Japanese rope bondage ... and PIRATES

I've just ordered issue 4 of Filament magazine. In fact, seeing as I've bought every issue so far, I've just bought a four-issue subscription, keeping me in tasteful, stimulating eye-candy and brain-food for the whole of the next year. Yay!

Filament is a ground-breaking magazine for women, predicated on the radical idea that women have eyes and brains too, and deserve to be spoken to as if they were intelligent human beings. It's an active rejection of the damaging mode of women's mag stuffed with talk of diets, celeb gossip and "how to please your man in bed" (what about pleasing yourself in bed?). Instead, Filament combines thoughtful, varied articles on subjects ranging from the 18th century politics of STDs, to what it's like being a female pro-wrestler, to how to explore pegging with a willing chap. Not every article is about (or by) women, but they are written from and for a female perspective.

Then there's the sexually explicit content. Filament was been rejected by a number of retaillers for displaying photography of men on the cover - rather blatantly highlighting the double standards at work in our culture - and when they released their second issue, which included a photoset showing a male erection, they caused a much bigger outcry. But they've persisted, and I can attest that the explicit photography in Issues 2 and 3 is delicious, even for a queer old pervert like me.

The criticisms which suggest that in showcasing erotic, female gaze, heterosexual photography Filament is just as sexist as the norms it rejects are lazy to say the least - particularly when that criticism comes from people who have not, in fact, read Filament. Filament's erotic photography separates itself from the empty sexism of mainsteam porn with its focus on context and character; the sensitive, positive model interviews; the idea that these men are attractive not only for their physical beauty, but for their personality, their talents, their whole selves. The nude male models are pictured doing things like painting pictures or spinning fire poi (an impressive feat while not wearing any clothes) - they aren't just cocks with limbs attached. (Although the cocks, I have to admit, are very visually appealing.)

This is what Playgirl always wanted to be, and never quite managed.

I'm particularly looking forward to receiving my copy of issue 4, because it features Japanese rope bondage...



... and PIRATES.



I wholeheartedly approve.

a March weekend

A couple of weekends ago the lovely March Middleton came to stay. It was a long-awaited visit. March and I have known each other for nearly six years - and the first time we shared a bed was over five years ago, when Tom and I went to a play club with her and her then-partner, and ended up back at Tom's for an intense scene.

Skip ahead a few years, and March and I find ourselves flirting whenever we meet up through our group of mutual friends (a phenomenon which is exacerbated whenever she wears a trilby and tie) and in January I ended up spending most of an evening making out with her while Tom was on stage. Luckily, he chose to be forgiving about the fact that this caused me to miss large parts of his performance ;)

This year I've suddenly gone from being almost-faithful to my two primaries for most of last year, to suddenly expanding my sexual and romantic horizons - a process catalysed partly by increased energy levels and lower (for a while at least!) work stress, and partly by the discovery that personal submission to women can in fact work for me after all. The downside is that my already-bursting calendar has exploded with new people I want to see as much of as possible - and these days "as much of possible" barely extends to one weekend every couple of months. Still, March applied just the right amount of patience and persistence, and by the time we'd exchanged a few naughty emails discussing the terrible things she was going to do to me, I wished that weekend would come sooner.

It turns out her way with words doesn't stop at naughty emails. She brought with her a story she had written, about a strict but rather wicked prefect and a very wayward young fifth-former. ("I'm afraid your character's underage," she confessed to me charmingly as I started to read. I, as you might expect, was hardly complaining.) I rather desperately want to post all of it, but I don't have permission; and in any case, it's not finished yet, stopping abruptly mere sentences before the dreaded hairbrush descends. I intend to pester encourage her to finish it, and then let me show you all. In the meantime, I do have permission to share this tantalising tidbit:

"Right, that's enough. You're coming to my room. I'm not disturbing Miss Gibson at this hour," snapped March. Something about her tone broke Pandora's resistance.

"No, no, please, March, I'm sorry!" she pleaded, in a rapid whisper. "I was only --" She stopped, realising that to explain that she had been hoping to sneak downstairs to return a book illicitly purloined from the mistresses' library would do her no good at all. And if March found out that it was a rude book (goodness knows how it had found its way into the otherwise staid collection on the staff's bookshelves), there would be the dickens of a row.

I had thought that when we played we might capture something of this fifth-former/prefect atmosphere, but yet again, my plans went out of the window when confronted with the reality of a sexy woman. Once we were in bed the atmosphere was purely, delightfully playful. I giggled while over her knee (a habit I should really try to get out of...), and while the spankings were fun, the sex that followed was even more memorable. I won't share all the gory details, but I will say that March is one of the most comfortably sexual people I have ever rough-and-tumbled with. Nothing seems more natural, with her, than to talk about all the explicit things we would like to do together; and doing them feels even easier, even things I have never done before. She inhabits her own body, and her own sexuality, with a cheerful ease that is thoroughly contagious. And I'm not sure I could tell you which of us was naughtier, although I was certainly the only one to be spanked for it.

We watched Secretary together, me for the first time, and heckled it a lot (I reacted pretty much exactly as I'd expected; the spanking scene and the second, not-a-spanking scene were hot - the rest of it was irritating and frustrating by turns). We played with a substantial proportion of the contents of our combined toyboxes, including a pleasing variety of phallic objects. On Saturday we visited Sh! Womanstore in search of a new harness for March (her share dildo was an awful lot of fun, but the silicone is heavy enough that gravity becomes a problem for the partner on top), and spent a happy couple of hours drinking tea, browsing dildos and talking lesbian sex with the helpful shop assistants.

