Thursday, July 31, 2008

venue wanted

I've just posted a few adverts on spanking personals sites, and while I'm at it I thought I'd ask here as well.

No ... I'm not suddenly single and looking for a new spanker! The boys and I are very happy together :) (Although if there are any imaginative, nurturing, dominant ladies out there who fancy giving me my first experience submitting to a woman, drop me a line ... )

I'm advertising for a venue for spanking films. I'm involved with a couple of film projects at the moment, and we're looking for good locations to shoot in. Ideally, we'd like to meet a spanko with a private cottage or country house, who was happy to let us come in and film in it. Venues with old-fashioned interiors would be particularly exciting as some of the projects are period pieces. Obviously we'd be discreet and respect any concerns you had about your home being recognisable from the films, but you would need to be comfortable with letting a camera crew in. We're happy to travel to you, would provide our own camera equipment, and can offer good rates of pay. If you have a suitable venue and would like to help us out, please leave a comment or email me :)

scripts for C19th spanking movies

... Well, not technically movies, but plays. Plays written to be performed. On stage. (And to be sold as books, and pored over in private by voyeuristic gentlemen, of course. They didn't have blogging back then.)

This gem of a play by Algernon Charles Swinburne was published in 1888, in a volume of stories called The Whippingham Papers. I have just discovered its existence on the Spank Statement, and I couldn't wait until morning to show it to all of you. :)

It's called A Visit to Mrs. Birch and the Young Ladies of the Academy, and it is wonderful, awful, carry-on style keyword-laden spanking porn. Check out this dialogue!

Mrs. Birch - Sally reach me down the rod. Miss Drawler come out. Your neglect of your lessons must be punished with a good whipping.

Miss Drawler - A good whipping, ma’am, why I never was whipped in my life.

Mrs. Birch - That makes no difference to me; as long as you come to my school you must submit to the treatment of a scholar; and that you know is to be whipped for neglect of lessons; so come forward, Miss, and lie down upon the sofa.

Miss Drawler - No, indeed, ma’am, I shall not. I never was whipped yet; and at my age I determined I never shall be.

Mrs. Birch - Very well, miss, we shall soon see as to that. But remember, this resistance will only cost you double.

Miss Drawler - It shall cost me nothing, for I am determined I won’t submit. Leave me alone. Where are you dragging me? Let me go, Sally, let me go.

Mrs. Birch - Now, Sally, down with her across the sofa; that is right. She is now safe. Hold her hands down, I shall throw up her clothes; there they are. A little higher will be better. that will do, her bottom is quite uncovered now. There, Sally, keep her clothes up so, while I tickle her soundly.

(Miss Tickletouch gazes intently on the scene)

Miss Drawler - What are you doing? Leave my clothes alone. You shan’t take them up. Oh, dear, what shall I do? I never was whipped in my life, and I can’t bear it. Oh! oh! good gracious. Oh, don’t hurt me so. Oh, how dreadfully it stings. Oh, my bottom, my poor bottom. I can’t bear it; I can’t, indeed I can’t. Pray, pray let me go. I shall be such a good girl in the future. Oh! for heaven’s sake let me go. I can’t bear any more, indeed I can’t; it will drive me mad. Oh, dear, oh, dear. Oh, this is dreadful. Oh! oh!

Mrs. Birch - There, miss, you see who has conquered at last eh? Well you have now been whipped in spite of your earnest declarations to the contrary. And I hope it will be of lasting service to you.

This is the best spanking script I have EVER SEEN in my ENTIRE LIFE.

I want to perform this on stage. And film it. Actually no, I want to produce it as an actual hilarious spanking movie with really hot action. All I need is, er, a studio, a camera crew, cameras, lights, and models. I can probably arrange the last bit. Any volunteers to help out with the rest? :)

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

prickly heat

"I've told my blog that you're going to spank me with my new hairbrush," I said to Tom as I left my desk yesterday evening. He grinned at me. "So it'd be nice if I could post a photo tomorrow, if you take one after my spanking? Would that be okay?"

"Sure," he said, accepting my camera and putting it on the bedside table. "I'm sure something will present itself."

We hadn't played since our dramatic session a couple of weeks ago. I'd been anticipating it all weekend, but as the moment neared I found myself procrastinating. I took a shower, tidied up a bit, and then flopped on the bed, hoping the water evaporating off my damp skin would cool me down a bit. It was too hot to move, and I'd been stressed all day. He waited patiently while I fussed and made small talk, before gently but firmly guiding me over his lap. I was already naked after my shower, and I was still slightly damp as well, although whether from bathing or just fresh sweat provoked by the day's aggressive humidity, I couldn't tell.

I wiggled on his lap, wanting to get into a submissive headspace but aware that I was distracted and fractious in the heat. As he started to spank me I yelped and bit my lip, trying not to flail around on his lap as his hand stung me with little biting smacks. I hadn't been spanked in ages, and it was hot, and it hurt. I found myself giving bratty responses, exaggerating my stroppiness and making a great fuss as a way of defusing my very real tension. But I'm usually so eager to please that we don't really have a framework for engaging with my brattiness, and half the time I think my OTT pouts and shrieks were genuinely aggrieved. He held me firm and told me to be calm, stroked the back of my neck. I didn't want to be calm. I wanted to fuss. I sobbed into the pillows. The over-reaction was sort of helping me get into the right mindspace to accept the pain, but I just couldn't relax enough to be properly submissive.

When he switched to the new hairbrush, it was even worse. Oh god it stung. I don't know how such a small piece of wood could cause so much pain. Was I just out of practice, or was this hairbrush pure, concentrated evil? Maybe something to do with density, or the ratio of surface area to weight? It was heavy, and smooth, and stingy, and it burned, and dear god I could not take it. I started yelling as well as yelping - we aren't normally very verbal during spankings - and during a fast volley of smarks I was shrieking "PLEASE NO, SIR PLEASE NOT SO FAST, NOT SO FAST!" When he paused and rested a warning hand on the back of my neck I think he was surprised. Yelling made it easier to take, and I was getting a perverse enjoyment out of my stroppiness, but it wasn't the response he wanted. He talked to me quietly until I calmed down a bit, and then he slowed the pace, waiting for my reaction to each stroke to die down before delivering the next. I couldn't cope with those spanks at all. Each smack felt like he was touching a red hot poker to my bum. I tried to be quiet but I was so clearly over-sensitive that he eased up a little, and the last few smacks were pitifully light, but I still complained piteously after every one.

He helped me up, we hugged, and talked it over. I wasn't sure if the hairbrush was just made of evil, or if the heat was screwing up my body's responses. Maybe the dampness of my skin was making it worse? I thought that the sensation of the new hairbrush could be very erotic if I wasn't being such a wuss, and I told him that I wanted to try it again sometime. When it was less hot.

In the meantime I felt bad about not taking my spanking like a good girl, and despite the fire in my bottom I said to Tom that I wanted to keep playing. He said he'd been considering getting my tawse out. I thought that a stinging tawse would be horrible in this heat, but I could see why he thought leather might work. So in a fit of stupidity I asked if he had a belt that were suitable. He said yes.

Moments later I was lying over pillows in the middle of the bed, bum raised and fists clenched, waiting for the first awful stroke. He took me by surprise; starting oh-so-light, alternating each stroke with a teasing caress. I was soon getting turned on, the pace of my whole body slowing down, becoming languid as I accepted the increasingly heavy strokes. The belt is an extraordinarily warm implement, yet somehow my sizzling bottom and overheated brain found it deeply soothing. He made me count the last eighteen, and when he'd finished I felt like I'd got the whipping I wanted. I was grinning as he kissed me. The weather was almost so hot and humid that we didn't have the energy to take things to their usual conclusion. But not quite :)

So, no hairbrush photos - in the end the spanking was so difficult and emotional that we didn't get the chance, and although it hurt like hell, the pinkness in my cheeks faded too quickly for it to be worth posing a shot. But I did upload a whole bunch of photos from Tom's phone this morning, including home spanking photos dating back several months. I've used two from March this year to illustrate this post.

