waiting.

We spent the night together at my place, but I didn't get the threatened punishment that evening. In fact we were both stressed out and tired that weekend, and the next day we ended up bickering. I made a bratty comment about the fact he hadn't made good on his threat. "You shouldn't say you're going to do things and then not do them."

"I never said when I was going to do anything," he retorted. "You shouldn't leap to assumptions."

I shut up. If he wants to make me wait, there's nothing I can do about it.

I next saw him a few days later. I'd had a really hectic day and turned up at his flat very late, intending to just curl up to sleep. We were going to bed, and I realised I'd forgotten to fetch a glass of water. I'm a light sleeper and like to sip water during the night. When I came back from the kitchen D was sitting up in bed, looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face.

"What?" I asked, feeling self-conscious.

"You left the door open. Again. There is a heater on in this room. The warm is in here, you shouldn't let it out."

"Oops," I said guiltily as I got into bed, "sorry."

"Uh huh." He shot me a sideways glance, half exasperated and half amused, and reached over the side of the bed to the toybox stored underneath. "Roll over."

I turned onto my front obediently, sneaking a peek. He was holding the wooden paddle. My heart was racing.

I was under the duvet; he reached down and peeled it up from the foot end, exposing my legs but folding it over my waist so it covered my upper body. Then he fetched a blanket and draped it over my legs. I was grateful for the warmth - it was a freezing night - but the coverings also served to make my exposed bottom feel more vulnerable. I felt objectified, reduced to just two unmarked globes awaiting the crisp sting of the paddle. I buried my face in the pillows.

"This is for leaving the door open just now," D said, and delivered a swift volley of smacks to my cold cheeks. No warm up, just six brisk whacks in quick succession. I cried out and twisted my hips. After the sixth stroke he paused and stroked my stinging bottom. It felt covered in goosepimples.

"And this is for leaving the doors open the other day," D continued, applying the paddle again. Six more strokes, without a pause. I grabbed at the duvet and wailed.

He put the paddle down, pushed the duvet aside and drew me into his arms. A smile played on his lips. "I can't work out what you deserve for leaving two lights on all day," he said, "so maybe you should try and placate me before I decide..."

I thought that sounded like a much better idea than more punishment, and pleasured him with all the enthusiasm a freshly spanked bottom can muster. I love belonging to someone who never ceases to surprise me. :)

a tribute

Earlier this week I saw an article saying that Bettie Page had suffered a heart attack at the age of 85, and was in hospital near San Francisco. She never regained consciousness, and died this morning.

Bettie's story is a poignant one. She was a secretary before she turned to modelling, and her free spirit and joyous, unashamed sensuality took the world by storm. She made a name for herself as a a glamour pin-up, as a fashion and lingerie model, as a switch in bondage and spanking shoots. She was one of the first nude Playboy centrefolds, and one of the most photographed women of her time.

From what I've read, she wasn't particularly kinky. Rather she was fascinated by human sexuality, endlessly curious and a versatile actress. She delighted in trying new things and enjoyed the silliness of fetish modelling. When fans, on meeting her, expected her to behave like a Domme or sub they were usually disappointed.

When she was subpoenaed to appear in court as a witness in an obscenity case, in which certain of her pictures were condemned as pornographic and damaging, she never recovered. She withdrew from public life for fifty years, becoming a born-again Christian and refusing to let anyone take her photograph. She struggled with mental health issues.

These days Bettie Page is praised for her self-determination and sexual liberation. Her work is iconic among vanillas and kinksters alike. She's credited with influencing the sexual revolution of the sixties. But her retirement was a troubled one, and she may have lived with anxiety or regret about her modelling career for the rest of her life.

We know there's nothing unhealthy or damaging about kinky pictures. We know that Bettie's exuberant celebration of sexuality found the same joyful expression in her BDSM work as in her radiant outdoor nudes. We know that she didn't have anything to be ashamed, or embarrassed, or troubled about.

I hope she came to realise that as well, in the privacy of her old age. and I hope she came to accept and celebrate her sensuality, her exhibitionism, her wilder side. Rest in peace, Bettie Page. You changed the world, and you deserve to feel good about that.

welcome to the blogosphere

Social media expert Matthew Hurst recently collected link data for six weeks and produced this plot of the most active and interconnected parts of the blogosphere.

We're in there somewhere!

The yellow number 5 on the left is supposed to be us:

No discussion of the blogosphere would be complete without a nod to online smut. This outlying island of blue represents the linked-up world of bloggers who traffic in the latest news and gossip from the world of pornography. Oh, yeah, and pictures.

Only a few of us link back in to the glowing white hub, which represents a truly boggling number of links and readers. I'm surprised the sex network isn't bigger. I dunno though, it's kind of nice out in our little outlying porn system. :)

sex work and the right to choose

I was recently fascinated to read this article, in which a sex worker ('Lara') tells her story in response to the recently-published "Big Brothel report" on non-street-based sex workers in London. This report lands at the same time as new legislation making it illegal to buy sex from a trafficked or exploited woman.

I am pro-choice when it comes to sex work. That doesn't mean that I don't think situations where choice is genuinely removed aren't horrific - of course they are. But all sex workers are often lumped in together as if they were incapable of consent - or as if it was impossible to consent to something so unpalatable as sex work. (It's worth noting at this point that the same attitude led to legislation making it illegal to consent to ABH. Of course consent is key and we all have personal choice and personal responsibility, but didn't you know that our consent isn't valid if it makes normal people feel uncomfortable?)

This interpretation is obscured by claims that the majority of sex workers in the UK are victims of trafficking or exploitation. This makes the issue nice and straightforward: of course trafficking and exploitation isn't okay, therefore clearly sex work isn't either.

But it's not that straightforward, and it's not true that most sex workers don't have a choice. For a start, it has been demonstrated that Julie Bindel's article in the previous paragraph indulges in exaggeration when talking about the figures of migrant sex workers (and migrant does not necessarily mean trafficked). There are no binary categories here: sex workers are not divided into kidnapped victims and Belle du Jour. For most people life is more complicated than that.