Downstairs, while March was trying on harnesses (and bargain leather corsets - sadly neither of them fitted) I discovered, beside the in-store TV and DVD player, a collection of twenty Easy on the Eye DVDs. I'd been writing about Anna Span only the day before, but hadn't yet watched any of her films; there was nothing to do but put one on. I flicked my way through Pound a Punnet while March modelled sexy garments for me, and confirmed that Anna Span's work was everything I'd said it was - but, sadly, somewhat too vanilla to hold my sexual interest long. (Although there's always a space in my heart for good-humoured, authentic girl/girl scenes with enthusiastic kissing and real orgasms.) We came home with a new purple harness for March and new nipple clamps for me, and spent the rest of the evening trialling them, with great success.

She tried out various implements on my willing bottom, favouring her hand (a rhythmic, rapid, stinging spanking style, lingering first one one cheek and then the next, letting the heat build like pepper) and our combined collection of hairbrushes. I got very turned on very quickly; and, as at other times, I found my pain threshold expanding the more aroused I got, so that her hardest strokes were barely making me moan.

I wondered how to ask for more. I am apparently a much hungrier bottom than anyone March has beaten before, and I didn't want to be too demanding - on the other hand, there was no point her thinking she was pushing me, and me feeling unsatisfied; especially when we had found ourselves so adept at communication in other ways.

"Would it help if I told you how painful it was, in marks out of ten?" I suggested hesitantly. She agreed that it would help, and suggested that 5/10 should mean "just right", with numbers closer to ten meaning I was reaching my limits. Looking back, I suspect I got a bit confused about how to interpret "just right". I am a complicated creature, both masochistic and submissive; a spanking can sometimes be as hard as is physically pleasant without leaving me satisfied, because I usually want the sensations to break through that barrier before I'll feel challenged. I suspect that when I was saying "5" I meant "that feels nice; if you want it to properly hurt, please go harder"; and she was reading "5" as "that's as much pain as I want to take right now, thankyou".

Knowing my internal competitiveness, I suspect that the very act of rating the strokes made me inclined to take more pain, but it's hard to tell. It's possible that I just like very hard spankings. I don't think anyone reading this would be particularly surprised ;)

I got what I needed in the end, though. Realising that our numbers system might contain an embedded miscommunication, I took a deep breath and did that thing that comes so hard to me: asking for more. She was using my leather strap on me, we'd been playing for some hours and I was ever so warmed up, and I wanted a good yell before we got distracted again. "Would you be willing," I suggested tentatively, "to give me a few very very hard strokes with the leather paddle, before we stop? Perhaps, as hard as you possibly can?"

She was somewhat doubtful, but agreed. And oh my, she can pack a wallop when she really wants to. It was just the ending I'd been craving, and the fun we had afterwards was all the more enthusiastic for it.

"fetch me a switch!"

I've just caught up on Chross' marvellous blog, thanks to a reader calling my attention to a clip he thought I would like. He was right. This is a mainstream spanking from episode 18 of Community, an American TV comedy about a local community college, and it is hilarious and hot in equal measures.



I love the scenario - the ditsy girl who, for her own reasons, decides to go along with things rather than surrender her pride. I love the implied tension between "traditional" old-school CP and modern, sexual CP. And the ending is brilliantly suggestive, although I think I might have liked a glimpse of Troy's punishment as well...

Many thanks to Franklin for the heads up! Enjoy :)

two feminist links

My response to Woman's Question Time last week has been quoted in Penny Red's latest article for The Samosoa, The sex work shibboleth:

Furious debate about sex work and pornography dominated the discussion at the recent Women’s Question Time event in London, organised by the charity Eaves, where feminists were invited to put questions to prospective Women's ministers in the run-up to the General Election.

Pandora Blake, a feminist sex worker, attended the event. “I hadn't realised quite how aggressively hostile most of my sisters are to my ideals,” she said. “It’s worrying that so many of the best female politicians seem unable to see nuance when it comes to the sex industry".

At this event, like so many others, issues such as abortion rights and the pay gap were elbowed out in favour of monolithic tub-thumping about sex work that played out a worrying tendency on the part of contemporary feminists to moralise rather than strategise.

I think it's an excellent analysis, although I admit I'm stumped on how to open a dialogue with abolitionists that has a chance of resulting in reconciliation.

I also enjoyed this interview on The Sexist with Jaclyn Friedman on fucking while feminist:

I have been with some men who are surprised that I am, shall we say, less than vanilla in bed . . . A couple of guys were shocked that I like to play various games in bed, because I’m a feminist. That’s always really interesting to me. I’m always like, ‘Are you kidding me? The feminists I know are the craziest women in bed you can find!" Those are the moments where I feel like a one-woman feminist PR machine. I’m instructing the world one man at a time that feminists are really fun to sleep with.

a beautifully lifted bottom

I'm a little short of time at the moment - lots going on in my other lives. So this is another re-post of other people's spanking photography. After all, I'm spoiled for choice :)





My reason for choosing these bedtime spanking photos from Sound Punishment is quite simple. How gorgeous is Kami Robertson's perfectly rounded bottom? I love the over-one-knee position - it makes my bottom feel deliciously raised and vulerable, and if I wriggle too much there's always the option of the top trapping my thighs with his or her other leg. Mmm.

Male Submission Art

I've recently discovered this wonderful blog via my friend Ophelia, whose inability to find sensitive, characterful malesub spanking porn two years ago jumpstarted my ambition to produce a more egalitarian take on the industry.