(Speaking of phones, mine was stolen today ... which hasn't helped my stress levels. Any of you who had my number, I'd appreciate it if you could drop me an email so I can make sure I have your details. Thanks!)

Monday, July 28, 2008

Surrealist spanking

I visited Paris recently to meet up with a friend. It was a whirlwind visit - I was there for 24 hours, courtesy of the Eurostar (which I hadn't had the pleasure of using before, but am now thoroughly converted to). My friend and I spent our afternoon at the Pompidou Centre, which I hadn't visited since I was about fifteen. It's far too big to do in one day - we flaked out after three floors and ran outside in search of fresh air and glâce. But while we were there, I saw a very interesting painting by Max Ernst which I hadn't heard of before ...



Apparently it's called (wait for it ...) The Virgin Chastises the infant Jesus before Three Witnesses: André Breton, Paul Éluard, and the Painter.

I hadn't heard of this painting before, although apparently it caused a huge controversy when it was created in 1926.

While looking up the details of the piece, I did find this article by a writer called Gypsy Scholarship, connecting this painting with a traditional song called Bitter Withy - also about the Virgin Mary spanking the child Saviour. Which is kind of cool. (Plus I got to feel smug for recognising the word "withy" after my recent experiences with weaving willow.) Gypsy Scholarship's post also mentions that André Breton (one of the Surrealist artists depicted in Max Ernst's painting) also painted a Madonna/child spanking piece, but typing "Andre Breton spanking madonna" into Google doesn't yield any useful results. If any of you know the work in question please feel free to enlighten me in the comments! And link to a picture, naturally. :)

I don't know much about Surrealism, but as far as I can make out the image of the Virgin as a strong disciplinarian is intended to contrast with traditional representations of her as the ideal of feminine passivity. In challenging the conventional trope Ernst seems to be trying to bring the image of the Madonna and child more in line with real human experience. I'm sure it's more complicated than that, but today is way to hot for me to attempt art criticism. I'll leave you with the strange fact that three surrealist painters - including the artist - are watching the proceedings. A comment on critical scrutiny, or plain old voyeurism? Who can tell?

Right, that's more than enough culture for today. It's 30 degrees in London and far too hot to think. I'm going to take a cold shower, and then Mr C is going to introduce me to my new wooden hairbrush, after which I'll probably need another cold shower. I hope you're all enjoying the heatwave just as much as we are :)

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Sugasm #141 and Porn Saints

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #142? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Comedy vs. Tragedy
“Are you on your period? What? Did he just say…”

Ian, or, Sometimes Sex is Hilarious
“In short, it isn’t sex blogger sex.”

A Wish
“I wish that you could know the indescribable pleasure of being enfolded in your warm, gentle wetness.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
Road Rage

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.


Tara Tainton courtesy of Porn Saints

I really love the image accompanying this week's Sugasm. It's from Porn Saints, a site of digital art, transforming images from explicit photo sets into art that references sacred imagery. Anyone can contribute an image, and I'm considering sending one in myself. I thought that some recent photos of Amelia-Jane Rutherford, for example, would be good candidates...

Actually the whole "porn saint" concept reminds me of a rather sweet reader email I got a while ago. In response to a photo I posted from an English Spankers shoot:

"Dear Pandora,
You're so beautiful in this photo!
It’s as though you've come straight out of a Raphael painting: your angelic expression is like that of a saint (or a madonna! not the singer).
Ask your friends, see if they don’t agree!
Hardly an appropriate comparison, might some say... ? Never... I’m sure you have the purest of hearts!"

I think I could live with being a PornSaint. At least I'd be in excellent company ... In fact I can't decide whether I'd rather be a PornSaint artist, or model for an artwork myself.

Then again, who says I have to choose? My philosophy is: embrace the power of and :)

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Sexarama

Thanks so much to everyone who left a comment on my last post, or linked to it from their own blog. I'm only touching base at home for an hour or so before I'm going away again tonight, so I'm sorry I won't get the chance to reply until later this week. Your thoughts and support are very much appreciated, and I'm particularly glad to see a number of people who have signed up to Northern Spanking or promoted them on their own blog. Congratulate yourself on doing a Good Thing, and I hope you don't lose too many days of your life exploring the vast archives of the site :)

I had a shoot last Thursday which was very relevant to one of the topics in my last post - spanking becoming more accepted in the mainstream. I was filming for a company called Bullseye TV, producing a post-watershed documentary/comedy show for Bravo Television called Sexarama. I don't have a TV so I've never seen the show, but apparently they're doing a feature on a long-standing member of the scene, Mike Payne of Mike's Spanking Booth, and resident Headmaster of the House of Spanking¹. As his website suggests, Mike is an avid spanko and has an historic collection of phone cards - adverts left in phonebooth by spanking professionals. Sexarama are running a feature on Mike's phone card collection, and they wanted to include a sexy, funny spanking clip to spice up the show.

Mike is a switch, so I went along to play the spankee role and Zoe Montana joined us as a top. Bullseye had put together a silly, slapstick little script full of recursive humour, which was designed to be filmed in a silent movie style, complete with melodramatic captions. It was a stables scene, with me playing the abused stablegirl, Mike the aristocrat who takes advantage of her, and Zoe his strict wife who catches him and takes him in hand.

We were filming in a real stables in a rural location. The family knew what the show was about and were very laidback about it, although we did have to be careful keeping the kids out of sight, particularly since I had to be nude in one of the scenes. TV is an extraordinarily slow process, with 90% of the day taken up by technical fiddling and faff. As the stablegirl, I had to be grooming a horse in several of the scenes, so at the start of the day the lady who ran the stables introduced me to a 4-year-old stallion called Diamond. He was beautiful - cop-trained, very calm, and absolutely loved being groomed. He'd been rolling in the mud and was covered in dust, and Zoe and I spent a happy couple of hours currying him until he was sleek. There was nothing else for me to do between takes, and I wanted to earn his trust and friendship so that working with him would be easier. I pretty much spent the whole day petting and grooming him until he shone; combing his mane; stroking him and feeling the warmth and power of his muscles rippling underneath my hand. I don't have much experience with horses, but by the end of the day I was completely in love. I didn't want to leave.

In the last scene, after my spanking, Mike gets his comeuppance while I return to my duties. The last shot shows me, still nude and with a recently-spanked pink bottom, grooming Diamond and looking rather self-satisfied as Mike is punished. Enjoying my revenge was great fun, but Diamond can take the rest of the credit for my glee. Currying a horse while naked was one of the most sensual, intimate experiences of my life. Not erotic - but very intense. I had a strong urge to jump up and ride off bareback into the sunset, but thankfully I don't know how or I might have got myself into rather a lot of trouble...

Spending the day outdoors in lovely English countryside, grooming a beautiful, elegant animal, making friends with the other horses and playing with the dogs - pretty much a perfect day in my book. Being spanked was just the icing on the cake!

None of the Bullseye crew were kinky, but they were all very interested and open-minded, and the slant of the show seemed to be pretty positive. They interviewed all three of us, and hopefully we did our kink credit. At the end of the day Zoe offered a caning to anyone who wanted it, and both Mike and I took turns to drop our jodphurs and place our hands on the stables wall for six of the best. A caning from a beautiful woman was just what I needed to round a perfect day off on a real high. After seeing how much Mike and I were enjoying ourselves, a very brave member of the camera crew allowed himself to be talked into taking two canestrokes himself. Zoe didn't pull back, and he walked away with two very impressive vivid purple weals. He said it definitely wasn't for him, although he might perhaps be interested in playing a top role. But I was impressed. A caning is scary even if you are into it. Kudos to him for giving it a try.