Lara's voice is just one voice from the broad range of experiences. Not all sex workers are their own boss, and not all of them have their own home. There is as broad a range of experience within the sex industry as within any other industry - retail, for example. Exploitation is a danger in any industry, particularly if you are from a marginalised or oppressed group. Very few people obliged to work long hours for little pay would choose to do so if they suddenly became rich and powerful. And yet generalisations about sex workers, painting them universally as victims incapable of making informed consent, abound.

I don't think Lara's story is representative of the majority of sex workers - it represents a point on a spectrum. But the more that spectrum is revealed, the better. The illegality and taboo nature of sex work has forced that spectrum underground: on the surface of society we are left with only the most misleading, sensationalistic generations about it. I applaud Lara for standing up and challenging those generalisations. The more voices are heard, the better.

Lara's story resonated with me, particularly when she described abandoning her soul-destroying, exploitative PA job to be her own boss. I can sympathise with that. I can tell you now, having just spent another two months giving it a go, that I find being a PA far more exploitative, unpleasant and oppressive than being a professional porn actress. For me, spanking modelling is a far better option.

I'm not a prostitute. I don't mean that to sound defensive - there'd be no problem if I was, but it would be misleading to put that name to what I do. But I am a sex worker, just as a stripper or a cam girl or a pro-domme is a sex worker. My business is getting people off - and because this is me, I try to do it as creatively and responsibly as possible. And, of course, to have as much fun as I can get away with while doing so.

So this is me, standing up and challenging those generalisations: I'm a sex worker, and I freely choose to be one. Don't try and tell me that choice is invalid, that I must be oppressed or desperate or exploited to consent to what I do. I have quite a range of options. This is the one that suits my temperament, my talents, my likes and dislikes best. It is a real choice, no less real than your choice to pursue whatever it is you do for a living. It is no less a real choice than my choice to be a self-employed designer, or writer, or artist or musician, or any of the other myriad ways I make money during the average year. If my choice to freelance as a web designer is my own then so is this choice. There is no coercion here.

I'm not saying it's an unproblematic choice. I live in an imperfect, patriarchal world, and of course it's not ideal that for a lot of women their highest worth is placed on their body. It's not ideal that young, educated, middle-class women who conform to patriarchal beauty standards have more options available to them than women who don't conform, or who are from oppressed groups. I'm not saying it's okay that vastly more women than men have the option of freeing themselves from wage slavery by making Lara's choice; and it's not okay that that imbalance arises from the objectification of women's bodies and sexuality through patriarchy. I'm not saying it's okay that single parents find it so soul-destroying or impossible to earn enough through socially-approved means that they have to seek risky, underground, illegal options. I'm not saying it's okay that so many workers are so underpaid and exploited, enduring such crushingly long hours and commutes, that selling sex seems like a more palatable choice.

And yet ... In a sense, Lara is more free than most people in this society. None of us are free, but she is at least empowering herself to the best of her ability within her range of options. The way our society structures work is completely dysfunctional. But it is not wrong or invalid, in this imperfect world, for Lara to make the choice she has, any more than it is wrong or invalid for a migrant person to take risks that compromise their safety in their desire to move to another country.

A migrant who ends up working as an underpaid, illegally hired kitchen cleaner is in danger from the law and at risk of exploitation. So is a migrant who ends up finding work as a prostitute. That's not to say that the passive victims of kidnapping and rape don't exist. But "coercion" is a complex issue, and not every "trafficked" woman is a hapless prisoner.



(This poster on "rescues" performed by law-enforcers on migrant sex workers illustrates the point poignantly and succinctly.)

What we have here is a spectrum, ranging from very poor or oppressed women living on the poverty line, with children or a drug habit to support, to Lara and Belle du Jour.

"Trafficking" does not only refer to hapless victims; it includes a range of people who are making complex choices in an imperfect world. Sex sellers are, for the most part, doing the same thing, and I don't think taking their livelihood away by making it illegal to employ them is going to help anyone.

My story doesn't trump the women in this country who are abused, exploited, or raped. My story does not invalidate the reality that a substantial proportion of sex workers in this country would do something else if they had better options. But even someone turning to sex work out of desperation is going to suffer if we take that option away from them too. And the invisible spectrum of people making complex choices, making the best choice they can, will have that choice compromised in the process.

I'm not deluding myself that all or most sex workers are happy hookers, who are as privileged as I am. But I think legalising and regulating prostitution, and offering increased structures of support to the whole spectrum of sex workers, is the best way of helping those who aren't.

Frederic Fontenoy

My friend J recently sent me this link, and I liked it so much I couldn't resist passing it on.

Frederic Fontenoy is a photographer. Specifically, he takes edgy, erotic, black and white photography of women in fetish heels and fully fashioned stockings, tied to beds, blindfolded, and being threatened with terrifying canes.



But there's a sense of the theatrical and the ridiculous to his work that makes it, inexplicably, even sexier. Or maybe it's just the effortlessly complex compositions, the perfect lighting.





And that's just from one gallery. The next one is even better - especially if you like animal play, enemas, corsets, single-tail whips, whole-body suspension, carpet beaters and body art.

Go, explore, enjoy.

back from reality

Hi! I'm back! At least, I'm not working at the Job of Doom any more, and am back in the self-employed saddle, making ambitious plans to start my own spanking paysite. Which I think means I'm going to be blogging regularly again. Hooray!

I'm not going to go into the many, many ways in which the Job of Doom was Of Doom, but suffice it to say I'm not going to be comfortable playing "evil boss bullies vulnerable secretary" scenes for a while. Turns out they aren't so hot in actuality. Especially when the evil boss is an insecure, wrong-headed, loudmouthed prick rather than someone with any sort of natural authority. He restrained himself to verbal abuse, and indeed if he'd tried to raise a hand to me he'd have got my stiletto heel sharply in the crotch, right before I stormed out of the building and phoned the police, but still. Power abuse in the workplace might be sexy in fantasyland, but I think office scenes can wait until I've recovered from the trauma of experiencing it for real.