Male Submission Art offers tasteful images and intelligent commentary of erotic F/m kink. The owner also writes Maybe Maimed, a nuanced, thoughtful and intimate journal of his own submission, including some spot-on political writing on gender egalitarianism within kink. Check out this list of 8 things submissive men want from a dominant partner, a powerful rebuttal of the F/m stereotype of the authoritarian goddess abusing a faceless, snivelling worm.

It's been interesting watching my tastes react to different stimuli over the last few years. Of course my preferences aren't wholly trainable - I don't think I would ever be vanilla no matter how much I limited the media I was exposed to. But certain predilections have proved weak when tested. I used, for example, to "just happen to prefer" women whose bodies were at the skinnier end of the prescribed norm; a preference which persisted as I slowly went through the process of recovery from disordered eating. These days, after working through the inconsistencies in my own thinking; taking care to expose myself to erotic, aesthetically pleasing writing and imagery of fat women; making a point of noticing when the mainstream media exhibits its dysfunctional bias against healthy body shapes, I've finally got over my outdated hang-up about big female bodies. Whole new vistas of beautiful people have been opened up to me! All my current female lovers are bigger than I would, with my culturally narrowed vision, have personally considered sexy three years ago. Now, I look at their lovely curves and wonder how I was so blind as to have skipped over them before.

I'm discovering a similar process arising from my critique of the industry mistreatment of male submissives. I'm not really a switch, and am rarely sexually attracted to men - two male partners fulfil my heterosexual leanings well enough that I don't need to look elsewhere for cock. So I "just happened" to never seek out expressions of male submission, as I didn't consider it to be relevant to my sexuality. Since I realised that it was relevant, to my politics of equality if not to my desires, I've made a point of noticing positive, gender egalitarian representations of male submission.

And you know what? I like it.



When looking at male submission art, I experience a complex, unfamiliar combination of responses. As a submissive I empathise with the sub; I imagine being in his place, looking up at the gorgeous woman who has me in her control. (My recent relaxation in the area of subbing to women has definitely contributed to this.) As a bisexual woman, I enjoy the depiction of a beautiful male body - I imagine its textures, temperatures and scents, the subtle movement of muscles and shivering responsiveness of skin. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I imagine myself in the place of that woman in control. But I definitely find the submissive male beauty she's looking at desirable, and experience a frisson of temptation to play with him, make him react.




I don't think I'm about to turn switch - certainly not with either of my current men, and I don't have much space in my head for new heterosexual entanglements. But it's not impossible, as I grow into a belated, too-slowly-learned desire for vulnerably submissive men, I will discover that my desire for them extends into a new sexual category not covered by my existing relationships, and seek one out.

In the meantime I'll have to content myself with porn. After all, I intend to make some of it myself :)

The Guv's Revenge

Here's an end-of-the-week treat for you all. Michael Stamp (otherwise known as the Governor of Bars and Stripes) and I filmed this little clip on our shoot for my new site in December. Last year we worked together on a full-length film called 'Acquiescence' for Control and Reform, but due to an unfortunate sequence of events, work on the project was delayed for several months.

Well, I say unfortunate sequence of events, but the Governor thought I deserved a spanking. I was in that weird place of being torn between defensiveness (I'm so stupidly busy! I really did lose the first DVD he sent out! I'd already spent ages working on this with him, it wasn't my fault the file was corrupted and we had to start again! etc etc) and guilt (yes, but it wasn't his fault either; if I hadn't taken so long getting back to him, the film could have been released last year; he runs both his sites around a crazy responsible fulltime job, so I really have no excuse). In the end, guilt won out. I agreed that I deserved a spanking, and he promptly gave me one.

I'm afraid this clip suffers from the Case of the Headless Spankee thanks to some careless tripod setup on my part, but I'm sure you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.



Click on the screencap to view or download the clip. Enjoy!

mouvements de mains

For those of you not on Twitter, here's some images from the gorgeous otk photo gallery that Miss Jules linked me the other day:







I love the raised tendons in his strong arms; the differences in their skin tones; the arc of her back; her corkscrew red curls and soft, pointed breasts. There's more jean clutching for them as likes that sort of thing, and for everyone else there's striking red fingerprints on her perfect, perfect bottom.

porn, like sex work, defies easy generalisations

When I arrived at Women's Question Time at Westminster last night, a panel debate on feminist issues hosted by Eaves, I was dismayed to see that the literature being handed out included a copy of The Big Brothel Report, the controversial report on sex work and trafficking which alienated so many sex worker campaign groups. As we sat down and waited for the event to start, my companion and I found ourselves debating the issue. She was in favour of the Policing and Crime Bill, and I found myself once again explaining that it hasn't, in practice, improved things for sex workers; that the Swedish model is rejected by many people who campaign for sex worker rights.

I have a whole bundle of links I've been meaning to turn into an article about this, but I don't have time to write that article now, so I'm just going to do a mini-link dump. I'll find time to write more at some point, but in the meantime if you disagree with me, please do read the following:

Belle de Jour is the New Pretty Woman - by Nine, a former staff member at a support project for sex workers, who also wrote:

Sex Industry Apologist, a zine examining sex work, feminism and the media. It only exists in hard copy, but it is well worth the £1, and if you ask nicely I'll lend you mine.

A commentary on ‘Challenging Men’s Demand for Prostitution in Scotland', a report commissioned by Rape Crisis Scotland
(Here's the report being commented on, which commits many of the same errors as the Big Brothel Report.)