By the end of the day, I felt very optimistic about the future of spanking. Even outside the scene there are pockets of acceptance and open-mindedness where That Thing We Do is viewed as okay. Here's hoping the show will help shift spanking ever so slightly closer to the mainstream.

1. Both sites are currently down, but they were working a few days ago and I think that Mike hosts both of them, so I assume he's just having temporary server problems.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

fighting for freedom

A few months ago, when the Max Mosley case first went to press, I (along with a handful of other bloggers) received a polite request from Lucy McLean, owner of Northern Spanking, asking us to please not blog about the case. The "hookers" mentioned in the original News of the World piece were spanking professionals she knew personally, and if their identities were revealed they were at risk of losing their jobs - or even guardianship of their children. Lucy hoped that without the viral publicity of the internet, the case would die down with no further harm done.

Firstly, this should give you some idea of quite how protective, loyal, caring a person Lucy is, and quite how much the scene depends on people like her. Secondly, this is why I haven't written about the case before. This week, however, stories of how Max Mosley is sueing the News of the World have flooded in, and several spanko bloggers have picked up the thread. Amy Hunter kicked it off with a sharply worded satire of the pathetic desperation of the News of the World to find something - anything - even vaguely Nazi-related in the private play party they spied on, to add extra spice to their story. Not that doing Nazi scenes are illegal, of course - their justification for their shocking invasion of privacy is that the caning apparently drew blood, which is illegal. But Nazi roleplay is a convenient hot button. People get very upset by anything that looks even slightly like exploitation of the Holocaust for personal ends.

This is a very complex, messy moral grey area and I'm not sure I feel comfortable making definitive statements about it. In general, while there are some fantasies which make me very uncomfortable, I don't feel that I or anyone else is in a position to label them "immoral" or otherwise; it's up to the individual. I also feel that while certain scenes, particularly ones set in the context of actual current or historical oppression, are likely to be offensive and the individual should be sensitive to that, legislating private sexual behaviour is never the answer. I'm not saying all sex acts ever are necessarily okay; I'm saying that proscriptive legislation and censorship are definitely the greater evil. As far as I'm concerned, whether or not it's acceptable to eroticise historical suffering is pretty much up to the conscience of the individual, and as long as it stays private there's no harm done.

The reason this scene didn't stay private is the fault of neither Max Mosley, nor the spanking professionals who were involved in the roleplay. The reason the scene didn't stay private is that the News of the World paid someone to sneak a camera in; and because the News of the World then wrote sensationalistic, screechingly judgmental articles about someone's private sex life as if this "news" was worthy of public attention; and because the News of the World have continued to exploit everyone they possibly can in order to sell as many papers as possible. Forgive me for being cynical about their actual interest in the sociopolitical ethics of using war imagery for entertainment purposes. In slapping the word "Nazi" over every single story that's gone to press, regardless of the complete lack of evidence of Nazi or Holocaust imagery in the actual video, the News of the World are the ones who have exploited the historical suffering of Holocaust victims for their own ends. Not Max Mosley.

I'd prefer to avoid an argument about whether it would have been immoral if Mosley had been playing a Nazi scene; the question seems irrelevant, because the fact is that he wasn't. The video and the testimony of those involved are quite clear on this. That element was completely invented by the News of the World to make the story more shocking. Any offense caused to Jewish groups or anyone else is, in my opinion, entirely the responsibility of the News of the World. The plain fact of it is that a private spanking party really isn't news unless you sprinkle it with a generous helping of fiction.

In Mosley's case, his father's political involvement with the British fascist party provided an easy target, and the German language of the roleplay not only served as "evidence", but conveniently prevented the majority of the British public from understanding what had actually taken place. Because of course any film or TV scene featuring generic military-looking outfits and German language must be Nazi. And because eroticising something automatically makes it more immoral. Never mind that people watch prisoner of war and torture scenes in films all the time! If they're only enjoying it in their hearts, minds and souls, and not in their genitals, of course it's perfectly edifying.

(Is it worth my pointing out at this point that, if Mosley ever did have Nazi fantasies, it's quite possibly the healthiest way for him to deal with the family legacy he grew up with? Is it also worth pointing out that identifying with the victim - as Mosley clearly was, playing a sub role in a substantial part of the scene - is perceived as sympathetic and human most of the time, and is only viewed as exploitative or objectifying when it involves sex? Could this, in fact, be less about the ethics of exploitation and more about the destructive prudery, and fear of healthy sexuality, which permeates our culture?)

In response to Amy's article, Niki Flynn posted an equally righteous article about the devastating effect this "scandal" has had on completely innocent people within the scene. People, in fact, like Lucy McLean and her husband Paul Kennedy. Despite not being involved in the scene at all, they were dragged into the shit-storm because of a misunderstanding that the informant was one of the models listed at Northern Spanking. The resulting crossfire has, as Lucy describes in detail in a comment further down the thread, cost Paul his job and the couple a substantial portion of their stability and income, not to mention months of stress and hassle.

Niki, noble soul that she is, implored the spanko community to show their support to Lucy and Paul by subscribing to Northern Spanking for one month. If any of you haven't yet, please let me persuade you to do so. Just as Lucy and Paul are exactly the kind of thoughtful, decent people who are a credit to the scene, so their site is pretty much exactly the opposite of the accusations the gutter press are making. The site is a labour of love, with profits covering costs but not generating any income for the owners. Every model hired by the site is kinky, genuine, and making spanking films because she loves it - and the site lets the personalities of the girls shine through, rather than using their images anonymously, or for any purpose the model herself wouldn't enjoy. The films themselves are a delightful mixture of sensual and edgy, all of them heartfelt and good-humoured. The site also has the highest proportion of comedy of any spanking site I've seen online, including regular film out-takes and a long-standing tradition of improvised wit and slapstick, with brilliant one-liners appearing even in the more serious films. This good humour is a testament to the affirming, frank positivity of the owners. Our kink is healthy, it's fun, and it's nothing to be ashamed of, and Northern Spanking communicates that message more effectively than any other site I know. If you can spare $25 this month, spend it on supporting the people that make this scene worth being in. (And if you still aren't convinced, head over to The Spanking Spot for a glowing review and some tantalising preview images.)

I'm not the first blogger to pick up on this - Prefectdt, Bonnie and Natty have all added their voices to the cause in the last couple of days. And every post so far has linked to new newspaper articles on Max Mosley's stand as a "freedom fighter". I've been surprised and pleased by the positive and neutral tone of these articles, which offer a stark contrast to the moralising, invasive tone of the News of the World. A First Post opinion piece offered a defence of Mosley's character and describes the News of the World's recent publications as "one of the biggest editorial blunders in British popular journalism in recent years." A Guardian article questioned whether the invasions of privacy perpetrated by the News of the World is in the public interest at all - surely there are countless news items more worthy of the News of the World's time and money. The Evening Standard added its support to Mosley's stance, while BBC Magazine published a balanced, if basic, report describing how common BDSM practices are in the UK, and arguing that for the most part they are completely harmless. We all know this already, of course, but it's the first time I've seen it said in as many words by the BBC. And an opinion piece in the Independent put it even more forcefully: "Sexual dreams alone, if we believe the barrister representing the News of the World, can be 'a form of corruption of the personality' leading to 'true depravity'. When thought is being policed – by anyone, let alone tabloid journalists – we are in trouble."