Unless they're office scenes with sexy lady bosses. I might be able to cope with those.

The good news is that I've been offered a juicy freelance contract, so could hand in my notice to the Job of Doom safe in the knowledge that I wasn't going to starve. Or at least, that I wasn't going to have to fly to far-away countries to let strangers thrash and beat me in exchange for money to buy food. I mean, what kind of sick and depraved person would consider that okay?

No, I'm very lucky. It looks like I might survive the recession without starving or having to stay in shitty office jobs with awful bosses. Except, of course, that I'm still going to be flying to faraway countries and letting strangers (whom I'm reliably informed are lovely people) thrash me mercilessly. The fact that I get paid has only ever been the icing on the cake of this particular hobby of mine.

I'm tempted to illustrate this post with a picture from a boss/secretary scene now, but I'm worried it'll contradict my "Real office bullying = REALLY NOT HOT. No, not even a little bit. I'm not even kidding" statement. So have a totally unrelated picture instead, celebrating hot consensual spanking from a man I love. Which is definitely the best kind.

work and play

Life has been too full of the boring kind of work lately. As I left London this morning with a bag full of stockings and heels I felt a tangible lightening of the spirit, and the weather kept my mood company with a gloriously bright afternoon. As I was waiting for my train home at the end of the day I realised that I was completely happy. It makes such a difference, working with lovely people doing something you enjoy. Between shoots it's easy to forget that sense of liberation, forget that work can feel like play when you're doing something you love.



Scenes from today's shoot with Lady Sonia:

• Sonia and I, trapped in her changing room while a BT engineer appears on a surprise visit to look at their broadband. We're wearing far too little to escape through the room he was working in, and have to delay the start of filming until he goes away. We perch on her dressing table and spend a delightful half hour gossiping about life, love and everything.



• Sonia makes me try on about half a dozen different pairs of knickers in the first scene (and whips me in every pair, of course). This would be fine if not for the fact that I am also wearing ridiculously high heels. If I try to take them off or put them on while standing up I overbalance, and if I'm sitting down then one of the stilettos invariably snags on the panties with my leg sticking sideways at an odd angle. Classy.



• "Okay," says Sonia, "so then the third scene is the one with the balloons. Both of us wearing tights, being very touchy feely."
  
  "I'm good with that. What am I meant to do with the balloons?"
  
  "I'm not sure, we'll make something up. Then the fourth clip is the one with me wearing a strap-on."



• Me bouncing a balloon off Sonia's nose, halfway through a Very Serious Scene (ahem), and her collapsing into giggles ... but we keep on filming. As we're walking off camera I casually punt a balloon into the camera lens.



• I spend ages before the last scene getting laced into my corset, adjusting my see-through blouse and manouvering my black latex skirt so it just skims my sweet spot. Before the cameras start rolling I slide my fingers inside the rubber one last time to smooth out any creases ... when the latex suddenly snaps at the weakened seam, there's a huge rip in my skirt and I'm showing even more skin than I was already.
  
  "SHIT!" I exclaim, flapping at the useless piece of latex and trying not to giggle. We have an emergency discussion and I come up with the genius idea of destroying the skirt on camera, since it's ruined anyway. I cunningly hide the tear with my hand and we start filming. Sonia fabricates an excuse about my skirt not being short enough, and pulls out a long pair of scissors. The blade is cold as it slides beneath the latex, exposing skin already damp with sweat.
  
  Afterwards I bounce over-excitedly on my six-inch heels and demand that we buy an entire disposable outfit for Sonia to cut me out of next time. Damn, that was hot.

I'm not going to tell you exactly what she did with the strap-on, but the cameraman commented afterwards that I must be very popular with the boys.





(Screencaps taken from my first shoot with Punishment Bitch; the clips from today should be going online in a few weeks.)

double-o

There's an emoticon my friends use when they want to express bafflement, with a side helping of mockery. It's intended to represent the sideling look D. often gives me when I open my mouth and words come out. It looks like this:

o_0

Small o, big 0. Double O, one might say.

Funnily enough, it was exactly the expression I had on my face when I clicked on the link to these "Double O Panties".



"This design combines popular elements from our existing collection with new latex shapewear technology to create a Brief that enhances the lift, shape and volume of the derriere while also flattening the lower tummy and shaping the thigh. Features a pretty lace detail at the base of each leg piece."

How wrong are these? Let me count the ways, starting with beige latex and working up to the page title ("Ass Bra Control Brief Butt Enhancer Panties"). If you aren't making a bemused squinty face yet, allow me to point you towards these alternative designs.

I think that last one wins the prize for Most Humiliating Garment To Be Spanked In Ever.

I'm almost tempted to get some.

my brain is sexy

Oh, wow! The lovely Roland of Militant Ginger, one of the few non-spanko regular commenters on my blog, has graced my blog with a homegrown award:



How awesome is that? I've never won an award before and this one made me squee like a schoolgirl. Thankyou, Roland - I am delighted and honoured.

Here are the lovely things he had to say:

Pandora's blog is definitely adult orientated - in fact, it's about spanking. That being said, she balances the line between saucy and smutty perfectly, so most people would find her blog no more offensive a good Carry On film.

Pandora earns the label 'smexy' because she writes thought-provoking posts as well as sexy ones. Her blog reminds me of classic Playboys from the 1960s: Sure, the pictures are nice - but have you read the articles, too?

From sexuality to psychology, touching on censorship, politics and her personal life, Pandora writes an incredibly intelligent, articulate blog that just happens to have lots of naughty pictures on it! Plus, some excellent examples of her artistic talents, too.