Right, that'll do for now. I'm intending a proper review of Sex Industry Apologist at some point, but for now I'll just say that the key element of Nine's perspective, for me, is the emphasis on consent. Sex work is about making choices - often from a limited number of options, but so are many other choices - and maintaining boundaries. If a sex worker chooses to have sex, right now, right here, with this client, and her boundaries are respected, then it fulfils the criteria for consensual sex and the rest is no-one else's business. A financial transaction has no impact on whether the sex is consensual or not. Non-consensual sex is called rape, and is already illegal; just as assault, kidnapping and human slavery are already illegal. And such abuses would be much easier to deal with if exchanging sex for money was not driven underground by being illegal regardless of consent.

Okay, so that's basically my position, although there's obviously a lot more to say than that. Our discussion was truncated by the event getting underway, but it set the stage for the evening.

The panel consisted of three female MPs (Vera Baird for Labour, Lynne Featherstone for the Lib Dems and Teresa May for the Conservatives) and one MEP, Caroline Lucas, the leader of the Green party. For the most part, the debate was engaging and intelligent - there was very little of the ego-stroking waffle and jargon which dominates Prime Minister's Question Time, and although there was still a certain amount of antagonism between the parties it was less petty and sarcastic than one normally sees.

Questions were asked on issues from statues commemorating womens' contributions to society, and seeking a fairer gender balance within Parliament, to improving rape conviction rates. Caroline Lucas (who represents my views pretty well on most other issues) mentioned lapdancing clubs, saying she was glad that the licensing laws had changed because their public presence "sends a message" about attitudes to women, and shapes many men's expectation that they are entitled to women's bodies. I don't have a problem with licensing lapdancing clubs as adult environments, but in our hasty opening debate my friend had used that phrase, too. She said that the Policing and Crime Bill "sent a message" that mistreating sex workers is unacceptable. I can see the argument, but I personally feel the safety of sex workers is more important; they shouldn't be sacrificed to send a message. Improved education around consent, raising young men in a culture of respect for women, is one thing; punitive legislation which damages the very people it's claiming to protect is quite another.

There was lots to unpick in the minutiae of the answers from different parties, but for the most part I found value in what was said. Towards the end of the discussion, however, I found myself increasingly alienated from the consensus of the audience. One question which raised a passionate cheer was:

What will you do to tackle the sexual objectification of women in the media, and challenge the mainstreaming of the sex and porn industries?

I became acutely aware, from the rising level of audience noise, that in that room my position on sex work was in a tiny minority. The conversation turned to the "sexualisation" of children, and some interesting stuff was said. I mean, I hate the objectification of women by the media and entertainment industries. I hate beauty adverts, the diet industries, the women's magazines exhorting you to starve yourself, spend too much money and too many hours of your life making yourself look different, pay thousands of pounds to cut yourself up, pay more attention to what some mythical man wants than what you yourself want. I hate that female children are taught to buy into these ideals.

However, these things are not the same, to me, as the "sexualisation" of children, or the "mainstreaming of the sex and porn industries". Children are, have always been, sexual - it disgusts me that female children, like female adults, are encouraged to subsume their natural sexuality and perform a male-gaze, commercialised artifice; but pretending that all children are asexual is as misguided as abstinence-only sex education. (This article by M G Durham, author of The Lolita Effect, offers a good introduction to this topic.)

I see a lot of arguments, from progressive feminists and right-wing prudes alike, which assume that any sexualisation of children is de facto wrong; that any sexual expression featuring female bodies is de facto objectification. Of course objectification exists in our society - it's a huge problem, and it's impossible to separate from the wider rape culture. But not all sexual representation is objectifying; not all sex work is non-consensual; not all porn is misogynistic.

A lot of the campaigns against the widespread sexual objectification of female bodies in our culture are at odds with a position which values freedom of expression and decries state censorship. Adding a gender equality duty to media regulators seems like a sensible approach, and I think labels on adverts are worth a try, although surely they'd become so ubiquitous as to lose any meaning. I like the idea of introducing regulatory duties to the fashion industry to make sure it makes use of a representative spread of body types, and I'm equally in favour of other exhortative (rather than prohibitive) proposals, such as stepping up engagement with female children to increase their self-esteem, self-confidence, and awareness of the options available to them. But in all these debates, it was hugely frustrating that not once did any of the questioners or panelists acknowledge the variation within sexual imagery and activity. 'Porn' was used indiscriminately to mean 'misogynistic porn'.

At one point, Vera Baird commented that many teenagers learn their sexuality from pornography (and, by implication, pornographic content in media and advertising), and they learn to mimic the gender roles and modes of sexual expression it portrays. I have two immediate problems with this:

• Two recent Danish studies (undertaken by "a highly regarded scholar of pornography who has often argued for its supposed ill effects") strongly suggested that viewing pornography is beneficial for young people. It was a relatively small sample, and there's a difference between people construing positive effects on themselves and those benefits being independently observed, but it's a fascinating, peer-reviewed counter to the meme that porn is harmful to women. As in the case of the debate on extreme porn, no direct link is demonstrable between viewing porn and, for example, committing acts of violence against women.


• It's highly flawed to talk about the impact of "pornography" on young people as if it were a monolithic entity. Of course there is some porn which contributes to the general objectification of women in visual media. Some porn is misogynistic, tasteless and dehumanising. But to tar all sexually explicit content with the same brush shows a woeful ignorance of what's out there. A lot of porn is pro-woman; even more is pro-human, quite simply a celebration of real human sexual expression without any strong bias either way.