More and more papers are adding their voices to the consensus that spanking play is normal, common, and harmless. More articles on spanking have been posted in the last week than ever before. The Daily Record recently ran an advice column on how to seek out introducing healthy spanking play, and yesterday's Metro ran a story on Peter Jones, author of Confessions of a London Spank Daddy, which surely was only published because of the kink-curious climate provoked by the Mosley case, for all that it studiously avoids mentioning it. Spanking has never been so fascinating to the UK press.

The Mosley case was hugely depressing to me at the time, not least because I was busy stressing about the new violent porn legislation which was passed a few weeks ago, and which groups all over the UK fought for years to prevent, criminalising possession of images which appear to depict serious injury to the anus, breasts or genitals. I didn't write about this legislation, either, because when it was passed I felt so disaffected, so disenfranchised, that I just didn't know what to say. We'd campaigned and protested for months, and they'd passed it anyway.

The actual wording of the legislation is dangerously vague. Spanking and CP material isn't necessarily illegal, but given an unsympathetic judge armed with waffly, imprecise language, it could be. As a result, most of the individuals I know who own spanking porn haven't changed their habits since the law was passed; but the film producers are getting increasingly antsy. Several times this year, ideas I've had for shoots which would have been perfectly fine a few months previously were vetoed by nervous site owners who didn't want to risk it. Any caning on the breasts, for example, was deemed off-limits by one site owner unless it was so light as to be laughable. Face slapping was another no-no, although quite why when faces aren't a part of the body listed in the new legislation, I have no idea.

So the new law hasn't affected me directly, mostly because I haven't let it. Fuck it, I say; I don't think I'm at risk of the police getting a warrant to search my computer, and I refuse to live in fear. If I'm arrested then I'll defend my sexuality in court. But it has indirectly affected me because a lot of people in the industry have made changes to their professional decisions on the basis of the new legislation. As people who make a profit off this material, they feel they have a lot more to lose. I can't help thinking of the response to terrorism in recent years, and the eloquent speeches from people who felt that privacy and personal liberty was more important than public safety at any cost. Doesn't the same apply here?

Since then, I've thought of quite a few things I want to say about the new violent porn legislation, but given the length of this post I'll save most of them for another day. (In the meantime, have a read of my friend Mark's blog, who passionately protested the violent porn legislation since the initial consultation, and says it all far better than I could.) I mention it now because it seems relevant to the Max Mosley case in three ways.

First, Mosley's position of privilege and his strength of character have prompted a victim of tabloid gutter-reporting to defend themselves in a BDSM-related case. This doesn't happen often; the scandal and misinformation, as well as the consequences to the victims of making more of a fuss, normally allow the bullies to win. Not only has Mosley's defence prompted the most widespread, honest discussion of BDSM I've ever seen in the UK press - which has got to be a good thing - but he hopefully will set a precedent, making the tabloids less inclined to go down this route in future, and making it easier for any future victims to fight back.

Secondly, the very real consequences of this case have highlighed in a new and clear way the prejudice and discrimination faced by people of unusual sexual orientation in this country. It's illegal to fire someone for being homosexual - but not illegal to fire them for practicing BDSM. Kinky people have been protesting this discrimination for ages, but this case, and its appalling consequences for people who weren't even involved, makes it impossible to ignore. In a culture which recently made owning certain kinky pictures, even if they're of your own partner, illegal, this publicity is much-needed, and I'm heartened by the positive or neutral stance adopted by most of the press.

Thirdly, if any spanking or CP porn is criminalised under the new legislation, surely canings that draw blood are more at risk than the majority of what we look at? In which case, isn't the Max Mosley video bought by the News of the World illegal under the new law? And if it isn't, surely we as a community can stop fretting, and express our sexualities without fear?

burning the candle at both ends

During my trip away recently I was pretty much in a vanilla headspace for the whole week. Neither of my Doms were there to inspire kinky thoughts in me, and I had work and other things to distract my attention. I'm normally a very sexual person, so I was surprised to find myself in such a celibate headspace. Right up until the last morning I was away, that is, when I woke up from a rather intense dream ...

It started out as a school dream I've had before: set in the streets surrounding my secondary school in the heart of the city. It's dark, and I'm anxiously trying to accomplish some task or other. In this case it was a creative writing project. My friend and I teamed up to research together, and both decided to write about spanking. Most of the dream was occupied with the tedious minutiae of preparing and writing the piece, which was far less interesting than you might hope.

The interesting bit started when we handed our projects in. We had different English teachers; mine was male, and he responded to my highly inappropriate assignment in kind. I was summoned to detention; told in no uncertain terms how out of line I had been to write such smut for my official coursework; that he was ashamed to send it off to the external examiners; that I'd let down the school. What had I been thinking? I hung my head, not knowing how to answer - it had seemed a perfectly reasonable topic at the time. He had no choice but to withhold my assignment from the external examiners. I would get an automatic 0 in that module, but if he sent it off, the school's reputation would be in question, and of course he couldn't have that.

The 0 would be its own punishment, he said, and therefore he didn't feel the need to take this matter to the Head. However, he was concerned about my psychological health. Since I was so obsessed with eroticising spanking, he thought, perhaps the best cure would be to find out what it's really like. He was sure that after being treated to the reality of his firm right hand I would realise how silly I was being. So over his knee I went, to be spanked, fondled and molested in various inappropriate ways while I squirmed unhappily on his lap. I could no more stop his unsuitable advances than I could rewrite the offending paper.

My friend fared little better. Her teacher was a stern lady, and anyone who roused her wrath faced the same treatment. Summoned to a private detention, you were bent over your school desk and told to hold onto the legs on the other side. On the seat of your chair, right under your sorry head, was placed a candle stub in a saucer. When the candle was lit it heralded the beginning of the punishment. The punishment was delivered with a metre rule, applied sharply to the bottom and upper thighs in measured, regular strokes, one every five seconds. This relentless pace continued, the teacher impervious to your yelps, until the candle burned down. Then you were permitted to get up, rub your stinging behind, and scram. How tall the candle was depended on the severity of the crime. I don't know how tall my friend's candle was, but her detention lasted so long that I didn't know which punishment was worse: my overly personal detention, or her impersonal one.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

shedding my ego

Beautiful and Depraved posted recently about a new 'postmodern' porn project she's working on. It looks intriguing, and I'll certainly be keeping an eye out for new developments. But I was particularly struck by her description of the power sexual submission has for her:

This blog is about beauty and depravity. How kinky, wild and outrageous sex can be incredibly self-actualizing. How acknowledging our deeply sensual selves can change our lives. How having my pussy in the air for 40 minutes and having someone photograph it (on Helmut’s desk) causes me to lose all traces of self-consciousness. Through these experiences, something in me changes alchemically. I lose my ego. This point is at the heart of every wild sexual thing – particularly every wild sexual submissive, exhibitionist thing I’ve ever done. I lose my ego and I can get back to being myself, unobstructed.

It’s soul Pilates: “According to practitioners, the central aim of Pilates is to create a fusion of mind and body, so that without thinking about it the body will move with economy, grace, and balance. The end goal is to produce an attention-free union of mind and body.” (wikipedia) And so it is with me shedding my ego: I can function without self-censoring. All my actions come forth spontaneously and I don’t think about who I have been or who I should be. I can just be.

This is what compels me to blog about my sexual experiences – to share about the power in them: the em-powerment. Further, it’s what’s compelled debauchette and I to create this venue: to house a space that gives permission. To publish kinky shit, beautiful cunts, dirty thoughts and unspeakable fantasies. To en-courage, to act on courage and to grow from it.

I couldn't have put it better.

Monday, July 14, 2008

whipped in front of the guests

I liked this artwork by Brian Tarsis which was recently posted by the Spank Statement, showing a clumsy maidservant being whipped with a belt in front of all the staff and visiting gentry.