So a well deserved award for her - but be warned: Pandora's blog, despite being no more explicit than a night at the Moulin Rouge, should definitely be considered Not Safe For Work.

Apparently "smexy" is a cross between smart and sexy. I approve of this concept. I mean, all spankos are familiar with the concept that the brain is the most powerful sex organ. And spanking is by no means the entirety of my kink, but it's defintiely the most cerebral aspect of my sexuality. So this award is not only flattering, but kind of appropriate.

And to me, an award like this is way more pleasing and exciting than a "big sexy bum" award would have been. Not that I don't appreciate my big sexy bum ... but what my mind is capable of is far more important to me as a person. It's utterly delightful to have that recognised. Thankyou, Roland. :)

as promised

I'm completely chuffed about how many of you have had the courage to introduce yourselves on my previous post! It's so lovely to hear from friends old and new, and I'm full of fluffy feelings towards all of you :)

You don't want me to feel fluffy, though, do you? You want me to feel exposed and scared ...

Don't you?

How are you today?

Today is a very special day in the spanking blogosphere. Love our Lurkers day is the brainchild of Bonnie, and this is the third year she's organised it - with a record number of bloggers. So you've probably already heard what this is about.

Just in case you haven't, Love Our Lurkers is the day when all the silent readers of spanking blogs are encouraged to say hello.

It's funny how commenting is as much a matter of habit as intention. There are some blogs I find it very easy to comment on, and some I rarely do. The difference has very little to do with how much I enjoy reading, and much more to do with how much I've already chatted to the blogger. The more you talk, the easier it is to talk. And I'll be using today to say hi to the bloggers I've been enjoying for the past few months, but haven't taken the first step to let them know I'm there.

Maybe you don't usually have time to comment, or don't feel you have anything to add. Maybe you're worried about staying anonymous. Maybe it's just that you've never commented before, and are shy of intruding on a clique where everyone else seems to know each other.

Well, let me tell you now: you ARE part of that clique, inasmuch as it exists at all. By reading, by your interest, you're already one of us. You can post anonymously if you like - make up a pseudonym, and you don't have to include a valid email address if you don't want to. I, for one, would love to know you're out there. And once you've made the first step, you may well find that joining into the conversation is a little easier the next time. For me, dialogue and engagement is the whole point of blogging - I'd have given up long ago if I thought I was shouting in an empty amphitheatre. And maybe it makes me shallow, but the more responses I get the more motivated I am to write. Which has to be a good thing, right? :)

Those of you who were at Night of the Cane on Saturday will have realised by now that I didn't make it after all. I've been flattened for the last few days with a stinking cold, and it was with great regret that I asked Tom to cancel our plans for the weekend. So I want to extend an extra special welcome to all of you who hoped to say hello to me on Saturday. I'm sorry I couldn't be there. But I'm here now, and since I'm still off work sick, for once I have time to stop and chat. Come and find me in the talkbox in the blog side bar, I'll be checking in on it all evening :)



As an extra incentive, if I get more responses this year than I did two years ago, I'll post the next photo from this series from Sound Punishment, and show you all what happens when I overcome my shyness and the white cotton panties come down ...

an unexpected vision

My journey home from work at the moment involves walking through the West End, which is particularly dazzling at this time of year. Shop windows are newly frosted, lights spill across the pavement, and beautiful displays sparkle with luxuries which cost a significant proportion of my salary. It's all wonderfully Dickensian, everything on sale is of the highest quality and in the most traditional style. So I shouldn't, really, have been surprised when I walked past this display one day after work, on my way to meet a friend:





A spankers' emporium? A sub's nightmare? More boar bristles and smooth olive wood backs than you can shake a stick at. (Or, indeed, a cane.)



I couldn't possibly comment on whether any of these finest accessories might find their way into any domly stockings this midwinter, but in the meantime, picture me at the end of a long day's work, tired and cold and hungry, extremely distracted by the range of spanking possibilities on bold display where anyone can stop and look, hovering in front of that window like an envious and over-excited Dickensian urchin. Hairbrushes, hairbrushes as far as the eye can see. And not a spanker in sight.

Which is probably a good thing. Hairbrushes are always much more pleasant in daydreams than reality.

what I've been up to

Well, it turns out I have even less time to blog than I'd hoped. I'm working pretty much flat-out, with barely enough time to catch up with my boys and certainly not enough to catch up on sleep. Even my cat is feeling neglected.

There's been some fun stuff, though, in amongst all the work. Such as a lovely shoot yesterday with Amelia-Jane and our mutual friend Olivia, who was an unexpectedly excellent top playing our very no-nonsense governess. Amelia and I whimpered and whined our way through our punishments - really, we were completely graceless - and Olivia's poise was breathtaking by comparison. But it's okay for my character to fancy her governess, right? Older female role models, and all that?

I spent last weekend with D, which was absolutely lovely, and included lots of rudeness which was far too kinky to discuss on this blog. The highlight of the weekend was the Torture Garden Halloween Ball on Saturday night, which was superb - one of the best TGs I've ever been to. I was very proud of surviving the whole night in these shoes, which gathered many compliments and were surprisingly comfortable, and I kissed a pretty girl, chatted to friends, danced and enjoyed myself immensely. I was disappointed that the hedonistic D/s foursome which D and the pretty girl were plotting as a birthday present for a friend of theirs, which would have involved me being given to said friend to punish, didn't happen in the end. But later in the night D bent me over a whipping bench, flogged me on my back and bum until I was dizzy, and then dealt me one of the hardest hand-spankings I think he's ever given me, so I wasn't too deprived in the end.