My frustration peaked with the next question, addressed to Lynne Featherstone (who had spoken strongly in favour of the Campaign for Body Confidence). She was asked how she reconciled what she'd just said with the Liberal Democrats' endorsement of Anna Arrowsmith as a parliamentary candidate.

The room was fizzing by this point. Jeers, laughter, cries of outrage rippled through the crowd; the anti-porn sentiment crackled around me. Featherstone tried to make herself heard above the crowd, but she didn't have an answer prepared - she hesitated, said something about "I have nothing against sex", and completely failed to make the point that you can't make generalisations about porn. When she tried to explain that Arrowsmith was working to make porn more accessible to women the crowd exploded with laughter. It was obvious why: they were picturing empty-eyed, violent double penetration scenes; characterless, sexist tropes. I don't know if Featherstone is even familiar with Arrowsmith's work, but it doesn't take much research to know that this is not all there is on offer.

I knew that sex work was one of the biggest, most hostile ideological divisions within feminism, so while I was dismayed to see an uncompromisingly abolitionist view presented at this event, I wasn't particularly surprised. Within my pro-porn, pro-sex, pro-kink bubble, though, I hadn't realised quite how aggressively hostile most of my sisters are to my ideals. The group immediately behind me sounded like an evangelical Christian group, loudly proclaiming the sanctity of sex as an argument against sexually explicit material - how sad that critical thinking should be undermined by patriarchal ideology on this issue. It was a strange feeling, sitting in in the middle of an intimidatingly loud audience, not knowing how many other silent listeners in the crowd might agree with me, preferring to scribble strongly-worded notes rather than stand up and try to make my point in one of the few follow-up questions that were permitted. I was disappointed that Featherstone had failed to take the opportunity to make a badly needed point, but at the same time I wanted to go up and tell her that she wasn't the only one in the room who saw grey areas in this issue.

It was an affirming event in many ways; I'm glad it happened, and I'm glad I was there. But it's worrying that so many of the best female politicians, even when I agree with them on most other issues, seem unable to see nuance when it comes to the sex and porn industries.

clutching his jeans

My head is buzzing with political stuff - the more I engage, the more there is to think about, and I've had so much mental stimulation lately on the issues I care about that I think I could blog about it endlessly if I let myself. That's not the only reason you're here, though, and it's been a while since I posted some hot photos without in-depth analysis.

I made a note of these pics when they went up on Dallas Spanks Hard a couple of months ago. They're from Audrey Knight's film The Time Has Come. I generally think Audrey makes an adorable spankee (although I confess I fancy her somewhat more in her Domme role).



Anyway, what I love about these pics is quite simple: the way her hand is clutching his jeans leg. Sometimes it's the little things that get you.

CorPun.com, and uncomfortable fantasies

I was recently fascinated to discover CorPun.com, a research site devoted to cataloguing reported incidents of CP across the world. I ended up losing about two hours to browsing the archives, which was simultaneously hot and disturbing. The site features a lot (and I mean a lot) of real, modern CP in a school or judicial setting, mostly from African, Middle Eastern or East Asian countries.



It's weird, but although I fully accept my kink and am well versed on the difference between fantasy and reality, I still struggle with the grey area caused by fantasising about some kinds of real-life events. It's really hard to find a pattern in what I think is okay, because it's pretty inconsistent. Here are some examples:

Real events I am uncomfortable fantasising about:

• Most contemporary school CP in other countries, particularly involving underage schoolchildren (the exceptions being North America and Europe)
• CP used by the agents of a contemporary oppressive regime against the inhabitants of that regime
• White people using CP against people of colour in a political/oppressive context (e.g. slavery)
• CP used by colonials against native inhabitants of the countries they've conquered
• Religiously motivated patriarchal violence against women and children
• Sexual abuse of children
• Anything involving Nazis or the Holocaust

Real events I am comfortable fantasising about:

• Pretty much any historical judicial or school CP in England
• Most modern school CP in Europe or English-colonised countries
• Judicial CP involving a Western person travelling to a contemporary country and being caught by the regime there
• Institutionalised patriarchal violence against women in the context of the historical West (e.g. domestic wife-beating, workhouses, madhouses)
• (Most) historical use of CP against underage children which did not have a sexual element

It's messy, though, with exceptions: like, I'm not comfortable with anything involving the Taliban, but I'm happy with fantasies set in the Christian Church, unless it involves real, close-to-home atrocities such as child abuse in Ireland. I'm happy with most stuff in a European setting but I'm squicked by the Inquisition. I very rarely find real modern incidences of rape or violence against women erotic, except sometimes I randomly do.



To make it even more complicated, the "fantasies I'm uncomfortable with" list is divided, seemingly at random, between scenarios I find hot-but-simultaneously-squicky, and scenarios I just don't find hot.

I think basically my fantasies are moderated by a strong but rather imprecise wariness of cultural appopriation. Anything from my own culture is more likely to be appealing. There's also a bit of a "get out of jail free" card for historical events, some distance having been achieved in the meantime, and real people hopefully not being in danger of having to endure the experience these days. But it's a big mess of exceptions and inconsistencies, and it varies depending on time and context as well, so I can't even map it accurately.

All this only applies to my own head - I don't presume to judge anyone else who does enjoy any of the above scenarios, as I think it's mostly a question of personal taste. What ethical considerations do exist (the debate about Nazi fantasies, for instance) are best left to the conscience of the individual, although I think there's a consensus that exposing people affected by real atrocities to your sexual fantasies about them is generally poor form.

It was absolutely fascinating browsing CorPun.com and finding out what turned me on and what turned me right off. All the images in this post are ones that pressed my buttons. Ask me again in ten years time, though, and the answers will no doubt be different.