My favourite thing about this image is the looks the lady whose dress is ruined and the maid are giving each other. The hatred in their eyes hints at past hostilities. Did the lady trip the maid, causing her to fall? Did the maid stumble deliberately, as revenge for a past injustice? Or is it just that she finds it difficult to keep her balance in those delicious and utterly impractical heels?

One of my oldest and favourite fantasies, as it happens, follows similar lines. I'm a maid in an Edwardian household; new to my role, and very nervous. The Lord of the Manor, Sir Edgar, has exacting standards, and his intentions towards the younger, prettier female members of his staff are not entirely honourable.

During my short time in service I've already felt the wrath of various senior servants. An unfortunate incident in the kitchens led to my being upended over the stout knee of the terrifying chef, who wielded her beech paddle with devastating effect. And the butler has already taken a dislike to me - I've found myself on the receiving end of his thick belt more than once, after disapproving reports by the housekeeper on my progress.

I'm learning quickly, though, and it's not long before Sir Edgar decides to show me off to his gentleman friends. I'm instructed to serve drinks at a soiree. Sir takes me aside beforehand, telling me in a quiet voice that he thinks I have promise, that he trusts I'll make him proud. I nod, anxious but eager to please.

In the drawing room, the visiting gentlemen sniff around me like dogs. Wherever I go I'm greeted with wandering hands, reaching out for a pat or a squeeze. They discuss my physical attributes as if I wasn't there, as if I were a piece of meat. I'm soon shaking, and it takes all my concentration not to spill the drinks I'm serving.

When Sir Edgar calls me to his side I'm grateful for the reprieve. But the worst is yet to come. He orders me to strip, so his friends can admire me more easily. I'm reluctant, but the threat of punishment prompts me to obedience. I strip down to my corset and petticoats. The comments greeting my exposed skin are raucous, greedy. One of them barks, "That's all well and good, but have you whipped her yet?"

Sir Edgar murmurs that he hasn't yet needed to deal with me personally, and, encouraged by the demands of his guest, offers to let his friend attend to me as he wishes. I'm instructed to bend over the arm of a chaise longue. I feel my petticoats lifted, rustle as they're pulled right up and settle around my head. My bottom is exposed and lifted right up into the air over the scrolled arm of the chaise, which is high enough to force me on tiptoe. I bury my head in a cushion and squeeze my eyes shut. I can hear comments about my bottom, how it's made for the rod. I sense a figure coming to stand by me and crack an eye open. It's Sir Edgar - standing calmly next to me, nothing escaping his scrutiny. I moan quietly as I realise my helplessness, but stifle the sound. I'm scared, but I don't want to make him angry. I can't afford to be chucked out on the street. I don't dare disobey.

The gentleman takes his time choosing a long cane from a selection proferred by a footman. He flexes a couple of them, whipping them through the air, before making his choice. The whole room has gathered round to watch. I don't know what's worse - the ones talking about me as if I was an inanimate object, or the ones laughing and joking about something else entirely, as if a young girl helplessly awaiting a thrashing she hasn't earned were so commonplace it wasn't worthy of notice. But the worst thing of all is that the other staff members on duty can see it all. I may not see any of the guests again, but the footmen, the other maids, the butler - I have to work with these people every day. I can't bear for them to witness my humiliation. I haven't even done anything wrong!

A couple of the guests have moved closer, and I can feel one grip my arms, holding me still in preparation for my whipping. I struggle half-heartedly, then remember Sir Edgar watching and make an effort to stay still.

Then a wild cry escapes my lips as the first slicing stroke falls - whitehot, searing pain, worse than the belt, worse than the paddle. I can feel the cut across both cheeks of my bum, burning and itching. I'm wiggling my bottom in the air in my efforts not to reach back and grab my wounded arse with both hands, and my struggling provokes the hands holding me down to grip my arms more firmly. The second stroke lands just as I'm beginning to regain my breath, and I let out a shriek at the force of it. Blood rushes to my head, and in a panic I realise that because this punishment has no crime, it has no limit: I have no idea how many strokes I'm due. All I know is that I can't bear the next one, I can't, I can't - until it falls, and all thought is jolted from my head as I writhe helplessly in the grip of my assailants.

The whipping is slow and searing at first, painting my vulnerable cheeks with fierce stripes of pain. At a stroke which lands right on the crease between my buttocks and thighs, causing me to emit a particularly high-pitched yelp, I hear laughter from the gentry gathered around, and a smattering of applause. As the caning increases in force and speed, their appreciation rises to match. Soon they're cheering my assailant on with rough shouts - "Harder, you brute!" "Go on!" "Thrash the little bint!" "Come on, don't be a sissy! She can take it!" Sir Edgar's guest, perhaps encouraged by a small nod from his host, responds to the encouragement, and soon the cane is slicing against my thighs and backside with barely a pause between each stroke. It blurs into one long, terrible streak of pain, and it's not until I have to pause for breath that I realise I've been screaming non-stop, unable to escape the dreadful whistling cane.

When it finally stops my head is a roar of noise, my breathing choked by sobs. The cane is replaced by a slightly sweaty hand, mauling and fondling my aching, damaged cheeks. The man whose hand it is is talking to Sir Edgar, probably about me, but the blood is pounding so hard in my ears that I can't make out the words. I can sense the crowd dispersed, laughing and chattering, their attention wandering now that the show is over. The hand gives my bottom a cheeky pat, igniting the tender weals afresh. Eventually I realise that I'm not being held down any more, and in some confusion I struggle to my feet, tears streaking my cheeks, fumbling with my clothes and trying not to meet anyone's eye, although Sir Edgar lifts my chin with a finger to force me to look at him. His guest is bright-edged and flushed, looking at me with a strange intensity. "That's all for now, girl," says Sir Edgar. "Kindly return to your duties. If any of my guests requires your services tonight you are to obey their summons at once. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," I murmur, desperate to squeeze my throbbing bottom through my petticoats, but too embarrassed. Funny that I should be worried about propriety when the whole room has just witnessed my most intimate shame.

For the rest of the evening I serve the guests as normal, trying to ignore the amused glances of the ladies and the lustful gropes of the men. My bottom is red raw and the slightest touch makes me flinch, a fact which keeps some of Sir Edgar's guests entertained for some time. The man who whipped me doesn't come near me again, although I keep noticing his eyes on me, darting and lustful as he watches me from across the room. Once I even think I see him lick his thin lips, but perhaps I'm imagining things. I do feel slightly dizzy.

Despite my lightheadedness, there is one good thing about my situation. For the first time since I entered service I'm glad that my waiting position requires me to stand rather than sit.

Friday, July 11, 2008

writhe

I had to wait nearly two weeks this year to receive my birthday spanking. Unusually for me, I didn't mind waiting. It wasn't a punishment, and I trusted that whatever Mr C. had in mind for me, I'd enjoy it. But neither of us anticipated quite how much I'd enjoy it ...

I was wired and restless when he arrived at my place last night. A lot's been happening lately, my sleep patterns are all screwed up and I've been full of that fretful energy - you know, the kind of background tension that feels like either something important is about to happen, or like you've just missed something? That. We'd planned to spend some time playing that evening, and although I felt like my nerves were jangling and my attention was out of focus, I hoped the spanking would relax me and ground me again. I just wasn't sure I'd find it easy to get in the mood.

We're pretty great at calming each other down, though, and after tea and cuddles we settled down to watch a movie. It was already fairly late by this point, and I asked him if he was still planning to spank me later. He said he certainly was, and I said "Good, I think I need it. I can't seem to settle down, my nerves are all over the place."

He gave me a long look, and then his voice and eyes altered ever-so-slightly in that way they do when he's being my Dom rather than my boyfriend. "Yes," he said quietly, "I think I know what you need. I think you need to be paddled."