Next weekend Tom and I are going to Night of the Cane, the annual CP extravaganza hosted by The Firm and incorporating the famous Annual Caning Competition. I'm pretty sure we'll be entering again this year, which will of course be awful for me given how much I hate being punished in front of other people. (Hee.) Hopefully I'll see some of you there? Do come and say hello - I may be quiet on this blog at the moment, but I'm much more chatty in person!

after Sieff

I think I need to formally cut back on the number of entries I'm posting in this blog. I barely have time to post more than a couple of times a week at the moment, and if I'm still trying to post Mon-Fri (not that I ever maintained that consistently!) then I'll only feel bad about not managing it. So please consider this a formal announcement: Pandora's Blog will be updating twice weekly from now on. I just don't have time to commit to a higher post rate with the new job. If I manage more than that, consider it a bonus.

This is is just a quick one - I want to show you the polished, final version of the polaroid by Owen Gruyffed that I posted last week. We spent some time perfecting the lighting and the pose, and then Owen processed the image in Photoshop and sent me a digital copy. I hope he doesn't mind my reposting it.

Lady Sonia

I went up to the midlands to shoot again with Punishment Bitch this week. I'm seriously enjoying the chemistry that's developing between Sonia and I. They've invited me back in November and I can't wait.

The preview page for Punishment Bitch isn't very promising at the moment, but the site contains more content than is first apparent. It's a subsite of Lady Sonia, a very popular fetish site specialising in stockings, stilettos, MILF, equestrian and mild F/m, all with a very genteel English aesthetic. Not my kind of porn, really, but the couple who run the site are lovely, and I've learned a lot from talking to them. They started Punishment Bitch a few months ago and let it slide due to lack of interest, but have recently started updating it regularly again by request.

So far there are high-def videos of me, Leia-Ann Woods, Wynter Skye and Sascha Harvey being spanked and tormented by the formidable Sonia, which isn't a bad tally by anyone's standards. I've been recommending other UK spanking models to them as well, and they seem keen to develop this side of their work. For me, it's fascinating working in the cross-section between spanking and more mainstream porn. Most CP material isn't explicitly erotic, and Sonia's films are all extremely sensual. Straightforward, po-faced punishment wouldn't have been appropriate, so instead we flirted with humiliation roleplay, blackmail and other situations of compromised consent, with Sonia outwardly delighting in her sadism and my characters responding despite themselves.

I couldn't do sexy scenes like this with just anyone. Trust and professionalism are paramount. Sonia makes it easy in every respect, and I'm definitely looking forward to working with her again.

the bare necessities

When the credit crunch first started to make the news, I felt myself to be fairly isolated from it - as a self-employed person I wasn't at risk of losing my job, I'm not a homeowner, and I don't have a fortune invested in stocks or shares. I said to D. at the time that I could imagine it affecting my career as an artist, but not as a model. After all, original paintings are a luxury that people might not stretch to during a recession - but porn is a necessity. There will always be a market for porn.

Well, it looks like America agrees with me. And I might have got a job, but I'm certainly still shooting.

On which note, don't worry if I'm somewhat absent at the moment. I'm run off my feet trying to keep up with modelling, the new job, art projects and everything else all at once. I'm barely spending any time at home and I can't blog here from the office. But I'll try to check in whenever I can.

shake it like a polaroid picture

A photographer called Owen Gruyffed contacted me recently asking if I was interested in a shoot in the style of Jeanloup Sieff. Who? I asked, not recognising the name even though I'd posted one of his works only recently. Owen took pity on my ignorance, and sent me the link to Sieff's website. I was instantly converted.

The "nude" section of the site gallery is an instant testimony to the fact that as well as being one of photography's great talents, Sieff was clearly a bottom man. His official portfolio is a small selection, but a quick search on google images reveals a broader selection of his glorious nude photography. I was hooked, and instantly downloaded all my favourite images to show you all. Except I liked so many that I can't decide which ones to post. This photo of the perfect pose for receiving the belt? This poignant shot of a lady lost in thought - or, perhaps, a subdued naughty girl? This dreamlike image of a woman walking up lonely stairs, where who knows what fate awaits her? Frankly, I'm spoiled for choice.

Anyway, I said to Owen that that sounded like fun, and we met up in town on Thursday night, after my second day at my new job. Note to self: modelling after work is exhausting but rewarding, with much the same effect as an evening yoga class after a day at a desk.

It was a great shoot, and I loved the preview images Owen showed me as we went. We started with an attempt to recapture the pose in the French postcard I'd posted. Before starting each set, he took a single polaroid, to establish the effect of composition and lighting. It's not a technique I've seen before in these days of digital image viewers, and I liked the results very much. There's something so ephemeral and evocative about a polaroid, even ones of poor quality, and these were anything but. After I oohed and aahed over them, Owen was kind enough to give me the first one. I love it so much I got him to sign it. What do you think?

Introducing Irelynn

Since I started blogging a couple of years ago, the number of spanking models who blog has shot up. I entirely approve of this. Recently, though, a couple of people have started coming at it from the other direction. Abby Williams was probably the first spanking blogger whom I watched turn her hand to modelling. And another brave soul has just taken the plunge from producing kinky prose to kinky pictures.

Freshly Spanked is a new spanking blog written by Irelynn and Smudge, two spankees who have just matriculated at university. I recognise a lot of myself in these two young ladies, and their blog is funny, thoughtful and fascinating. And Irelynn has just posted an exclusive preview of some shots from her first shoot with Northern Spanking.

I am impressed. Very impressed. Not only does she look good (which she really, really does) but she's managed to infuse even this small selection of pics with huge amounts of personality, and an infectious sense of fun. I'll certainly be keeping an eye out for her debut on Northern Spanking, and I strongly advise you to do the same.

shoot aftercare

Adele Haze has picked up on my post last week about the ups and downs I experience during and after a shoot, and her response has reassured me that I'm not alone.

It's easy sometimes to slip into the habit of presenting an ideal view of my spanking relationships on this blog. I mean, you guys don't want to hear about the bad stuff, right? You want to hear about the spanking. And if I don't have any exciting scenes to relate, I feel like I should find other spanking-related things to talk about.