I'll leave you with an image which I found exciting even though it contained no actual CP; a photo taken at Eton in the 1940s or 1950s:



I love this because it personalises all the historical school scenarios I like; suddenly the anonymous schoolboys and prefects have faces, and the canes hanging on the wall attest that CP was a part of these young mens' lives. I like this picture much more than all the shots of anonymous welted bottoms from the same time and place. Perhaps, too, the fact that this is merely suggestive rather than explicitly showing an actual punishment makes it more appealing. If I were to see a photo of any one of these boys being beaten, part of me would wince at the fact of genuine nonconsent, the invasion of privacy; but looking from face to face, not knowing which might have suffered in what way, I can let my imagination roam.

Anna Span's pornography may not always be serious, but it is absolutely political

The news this week has been full of stories about Anna Arrowsmith, the former porn director who is now running as a parliamentary candidate for the Liberal Democrats.

Perhaps surprisingly, most of the coverage has been positive. Heresy Corner has a rundown of the response from most of the major papers - it seems everyone's covered this one, from the Guardian to the Daily Mail. To me, this makes far more exciting news than the mere fact of her candidacy. Quite apart from the wider social implications, if Anna Arrowsmith can run for parliament, it bodes well for the potential impact of my current career on any more public endeavours I might undertake in the future. Kink is still considerably less permissible in our society than mainstream sex, but the details of Arrowsmith's career have promising implications for my own situation.

Bloggers on leftie news site Liberal Conspiracy suggest that "she seems like someone with a real belief in personal freedom and choice rather than some sorry mens mag sleazoid, like, well, the owner of the Daily Express". The distinction between 'good' and 'bad' porn implicit in much of the discussion is made explicit by the Heresiarch, who opines:

Perhaps it's Span's much-vaunted feminist beliefs that afford her the benefit of the doubt - this isn't just porn, the subtext reads, this is serious political porn (even though in all honesty it isn't). Would a male pornographer who put himself forward for election attract quite such positive publicity, I wonder?

Her gender is certainly worthy of comment. Like the mainsteam film industry, porn is still male-dominated with a lot of entrenched sexism. Female directors and producers are a relatively recent phenomenon, and Anna Span was the first in the UK. It certainly seems as though her particular approach to pornography has gained her political currency with most commentators; however, her approach is still unusual enough that this may also have been true if she was male.

In an industry as historically misogynist as pornography, Arrowsmith's gender is radical in itself, but the ethos of her productions also stands out from the crowd. The Heresiarch may sneer at the implication that her work is "serious and political", and I'll concede the former - from the stills and descriptions on her website, her productions seem joyous and informal, full of real smiles and infectious laughter. But viewed in the context of the industry, her films are absolutely political.

Arrowsmith wrote her BA dissertation in 1997 on what a female perspective on porn would look like, and those ideas have clearly informed her work. She wanted to make the industry more accessible to women - in other words, increase the proportion of fair trade productions which respected women and catered to their desires, compared to the tired male-gaze tropes which still dominate the industry. This was absolutely necessary, and while Anna wasn't the only woman setting out to revolutionalise porn, she was part of a movement that has had a huge impact. Female directors are no longer isolated rarities, and all manner of indepedent, creative companies are producing porn which celebrates female perspectives.

Easy on the Eye is feminist, cutting-edge and very political, not only because it is (was) woman-led, but because:

• It focuses on the female perspective - not only in having a female director, but in the stories themselves. Beautiful men are displayed as sexually interesting; most of the stories are told from the female protagonist's point of view; friendship, intimacy and humour are as present as much as tits, legs and ass. The resulting productions are warm, glowing with good energy, and hugely respectful in their presentation of the male and female actors who took part.


• It celebrates a range of skintones and body types, including the squashy female bodies which are so rare outside the BBW niche.


• It features believable characters with interesting back stories.


• It is set in the day-to-day, diverse London world Anna inhabited, rather than the unattainable fantasy lifestyle presented in so much mainstream porn.


• Her scenarios involve interesting, entertaining and often unpredictable storylines - for example:
  
  I visit Ava's house in South London one stoned late summer afternoon to see Nadia helping Ava paint her squat-like bedroom. The painting becomes labourious in the sun and the conversation turns to sex and past partners.
  
  The two of them 'start fucking about' and the paint gets spilt all over the place. Ava settles for a green room with a large stripe of the previous magnolia showing through.
  
  and
  
  Stumbling back from a club at 6 in the morning. My friend Linda has pulled the DJ. She has, however, forgotten to buy the cigarettes - even though we went out of our way in a cab to a petrol station. Luckily the bloke hasn't had his shag yet, so he's feeling all gentlemanly, and goes out to get some.
  
  Meanwhile, I get chatting with Linda. Well... does she like him? On Mickey's return I make myself scarce to give her the chance to pounce as I can see that she is ready. And pounce she does. Mickey's a goer - an East End boy that likes it hard, and he gets it that way.


• The productions are full of warmth, laughter and silliness. This may not be an explicit item on the feminist agenda, but it's a notable feature of most women-driven porn. Not only does this stick a well-deserved finger up at the stereotypes about women and humour, it suggests that everyone involved was having fun, which is, in my opinion, one of the sexiest things money can't buy.

Some pro-porn feminists may find things to criticise - there's a healthy dollop of male gaze mixed in, as well as a smattering of tired pornographic stalwarts, like double penetration scenes or the blowjob-and-big-eyes shot of a woman's face. But Arrowsmith was a pioneer, and her work set the stage for the increasing number of independent, women-driven, female-gaze porn which have been gaining momentum ever since.