I squirmed under his appraising gaze, cheeks flushing. I knew what he meant - I needed the affirming sensuality I associate with his wooden paddle. I needed to enjoy the spanking I was being given, to wholly, gladly consent to what was happening. I smiled secretly and twined my fingers through his, excited by his dominance and feeling very loved.

I'd planned to show him Stardust, but I couldn't find the disk, so instead we watched Sweeney Todd. Tom hadn't seen the film before, and put up admirably with my excitable running commentary. By the end of the film I was totally overstimulated, and my inner pervert had well and truly woken up. I felt playful and bratty, and after lusting over the abusive fictional relationships in the film I was craving a scene with a darker flavour, a non-consensual edge.

"Do you still want to paddle me?" I asked after he kissed me, wiggling in his lap.

"Why?"

"Because ... I thought that maybe you might want to crop me."

"Did you now." He grinned at me. He was enjoying my flirting but his manner made it very clear that he'd do whatever he damn well pleased.

We started with a spanking, of course: I was lustful and eager, positioning myself without guidance over his lap. He followed my lead, and the spanking that followed crackled with sexual energy. I lifted my bottom to meet each loving smack, and my gasps were more of pleasure than pain. Every so often his fingers strayed, exploring the tender crease between my cheeks, dipping lower to caress my aching wetness. I shivered and hollowed my back, pushing my hips upwards to encourage him to continue. He stopped far before I wanted him to, however, and helped me into a kneeling position as he turned his attentions to my breasts, caning them lightly while I bit my lip and adored every moment. Once he'd tormented my nipples to his satisfaction, he told me to arrange pillows in the middle of the bed.

As I lowered myself over them I was craving more pain. Whatever he did, I wanted to feel it; I wanted it to sting and burn enough to sate my hunger for sensation. Tender caresses and light smacks weren't going to satisfy me tonight. I needed it raw, I needed it to push me.

He was feeling generous: since this spanking was in honour of my birthday, and since I've been a good girl recently, he decided to grant me my request. The only trouble was that I don't own a riding crop. When I'd suggested it, I thought he might have brought his own with him, but he hadn't. So he opted for my newest implement, one we'd used for the first time a week ago, during our first play session after my trip away.



I bought this a couple of months ago for my cat. Who, of course, has studiously ignored it, leaving it languishing untouched in my bedroom after my fifth attempt to entice her with it failed. Little did I suspect it would find a new lease of life as a spanking toy, but as soon as Mr C laid eyes on it last week, he was determined to test its efficacy. He pulled me into an unusually intimate position, straddling his left thigh with both of mine, while his left hand held me down by the waist. By holding the "toy" end to stop it dangling and silence the little bell, he used the plastic handle as a thin, whippy switch. My vulnerability and helplessness, legs parted and the switch flicking against my tender inner thighs, was intensely erotic. Before too long he was just as turned on as I was, and the toy was abandoned as our embraces became more intimate.

This time, he picked up on that same mood, instructing me to lie over the pillows with my legs spread as wide as I could. He knelt beside me, a hand resting in the small of my back, as much for the intimacy of the contact as to hold me down. I was soon panting and writhing under the sharp, stinging little strokes. A couple of times the tip caught me between my buttocks, and I responded eagerly, moaning and pushing my hips back. After that he paid especial attention to this sensitive area, igniting it with cruel little flicks on the inner curve of each cheek.

I felt wanton, shameless. I lifted my arse to meet each stinging stroke, moaning in ecstasy. I was so wet I thought I might turn into a puddle any moment. The whipping had started light, but as it increased in intensity I wasn't even aware of feeling pain, only a blazing physical pleasure that seemed to shoot straight to my dripping cunt. Slowly, methodically, he began to whip me harder, and when this only increased my arousal he started to murmur encouragement to me, Come on, good girl, that's it. That's my good girl. The rhythm intensified, the strokes grew sharper, my cries wilder - until suddenly, inexplicably, I was coming, writhing under the slicing switch that continued to stripe my bottom and thighs with little red weals. It wasn't until my orgasm had faded that I started for the first time to feel the sensations as pain. He cradled me in the afterglow. I was whimpering, incoherent. My cunt ached for him, and yet somehow, impossibly, I'd achieved release without being touched once. My whole body was lit up, every inch of me tingled with sensitivity. I've never come from being spanked before. How's that for a birthday present?

I still had my birthday spanking to come: 24 hard strokes of the wooden paddle, one for each year of my age. Not many birthdays offer so traditional a number. He waited for me to settle down before bending me back over the pillows. I was flying by now: I felt like nothing he could do would penetrate the warm glow that had settled over me. I moaned appreciatively through the first 16 strokes, enjoying every second of it. But I was still craving that edge: I wanted to feel it, to be pushed, not just float in a haze of sensual pleasure. At the 17th crack of the paddle I got my wish, and I abandoned myself joyfully to the pain, sobbing and wriggling under the punishing blows that followed. Yes, yes, yes. This was exactly what I'd wanted. I needed it to hurt; I needed, by the end, to be frightened of each next stroke, to not want it any more. Except, of course, that I absolutely did.

The rest of the night is a happy haze of pleasure: pure, unadulterated pleasure. He introduced me to my delightful gift, which entirely lives up to its name. I actually lost count of the orgasms he brought me to with its smooth, warm, organic hardness. Eventually he stopped pleasuring me for long enough for me to take his own hardness eagerly into my mouth, and return the favour. I fell asleep happy and sated, glowing with love. Learning to come from being whipped was definitely the most unexpected present of all :)

Thursday, July 10, 2008

chastised at home

It's been a while since I've posted any straightforward spanking photos. Spanking Blogg recently put up some promotional shots from an old film I shot with Spanked Schoolgirl, called "Pandora's Story", in which I remembered being disciplined by my aunt as a girl. I can't remember if I posted about this film when it was originally released, but apparently they've just made a remastered version available on Spanking Mags, renamed "Pandora Chastised". I don't know what they've changed but feel free to have a look at the site if you're interested :)











Click on the image to download a free clip from the movie:



I don't think I'd seen these photos before, and I rather like them. This was my first time shooting with Miss Smith, and I was impressed by her. She's a lovely lady and I enjoyed sharing a glass of wine and a natter with her at the end of the day's shooting. But while we were filming, her strict manner and firm hand were enough to make even a seasoned spankee nervous!

Then again, I quite like that contradiction. The fact that I liked Miss S made being punished by her more effective, not less. Discipline is most effective if it comes from someone you respect.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

recommended reading

I've discovered several excellent new blogs lately, which I feel are deserving of love and attention. Please take the time to read a few posts and leave a comment saying hello. When you're just starting out a little interaction from your readers makes it all so much easier.

Spanking Photography
Jason Oak's new blog devoted to his own (you guessed it) spanking photography. He'll be updating it regularly, with some images you might recognise as well as some new ones. Jay's a prolific blogger, running more than one personal spanking blog primarily devoted to fiction, and he used to write for Lowewood Academy. This is the first blog dedicated to his photography, and I like the setup of it, with the focus on single images rather than image galleries, and a few choice sentences accompanying each one to set the scene of the fantasy.

Proper Spanking Stories
Tongue-in-cheek, dark, edgy, hot as hell spanking stories set in fictional American midwestern town, Proper. Writer Pallidbust is much better at starting stories than finishing them, but his chapters stand alone, and I always love being treated to his new flights of imagination. These range from social satire to modern-day mythology, from playful spankings to the nasty, methodological abuse of unfortunate young ladies. They're highly readable and they push my buttons. Go, leave comments so he'll write more.