But Adele's post, and your comments, have encouraged me to continue to talk honestly. So I'll tell you how my evening went after the shoot last Wednesday.

Tom arrived at mine while I was writing the last paragraph of my entry. I very nearly ended the post by mentioning that I wasn't sure how to communicate to him what I needed, but that I'd just shown him what I'd written, and that hopefully that would be enough.

It was a good start. After my earlier fragility I was kind of hyper; we talked a while and drank tea before he initiated a scene. I went over his knee compliantly, although I was still a little manic and inclined to be smart-mouthed, which didn't really help me get into a submissive mindset.

The spanking hurt. And he was doing it really gently - I could tell. But it hurt, and I whimpered and whinged my way through the hurt, and then it kept on hurting. He even slowed down and started rubbing and stroking my bottom between each smack, which is normally guaranteed to get me writhing in pleasure, but the strokes were a blessed relief between what was, frankly, painful, and not in an interesting way.

I endured it, but it wasn't much fun for either of us. I think he tried a hairbrush on me next, and I complained about that so much he almost stopped the scene. Which would have been fair enough, because frankly I wasn't in any frame of mind to be truly submissive. I wanted physical sensation but I didn't want anything challenging. I wanted it to be about me. To be about what I wanted. Which is the opposite of what Tom expects of me during a scene.

Eventually we found an implement that suited my mood, and I got a very yummy tawsing, although Tom said afterward that it wasn't really working for him. When we talked it over we came to two conclusions.

Firstly, a shoot is a physical and emotional rollercoaster. Whatever it is that alchemically translates pain into pleasure for me - dopamine, endorphines, adrenaline, some other hormone, I don't know - it peaks sharply during a shoot and dips down low afterwards. The up and the down; the euphoria and the crash afterwards. We're all familiar with it. What I hadn't quite realised was that after you've already experienced this process once during a day, triggering it a second time is much, much harder. Once I've got high off the pain, come down, had my crash, then I can't start the whole process all over again a few hours later and expect my body to respond the way it did first time round. I think I might need to sleep inbetween to reset my body's balance.

Playing after a shoot is not going to scratch my masochistic itch because the itch isn't there any more. I'm responding to the memory of the itch, the emotional echo of it. My mind is stuck in the past, and I want to re-enact the euphoria of the shoot with my lover, but my body is in the present and just wants an easy ride.

Secondly, however much I want to play, I'm very rarely in a fit state to submit after a shoot. I want to re-create the dynamic I experienced during the shoot. I don't want to be responsive and flexible and attentive to my Dom's wants. My body is craving a very specific thing, and that's not the point of submission at all. Unless I can focus on my Dom's wants and be not just obedient, but genuinely responsive - unless I can take pleasure from following his lead regardless of my own preferences - I should not be trying to submit, and I shouldn't be trying to scene with my Doms if I'm not able to submit. If I'm in a self-indulgent, fussy place, where only one particular style of play will give me pleasure, it's foolish (and dishonest) to start calling anyone Sir that evening.

So, as Adele has already concluded, a scene is not the correct response to the evening after a shoot, no matter how kinky and giddy I'm feeling. And demanding submission of myself when I'm that drained and my body is that messed up is just silly. Subs and spanking models need aftercare after shoots just as much as we do after private play sessions.

Hopefully I'll remember this next time I have a shoot. Snuggles are the way forward ... and save further play til I've had some sleep.

Lego spanking

D. sent me this link the other day:



I'm slightly concerned by the fact that I'm finding those two red stick-on lego circles ... kind of hot. And I love the little lego toys and butt plugs :)

But ... the robot heads. Why?

ups and downs

Coming above ground at Kings Cross this morning, I took the steps two at a time, wincing as my rucksack bounced against my back. No matter how carefully I pack my bag, somehow a spike heel always ends up digging into the small of my back. Never mind the spanking - when I get home from a shoot I'm much more likely to be bruised by shoes.

The shoot is with Punishment Bitch, one of the Lady Sonia group of sites. Sonia herself is a slender and self-possessed woman in her prime, with eyes that are impossible to look away from. We drive to the studio and talk shop.

Studios are odd places, never inhabited but constantly striving to seem real. And yet real things have happened here, real conversations, real spankings, real sex. It doesn't count when the cameras are rolling but the ghost of it lingers; studios have a feel similar to school playgrounds, clamouring with the echos of the humans that fleetingly spent their time here.

This one takes up the top floor of an old building. Mouldy sofas and dry, rusty washbasins punctuate the long climb to the top floor. The walls of the stairway are peeling. Inside, a space that could be a glorious loft apartment is messy and thrown-together, mismatched rooms chopped in amongst each other. Inflatable sofas compete with disembodied enamel bathtubs; an Edwardian parlour is tucked away beside a stable reeking of two-year-old hay bales; graffitied walls float from the ceiling, connected to nothing. You don't ever want to lie on the beds.

I make tea, we joke and laugh about the studio, Sonia and I get ready. I relax. Once I'm working it's easy, I know what I'm doing. There's something scintillating about shooting that never gets old no matter how many times you do it. The silk stockings and the fetish heels make me feel sexy, and I'm working with a woman who is effortlessly glamorous. The director doesn't need a story for the spanking but we, the actors, the women, do: we come up with one between us, and enjoy the sarcastic, erotic banter even if none of the viewers do. Our characters are competing for power over each other and it becomes a game of wits, culminating in a punchline. At this stage it's mostly "sensual" pattycake spanking and the improvisation is more exhilirating.

Soon, though, our minds and my bottom are warmed up, and we start to connect, the dialogue becomes more convincing and our body language starts to sync. She whips me with a riding crop and I hiss between my teeth at the sudden panic of hurt. Breathe through it, remember you can do this, remember this is what you're being paid for, don't you dare wimp out now. Whimper, remember that crying out helps, let myself squeal at the next cutting stroke. Sonia mocks me for that - "you felt that one, didn't you?" - and that helps too. I muster my courage and struggle my way through two more strokes before my body finally catches up and a slow wave of endorphines settles over me like a blanket. Mellow now. I arc to meet each stroke. When she stops, I don't want her to.