As a fellow feminist, liberal activist and aspiring producer, I wish Anna Arrowsmith the best of luck in this election - even though it sounds like her seat will be a tricky one to win. Even if she doesn't, her candidacy has generated some excellent publicity not only for the Lib Dems, but for feminist porn. Weeks like this, it feels like social change may be possible after all.

asking for help

I've put off writing this post for weeks, but it has to happen sooner or later. Eep. *deep breath*

Okay, so here's the situation. I'm a self-employed small business owner. These days modelling isn't my main source of income - I'm an IT contractor. I've had regular contracts with a couple of companies for the last year and a bit, but three weeks ago the last of these ended unexpectedly.

Last year, my contracting work took up so much of my time that I had very little time or energy left to devote to my paysite project. I managed to squeeze a couple of shoots in, and I earned enough money to buy some camera and lighting kit, but mostly the limiting factor was time. Now, in theory, I have lots of time to spend on my paysite, and am working on it as much as I can. In practice however, I also need to earn a living. I'm managing okay, but without a regular source of income it's difficult to justify spending time on personal creative projects which may or may not be profitable months or years down the line; and of course, it makes it much harder to save up funds to pay for shoots (model, crew, studio, catering and travel fees all add up - even when you have lovely friends in the industry willing to help you out as much as they can).

The upshot of all this is that I'm currently in the market for work. If any of you have any projects to throw my way, now would be an excellent time. I can offer:

• modelling/acting for photo and video shoots


• spoken word audio commissions


• custom paintings or drawings (spanking, erotic, or whatever else strikes your fancy)


• custom spanking stories


• designing/building websites, blog themes, banners, buttons, and things like that.

I've also added a wee donate button to the sidebar of this blog, and would be cheek-flamingly grateful for any small contributions towards the start-up costs of my spanking site. It redirects to PayPal, you don't have to give me your personal details, and you can use any credit/debit card. I'm a bit embarrassed posting this as I know there are far more noble causes, but if you like the sound of what I'm working on and want to hasten its arrival, this is one way you can help.

Okay, scrounge over. Thanks for reading - normal blogging will resume tomorrow :)

The Wait

An anonymous reader sent me this fabulously atmospheric poem, and I liked it enough to share with you all.

Due to the infamous Email Black Hole of 2009, by the time I clawed my way far enough out of my inbox to reply to this wonderful contribution, the email address from which it had been sent was no longer valid. I regret not being able to express my appreciation more personally, but I hope the author will see this post and know how much I enjoyed their creation. Thankyou, Anon!

The Wait

Rebecca sat nervously in the hall
Outside the Head’s office. A high-pitched squall
Of girlish distress reached her through the door
And she raised her teary gaze from the floor
For an instant. She knew too well the cause,
Which, after a tense, agonising pause,
Was repeated: the sudden whizz and whump
Of a long, springy cane against the plump
Proffered rounds of her friend Amanda’s rump.
Another yelp that tailed off in a sob…
Rebecca felt a sympathetic throb
In her tender flesh where it pressed the chair.
Had old Higgins, she wondered, made her bare
Her bum? It didn’t really make much odds.
Whichever he chose of his wicked rods
(And he’d quite an array) would truly sear
His wrath on a wayward young lady’s rear
And knickers wouldn’t dim those lines of flame,
Though they’d somewhat lessen the sense of shame.
Once more the thin lawgiver clearly spoke –
That awful crack resounding through the oak –
And again the miscreant testified
To its rule applied across her backside.
But now that the sentence was halfway served,
Rebecca’s fearful meditations swerved
Away from the pangs of her sorry chum
And were focused more on her own poor bum.
For once the last of the six was delivered,
It was her turn, and she visibly shivered.
In too little time her friend would be sent
Off weeping and she instead would be bent
Across the desk, while the Head raised her skirt
And explained how much her thrashing would hurt
And how he felt it was thoroughly earned.
So strokes four and five she scarcely discerned
(Though Amanda, of course, was sure she got ’em!)
While thinking so hard of her own soft bottom.
But soon came the sixth, and the post-whack wail,
And after a minute, tearful and pale,
There stood Amanda, too shaken to speak,
A hand firmly clutched to each fire-filled cheek,
And there stood the Head, that horrid thing flexed
In his hands, quietly commanding, “Next.”
Rebecca was moving as in a dream,
Limbs weak as jelly and chilled as ice-cream,
Following orders and playing her part
While the hot tears started to well and smart
As she laid her face on the polished wood
And promised herself she’d always be good
In future, and the cool air touched her bum
(The last of cool for a long time to come),
And she felt she’d gone from eighteen to eight
In the course of her endless, too-brief wait.

Heather Heart - Hitwoman

I've just discovered a totally cool new concept site: Heather Heart - Hitwoman.

In the year 2061, in a post-apocalyptic world; one woman holds the key to all of mankind's future.

Her mission - to rid the world of evil, once and for all - any way she can!



Found as an orphan by a group of rebel ‘super soldiers’, she was trained in all forms of combat from a very early age. She has a vast arsenal of weapons at her disposal; her beauty being the most potent one. And with the 'heart detector' (a computer chip that gives her the actual ability to judge people as good or evil with 100% accuracy) implanted into her mind, Heather sets about making the world a safer place for the sensitive and the good - by terminating the wicked.

Basically, a couple of fetish models put together and came up with this awesome sci-fi/thriller story site. It's based on the classic era of cult comic books. The site includes movies, hand-crafted comic books based on real-person photography, photosets and original artworks. No sex, no spanking, just exciting adventures in shiny rubber outfits. With guns.