Let Them Eat Pro-SM Feminist Safe Spaces
I've been following this group blog for a while, but for some reason I've never linked it here. Positive feminist writing about BDSM, D/s, and discipline. A welcome pick-me-up for any kinky feminist suffering from self-doubt, with some interesting links and lots of food for thought. Even if you're secure in your reconciliation of your sexuality and your politics, it's worth contributing to the discussion. It would be a shame if the only people bothering to talk about kink and feminism were the ones who thought they were incompatible.

Kink 101
Speaking of which, I recently enjoyed this article by Kit Roskelly. Kit's regular blog is specifically about gender politics, but ze is at least as kinky as I am, and it's great to see a mainstream feminist blog like The F Word finally making space for this issue. I suspect nothing in the article is news to those of us in the know, but kudos to Kit for taking the time to speak out publically to educate others.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

how I became a spanking model

Q: I would like to ask how you became a spanking model and what prompted you to go professional as opposed to just being spanked 'recreationally'? Do you have any fears? Where do you draw the line? What would you not do? (from Hermione)

A: Wow, good questions! I might have to take these one at a time. How I got into spanking modelling is kind of a long story. If you've been spanked recently, you might want to fetch a cushion and get comfortable ...

I started out doing art nude modelling for a photographer friend. I've always been very unabashed about sexuality and nudity, and there didn't seem anything wrong with posing nude for a trusted friend. There was nothing sexual about the shoot - it was comfortable and respectful. I was 20 and had a lot of body image issues; seeing aesthetically pleasing, artistic photos of my naked body was the first step on the journey of learning to see myself as beautiful.

I tend to think analytically about most new things I learn, and looking at the results of my first shoot I could already see things I wanted to do better and ways I could improve my modelling. So I uploaded some of the shots to a modelling site and expressed interest in doing low-key unpaid shoots with local photographers. I turned down a lot of offers which made me feel uncomfortable (one guy wanted to shoot my face while I brought myself to orgasm; I knew for certain I wasn't up for that, although these days it might be a different story), but I did a couple more shoots with a young local photographer. Some of the images we produced together were, if I say so myself, beautiful; modelling was creatively fulfilling in a way I hadn't imagined. I loved how much aesthetic control I had. It was as if I was a painting and the photographer was realising me. I found it liberating and empowering.

I love naked bodies - I think people are beautiful, of all shapes and sizes. As an artist, how can I make something beautiful if I can't accept the beauty in myself? Appreciating and owning my own beauty was an act of self-affirmation which was very powerful for me.

Pretty soon I was offered my first paid shoot. It was more explicit than the art nude stuff I'd done before. "UK Magazine" level refers to explicit genital shots, but no sexual activity (as opposed to "US Magazine", which includes shots of the model masturbating). The reason I was okay with this was that it was for a special-interest magazine (in the States, funnily enough) focussed on unshaven girls. It was sort of a girl-next-door, retro appeal. Apparently there's quite a wide market for it. Now, I prefer to be shaved, but something about the rejection of plastic Barbie-doll mainstream porn really appealed to me. I agreed to grow back my pubic hair and bikini line (legs and armpits were optional) for the shoot. The other reason I went for it is that I was being offered £300 for a day's work. I was an impoverished graduate student and it was a huge sum of money to earn all at once. Why not try it? At the end of the day I could take my cash and I'd never have to do it again if I didn't like it.

It was interesting. Aesthetically, it wasn't my thing - this isn't the kind of porn I'd ever look at, I only look at kinky stuff - but I realised I was quite good at it, and it still contained all the aspects of nude modelling that I loved. The guy I was working with was very professional and I was surprised by how much care he took framing the shots and trying to create interesting and pleasing images. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it didn't feel like selling out. I didn't mind being a part of this industry. If I was helping some bloke who liked fantasising about girls with real body hair get his kicks, I could feel proud of that. I mean, I like girls with real body hair too, so I felt I could sympathise with the viewer. It felt real, and because of that it felt good.

I did a couple more shoots while I was studying as a graduate. I started getting into bondage and other images with kinky subtext. Although I'm happy with explicit shots being included in kinky scenarios, I never did another straightforward "UK Mag" shoot again. Once was fine, but if I know I'm not into it there's no point repeating the experiment.

I realised I loved modelling for painters (not life modelling, but photoshoots for artists creating reference photos for their work); that I loved posing in my collection of gothic Victoriana and corsetry; that I loved the whole "Betty Page" genre of imagery. I kept updating my modelling profile to reflect my interests. A couple of weeks after I'd finished my graduate degree and moved to London I was offered my first spanking shoot. Only light spanking, the photographer said, mostly posed stills, but maybe a bit of actual punishment if I was comfortable with it. I'd never crossed this barrier into my personal kink before, and I was excited by the opportunity. And the money compared favourably to the UK Magazine shoot.

The photographer was called Jason Oak, and we got on well - he was smart, young, kinky and very easy to work with. The spanker was a mild-mannered elderly gent without much confidence or professional experience, but that was possibly for the best given my own nerves! I came out of the shoot with several really cool photosets - in fact, those are the photosets that are in the spanking gallery section of my website.

The shoot took place at CP Services London, a M/m CP studio who produce their own material and offer private sessions to clients. They've got a beautiful townhouse conversion which is done up inside like an old-fashioned headmaster's study, complete with mechanical typewriter and antique newspapers. They hire it out as a venue for sessions and shoots as well as using it for their own business. I got chatting to the owner and he told me I had a lot of promise and could be big in the spanking scene if I was interested. He said they were considering introducing girls to their business model and asked if I'd be interested in sessions. I decided not. Although I can see why my friends who do sessions enjoy it so much - it has a lot in common with roleplaying on camera - I'm personally more comfortable being paid by photographers and filmmakers to make films and images than I am being paid to get spanked off-camera. One of my boyfriends was are also very firm on this point and said he wasn't happy with me doing more "direct" sex-work; the indirect stuff was fine, but he wanted to draw a line at the point where people were personally paying to hit me. That seemed a reasonable compromise to me. My relationships come first and I was happy to keep things within my partner's limits.

Anyway, Keith who runs CP Services London suggested a halfway house: sessions in which he or his partner disciplined me alongside a client. I think a lot of male spankos fantasise about scenarios in which they and a girl are punished together. I wouldn't be spanked by the client, I'd be an actress brought in to enhance their fantasy. The people spanking me would be the CP professionals who ran CP Services London. So I thought that sounded feasible, and they told me to create a website so they could link me and promote me.

I spent the next week locked to my desk creating Pandora's Bot. I'll admit now that I've been rubbish at updating it, and the content is pretty much unchanged since I created it in July 2006. I'll also admit that I never did do a session at CP Services London. Somehow it never quite happened, and by the time I'd joined a few free spanking ad sites and model directories, I was getting offers of film work and didn't need to chase it up.

Being on a film set is exhilirating, and I've found that taking punishment on camera was nothing like playing in private. I'm in character, and if my character hates her punishment then chances are I'm too immersed in her headspace for me to be actively enjoying it. But sometimes, a secret part of me will be turned on, underneath the acting.

Afterwards, I always enjoy having just done it, remembering it and enjoying the high. There's the adrenaline and performance thrill, just like being on stage, but there's also the endorphine surge from the pain. I'd describe myself as a masochist - I get high off pain in the right circumstances - and it turns out that being hurt by another actor on camera is one of those circumstances. I tend not to get physically aroused unless I have a sexual chemistry with the spanker, but the high happens every time. As long as I'm playing in a plausible scenario that appeals to my fantasies, I can reach that place. It's exhilirating and compelling.

The most important appeal, for me, is the creative input. I'm creating the kind of porn I love to look at; I have the ability to produce porn that's high quality, interesting, responsible. A few giant corporations shouldn't monopolise the erotic industry. Porn should be an open market, anyone should be able to produce the kind of porn they're into. I'm certainly glad that I can.