On the train home I squeeze my legs together, remembering my wetness at the end of that last scene, grateful that they were professional enough to spare my blushes and not comment. There's a sharp line between my exhibitionist self on camera, willing to be exposed and shamed, willing to be seen to enjoy it, and my professional self off camera, laughing and wry and determinedly disengaged. Ironically, the closer the trust and connection with the models I'm working with, the more inclined I am to keep my two selves separate. I can flirt as much as I like on camera, be as aroused and helpless as I like, because I can trust them to not think it's real. Which liberates me enough to make it real, but not in a way I'm prepared to share. This is my own enjoyment, and it's a blessing and a curse.

Lust torments me all the way home. By the time I reach my front door I'm drained and exhausted. My phone has run out of battery and Tom's meant to be coming round tonight but I don't know when and maybe he won't. The endorphine crash leaves me listless and melancholy. I spend a little time relieving the ache that has been building since that session with the crop, and afterwards I weep at stupid things and mope around the house getting nothing done.

Then I pull myself together, make some tea, and give myself a stern telling-off for (yet again) not predicting the endorphine crash and looking after myself properly. I should know by now to have chocolate in the house after a shoot. Lust gives way to exhaustion, and when Tom arrives I won't know whether to tear my clothes off and throw myself at him, or curl up in his arms and demand cuddles. I want to be whipped again, I want to share some of the spark and energy from today's shoot with my beloved, I want to offer some of that energy to him. But I'm physically drained, and connecting with my real boyfriend when half my head is still being whipped by Sonia is always difficult to navigate.

I've done this so many times, and I'm still not used to it.

underneath my suit

Last week I went to a job interview in the City. It was cold, and I couldn't find any tights, so I ended up putting my thickest pair of opaque black stockings on under my smart office skirt, simply to keep me warm. These stockings, as it happens, aren't hold-ups, and so I had the delightful experience of walking through one of London's richest districts knowing that I was wearing stockings and suspenders underneath my suit. However prosaic my reasons for wearing them, there's something delightfully kinky about this.

My secondary school didn't have a uniform for sixth form - instead, we had a "professional" dresscode. The older I get, the more sensible I realise this was - several of items of my office wardrobe were bought while I was in sixth form, and it gave us two years to work out the boundaries of what was acceptable dress for most workplaces. And yes, I was one of the students who had letters sent home complaining about my clothing choices. I had a habit of wearing studded collars and too much eyeliner along with my respectable suit. What can I say, I was a sixteen-year-old baby goth.

Once it became clear that gothic jewellery and makeup was out, I started pushing the boundaries in subtler ways. On more than one occasion I wore a corset under my shirt and suit, and the secret knowledge that I was wearing something restrictive, glamorous, seductive which no-one else could see made boring lessons a lot more interesting. Plus, the line of a suit becomes killer if your waist is taken in.

Anyway, I've just found out I've got the part-time job I interviewed for last week. I'm glad - it seems interesting, busy and is well-paid enough to hopefully see me through the credit crunch. I'll still be freelancing two days a week, and I'll try to keep the blog updated, although I won't be able to access it from work so there'll probably be some changes in my posting schedule.

I'm a little nervous about being smart enough for the City - I've never worked anywhere this well-dressed before. But I'm looking forward to spicing up the corporate dresscode by wearing kinky lingerie underneath, knowing that my colleagues have no idea. I'll know, and so will my boys. And so will you.

I start next week, and I was about to call up one of my Doms to ask if they wanted to see me the night before, and give me some marks to wear underneath my suit on my first day. But I've just realised I'm meeting up with the lovely Adele Haze the evening before I start work. So I guess going into work marked will have to wait until another day. I don't think it would be fair to ask Ms Haze to do the honours unless I was prepared to return the favour, and I'm a very reluctant top when I'm not on camera ...

showing off my curves

I can't remember if I've posted this photo already, so excuse me if you've seen it before. It's one of my favourites of me, and I thought of it during the thread about 40-inch plus bottoms last week.



(Although I'm afraid to confess, I re-took my measurements recently for a spanking shoot I'm doing on Wednesday, and I must have lost a couple of kilos - because I've lost a couple of inches!! I'm going to have to eat some more pies or I'll be kicked out of the club :(

On which note, excuse me while I go and cook dinner...)

pain relief

Natty has been writing some excellent posts lately on kink, sexuality, and chronic pain or illness. This is an issue that is very close to my heart, as both of my partners have chronic pain, and one of them also has a chronic illness. I've wondered in the past the extent to which my choosing two dominant men who aren't fully able-bodied had something to do with my submission. Nursing has certainly become a consciously submissive act in one of my relationships, and I find caring for my partner when they're suffering almost as rewarding as I find sexual submission. It also makes the power imbalance feel more natural - we are dependent on each other, it's not all one way. They look after me as my Dom, and I look after them as their sub. We care for each other.

I don't write much about the sexual consequences of my partners' physical health, and I don't think I ever could - it's far too private, and not my secrets to share. But I do want to tell you two stories about pain and kink which I think follows on from what Natty has to say.

I have a switch friend who I'll call X. X enjoys exploring both facets of their sexuality, and find that their submission and dominance tend to arise in very different circumstances, with very different types of people. One day, their life is changed by an awful accident. They are bedridden for months, and suffer from chronic pain and impaired movement to this day. Since the accident, they have not felt able to explore their submissive side, and instead have focussed increasingly on their dominance. Being forced to lie still for so long, being forced to endure pain they did not want, having control of their life and their body taken away from them, removed any desire they had to play with those things. Now, they are determined to be as fully in control of their life as possible. Their body, their environment - these are things they are not willing to surrender to anyone else. They don't know if they'll learn to switch again in the future, but even if they do, their personality has been deeply affected by the accident, and they'll never enjoy submission and pain in the way they used to.