That took longer than I expected! Hermione, thanks for your question - I'll answer the second half of it in a separate post :)

Monday, July 07, 2008

Transports of Delight

I know I have questions to answer, but I'm tired tonight, so this is just a quick one for now. I want to show off my birthday present from D. Apologies for those of you uninterested in such things - I'll return to the normal service of spanking-related posts tomorrow.

D. first sent me the link as a sexy curiosity. I don't think he was prepared for the strength of my reaction. To be perfectly honest, nor was I. While I've used my fair share of sex toys in bed with various ladies and gentlemen, they aren't normally an object of lust for me in their own right. They're useful, and they're often stylish, and my gently curved glass dildo from Sh! is very very shiny. But I don't take it out and stroke it of an evening. It's just a toy.

So when I clicked on the link and started looking at the different designs, I was astonished at the strength of my physical reactions. I fell instantly in love with the beautiful grains of the hardwoods, particularly the beautiful mahogany cocobolo, the chocolate lignum vitae and the rich golden olive wood. The hand-carved designs left my mouth dry and my knickers damp, imagining those warm, organic, unyielding curves moving inside me. Spanking implements have been known to press my buttons this much, but dildos? As inanimate objects go, they don't normally have this much power over me.

I yearned; I lusted; I looked at the prices and resigned myself to living without this particular object of desire. And I thought no more about it. Until I got back from holiday and D. handed me my birthday present. I was halfway through the wrapping before the penny dropped. I think I was actually shaking as I unwrapped it. And I was so overwhelmed it was a minute or two before I came to my senses and flung myself on him in delight :)



This is Writhe (good name, no?). Isn't the cocobolo grain absolutely gorgeous? He even picked the right size. D. knows me very well.



I'm not sure if I want to display this beauty on my mantelpiece, or carry it with me everywhere. I keep unwrapping it from its deep red satin covering, unlacing the black ribbon, feeling its smooth, warm weight in my hands. And grinning from ear to ear.

I'm going to enjoy getting to know my new friend. Who knows, I might even share the details with you (although it's unlikely - letting you appreciate its beauty from afar is probably as much far as I'm comfortable going. Probably).

And yes, all the "got wood" jokes have already been made, ta. :)

Friday, July 04, 2008

willow weavers

I was recently responsible for constructing an outdoor installation for a national arts event. During the design process, one of my team members suggested weaving willow withies to create a couple of the sculptures. I've never worked with willow before, but I was grateful to my friend for the suggestion - the finished sculptures looked amazing, and it turns out willow is a common material in traditional crafts and construction.

I ordered two large bundles of it, and it arrived a couple of weeks before the event. Several hundred willow wands, each about eight foot long, tapering from a fingers-width at the thick end to a narrow point at the top. I was very excited about working with them, and when I had to supervise another part of the installation and a couple of the other artists in my team ended up doing all the weaving, I was pretty disappointed. As a result I made sure I salvaged as much of the undamaged willow as possible during the de-rig, and it came home with me. It's currently in bundles in my back garden, and I'm looking forward to spending some quality time weaving with it.

Of course, the alternative uses of willow withies haven't escaped me either. Right down to soaking the long wands before you weave them, the process of preparing willow is very familiar to those who share our interest. And I don't intend to waste the opportunity. I'm looking forward to selecting a couple of dozen long wands, cutting them down to size and dividing the resulting switches into a couple of birch bundles, one made up of thicker wands and one of thinner. I'm looking forward to putting aside a couple of the switches for use on their own. I'm looking forward to leaving the birches to soak overnight. (I have to say, though, that I'm definitely not looking forward to clearing the floor after my birching. Switches make a hell of a mess!)

Whether I'm looking forward to the birching itself is much more uncertain. At the moment, very much so - but then I've just been reading Zille Defeu's delightful write-up of her first ever birching, and I'm craving the sensations she enjoyed so much. Closer to the time, however, I'm sure I'll be much less keen...

Thursday, July 03, 2008

the lost brush

I'm filming tomorrow with a private photographer whom I shoot with semi-regularly. He's been very kind to me in the past, including buying me my own Mason & Pearson hairbrush so it could be applied to my bottom during his shoots. We get on well and I always work hard to try and produce exactly the results he wants.

I've really been looking forward to tomorrow's shoot - I'll be being topped by one of my favourite female spankers, and the gorgeous Amy Hunter will be being punished alongside me. I've met Amy but never worked with her before, and given how long I've been crushing on her it seemed like the shoot would be enormous fun.

Why can these things are never as simple as they ought to be? I emailled the photographer when I got back from holiday to ask if there were any particular uniform items or props I should bring with me, and he named a few things including the Mason & Pearson brush he bought me. Great stuff - I love being spanked with it.

Except I can't find it anywhere.

I'd be devastated anyway - it was one of my favourite implements and I'd hate to have lost it. But it was a gift, and I need it for this shoot tomorrow. How will I show my face and admit to my photographer friend that I've lost the brush he bought me?

It normally lives in my toybox under the bed, but I noticed it wasn't there the last time I opened it. I assumed that Mr C must have accidentally packed it away in his implement bag the last time we used it. But he doesn't have it either, and I've searched high and low but I can't find it anywhere.

I haven't admitted this to my photographer friend yet - he's off email until tomorrow, so I was going to tell him when I arrived. He's a lovely chap and I'm sure he won't give me a hard time about it. But I know he'll be disappointed. And if I can't find it at all, I'll feel even worse.

Maybe I should suggest that I be punished, to show how sorry I am. I'd really rather not be - I hate being punished for "real" reasons. But I feel awful about losing this brush, and I can't afford to replace it. So perhaps it's the best option. But even if I can think of a suitable punishment to suggest, it won't replace the brush. :(

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

sunshine and no knickers

Well, I'm back in London from an energetic, happy camping holiday - tanned, tired, fitter and a year older as of last weekend. Neither of my Doms were there to give me a birthday spanking, but I spent a lovely day in the sunshine, and the friends I was away with teamed up to buy me a very generous gift :) London's still sunny, thankfully, but I'm pining to be back outdoors. Being at my desk doesn't seem very inspiring after a week in the fields.

Thanks very much to those who asked questions - I'll answer them each in turn over the next few days, hopefully interpersed with a sexy real-life spanking story or two. (I've got a date with Mr C tonight, and he's making sinister remarks about birthday canings and the disciplinary value of the number 24...)

Q: Why are you not wearing knickers in your photograph?

There are two answers to this question.

The first is that I'm at a private photoshoot in Scotland with an amateur photographer. The house we're shooting at has amazing grounds, and he wants to catch some sneaky outdoor shots in the lovely late afternoon sun. It's February, and although the light is golden it's not warm outside. We've just been indoors shooting some wet knickers photos with some beautiful Victorian porcelain chamber pots. When we go outside my white cotton knickers are still wet, and the combination of cold wind and damp cloth gives me goosebumps. I pose up against the six-bar farm gate, bending over and putting my hands on the wooden bars. Then the photographer directs me up against the yellow wall of the house, and tells me to pull my damp knickers down to my knees. I shiver as my bottom is exposed to the cold breeze. He tells me to lean my elbows on the wall. I can hear cars driving past on the road behind me and am anxious that passersby can see, might think I'm a genuine schoolgirl in disgrace, that the elderly photographer is my strict father. I bite my lip and imagine being told to wait here before being allowed inside, wanting desperately for the humiliation to end, but knowing that when I went into the house a spanking would be waiting for me.

The second answer is that I am wearing knickers, they're round my knees, look. Would I go outside in public with no knickers on? What do you take me for, some kind of tart? :P

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