I have another friend who we'll call Y. Y has a condition which means they've suffered from chronic pain all their life. Like X, they were a switch, and enjoyed playing both roles in power games with lovers. They enjoyed giving and receiving pain. Eventually, they started receiving surgical treatment to correct some of the symptoms of their condition. They spent a considerable amount of time in hospital, and then bedridden, in pain unable to fully care for themselves. The medication they were prescribed for the pain had unfortunate side effects, and they preferred to avoid it. Instead, their switch relationship shifted while they were recovering from the surgery. They started submitting to their partner much more consistently than they ever had before. They sought out sexual pain because it was empowering. By surrendering control of their body to their partner, they wrested it away from their illness, from the doctors. Pain became translated for them, became something with positive associations. By choosing an affirming, intimate, conscious pain experience, the pain experience they had no choice about became easier to bear.

I don't really have anything to add to the story, except to say that Y still mostly identifies as submissive, and that I don't really know of any outside factors that might explain why X went one way and Y went the other. I just think it's fascinating, the way the human mind and body is capable of responding to these experiences. And I defy anyone to talk to X and Y and then try to argue that kink is damaging and unhealthy.

There are more people out there with invisible disabilities than you might think. If it wasn't so widely misunderstood and stigmatised, I wonder how many more of them might find solace and empowerment through a sexual exploration of pain.

spanking movies wanted

My friends over at Roué are currently working on a new shiny website, and they're hoping to include lots of free and downloadable content to draw traffic and supplement their DVD sales. David was asking me the other day if I knew of anyone who might have any unused spanking films that they weren't able to use and might be interested in selling. They're offering good rates, and are interested in edited and unedited footage.

I'm probably going to put together a few clips for him, and I might even chase up some of the companies who have shot full-length DVDs with me in the last two years, but who have shown no sign of ever being ready to edit the film. Mostly because I want to see those films, damnit ;)

So if any of you have any unused film that you don't have time to edit, or fancy filming some new material to sell on, let me know and I'll put you in touch.

stress, and stress relief

Apologies for the radio silence over the last few days. I'm jobhunting at the moment, and it's taking all my time. Yes, that's right, the self-employed model/artist/designer may be selling out. Freelance work is thin on the ground, and I don't know whether to blame the credit crunch or if my good luck has finally run out.

If there's one thing freelancing has taught me it's that fortune favours the opportunistic, and I'm hoping that that includes knowing when to cut your losses and look for some bread-and-butter work. Ideally, I'll find something part-time which will allow me to continue booking shoots and working on my own projects, but at this stage I'm open to the possibility of a full-time job if it seems interesting.

I don't think this means the death of my modelling career ... although if I'm working it might slow down a little as I'm limited to weekends and booked holiday. (That said, if any of you want to commission an artwork or a website, feel free to email me and let me know ..)

With all this stress and worry about work, I really need a spanking. I earned a brisk over-the-knee spanking on the bare from D the other day, for giving him a filthy look he didn't deserve. It was a fair cop - I was very tired and I had totally overreacted. The spanking stung my bottom and my pride, but there was something lovely about justice being swiftly meted out.

The annoying thing is that I'm probably so tired and stressed that I don't know if playing would work until I'm feeling calmer. Sometimes CP is the perfect thing to lift me out of a fretful mood. And sometimes I'm so wound up I can't submit at all.

I was daydreaming earlier about being caned. Not the slow, formal kind of caning you get in school stories. A play caning - only for his pleasure, not mine. I visualised myself on all fours on the bed, bottom lifted over a bolster and hands on the mattress, head flung back. I imagined the thin cane whipping down on my raised bottom, striping it again and again. I would cry out at the fierce sting of it, but the pain would be mixed with the bewildering joy of knowing I was pleasing my lord. I would twist and cry as the strokes whipped down faster, but I wouldn't break away. I would be taut as a bowstring, a the A string on a cello, bowed by the cane with swift strokes that leave me humming.

Could I take it right now, with my head all jangled and my body exhausted? Maybe not. But the idea is tantalising - and, somehow, soothing. Strange comfort.

pulling her hair

There are several things I love about this spanking photo from the 1920s. The hair-pulling, first and foremost - one of my favourite things in real scenes, and I don't get to see it nearly often enough in photos. The happy little smile on the sadist's face reminds me of my own sadists, and contrasts deliciously from his sub's obvious discomfort. This seems much more real than a lot of the vintage spanking photos I've seen.

Then there's the way the power relationship is made explicit in both the photo's composition and the body language of the models: the sub on all fours at the bottom of the frame, naked except for some scraps of underwear that only serve to emphasise her nakedness; and the top standing, fully clothed, above her. And the position of his hand on her bottom invites curiosity about quite how intimately he's caressing her...

you're doing it wrong

There's an odd tendency in vintage spanking erotica towards spankees with saintlike, patient expressions, eyes lifted heavenward, perhaps in an attempt to convey an impression of penitence. Unfortunately, the result is often a scene in which the girl being punished looks bored out of her brain:





In fact, in both these pictures the spankee seems to be an anonymous sidekick to the cute little spankers who are the focus of attention. Both of them look deliciously cross, a bit hot and flustered, and utterly adorable. I'd normally expect to see pouts like that on the face of the girl being spanked - in fact, if the facial expressions of the two girls were reversed, these pictures would both make slightly more sense (the eyes glancing heavenward could perhaps be read as an expression of tested patience on the face of the spanker).

The girl in the first is showing off her perfect breasts to such fine advantage that one might be forgiven for supposing that the photographer was more interested in this part of her anatomy than her victim's posterior. (Given the matching spotty pyjamas in these two photos, they may well have both been taken on the same shoot.) F/m fans are used to the domme stealing all the limelight, but this is the first time I've seen it in F/f.