This is a science fiction, fantasy themed site. There is no nudity or sex, but there are hints of sexiness and fetishism (boot licking, glove smothering, ball kicking, girls and guns etc), on the site.

How cool is that? It makes me happy that story-based sites are gaining in popularity outside the spanking market, as well as within it.

conscious reprogramming

Here's a fantasy I'm never going to be able to film:

The setting is a far-future space station, mining ship or similar; something long-term enough to have families on board. We're in a darkened, sparse room, a bit like a lab or amphitheatre, stark and impersonal. There's a spotlight falling on a high-tech spanking machine, all brushed chrome and flickering LEDs. Screens display readouts of the vital signs and brain activity of the teenager who is strapped in place on the machine. The spanking is administered by two perspex or fibreglass paddles, one on each side, moving up and down small amounts to vary the aim as they alternate strokes.

Most discipline on the ship is done the usual way - pain-free behaviour modifying implants or rewiring, software downloaded into the brain which facilitates personality changes. However, a small minority of miscreants reject the modern options in favour of "conscious reprogramming". Usually they cite outmoded free will or personal integrity arguments, but the ship is a liberal environment which does not discourage freedom of expression, and is happy to provide an alternate option to the usual treatment for misbehaviour.

Conscious reprogramming involves corporal treatment that is carefully scientifically calibrated to wear down the subject's will to misbehave. It is a more long-winded process than the far neater neural alternatives, but some prefer to remain conscious during the rewiring process. By the end of the treatment the result is the same dampening of ego and will to rebel, but achieved through the far more archaic application of physical stimulus.

When the treatment begins, the teenager's attitude is resigned, angry, distanced. She has clearly been here before. Over time, however, the machine's effect is inevitable; and when the designated number of strokes have been applied at the force and pace calculated for maximum effect on this particular individual, she hangs limp in the machine, all arrogance and resistance effectively dispersed.

It's clear that the treatment works. However, adolescence is a traumatic time, and she keeps on breaking the rules of behaviour defined for her environment - and every time, rather than accepting the quick and painless neural treatment, she opts for conscious reprogramming. She claims it is because she values her mental independence. But she's a smart girl - surely it would be easier just to moderate her behaviour in the first place?

Still, the system operates smoothly, and is perfectly able to accommodate the eccentric choices of adolescents as many times as necessary.

notes from the weekend

i.

The tone was set by D. on Saturday morning, with an unexpected legs-in-the-air spanking. His spankings are always unexpected, because he always springs them on me first thing in the morning when I'm barely conscious. I blame his cock, which likes mornings far more than either of us, waking me with hot, velvety nudges against my hip. Next thing I know my hand is slipping around his hardness of its own accord, and then I'm slithering under the covers to kiss him awake ... and before I know it I'm on my back, squeaking as he lifts my legs and lands several stinging smacks on my poor, sleepy bottom. Everyone hates this position, but that morning it seemed particularly acute: I was excited from suckling him, my clit slightly swollen, and every spank seemed to reverberate through my exposed sex. Any kind of punishment between my legs is an absolute limit for me - the rest of my body likes pain, but my cunt is for pleasure only - and the nearness of the smacks made me flinch. It was edgy in a delicious, confused way, my fear warring with my pleasure at the spanking until I was desperate for him to fuck me.

Which he did, very nicely.


ii.

I'd made sure that my tawses were in my toybox before Penny came round on Saturday evening. Before she arrived I spent a little time tidying, enjoying the naughty ritual of sterilising my sex toys and putting them neatly away.

The last time we'd talked in detail about play, I'd suggested that perhaps a stricter persona might work after all, but as it happened the evening held no place for roleplay of any kind. We were helplessly, entirely ourselves. We talked and talked and talked, and then we kissed and talked some more, and when we went to bed it was relaxed and playful and completely without artifice. We spent a lot of time admiring each other. When she spanked me I was inclined to giggle rather more than I should have, not because it was funny but just because the fact of her desire for me seemed so ridiculous - and so delightful - in the light of my desire for her. We tumbled on the bed, wanton, drowning each other in caresses and words.

She put me over her lap and tawsed me, trying each of my leather straps and paddles, experimenting with the noises she could elicit as I tossed my head and gasped and couldn't seem to keep from laughing. Some of them were a little long for easy aim in that position, but despite our laughter I remember it as quite a serious tawsing. The strokes were hard enough to dispel any idea that my fearlessness with her was due to lack of severity on her part. I still don't know why I'm so fearless with her, except that I feel so completely at ease with her as a lover.

My good humour was infectious. After counting a first set of strokes in English (twelve, I think? My memory is struggling with the details) she started getting me to repeat lines after her, punctuating each with a stinging stroke with the leather tawse. The theme was self-care. Let's see if I can remember: I will get enough sleep - I will eat proper meals - I will snuggle my cat - I won't let dickish clients screw me around - by this time I was laughing helplessly despite the smarting strokes, breathless, owwwwing for all I was worth every time the tawse landed, but not in the least bit cowed. "You forgot one," I quipped when she paused.

"Oh indeed, minx?" She wasn't sure whether to hit me or indulge me, but that's okay, because they're kind of the same thing.

"Yes - I will treat Penny like a queen."

At which she laughed unreservedly, rewarded me with another stroke, and told me to start again from the beginning.

Later (after more talking, more kissing and more laughing) she got her harness and the larger of her cocks out of her toybag, and I leaned back and drank in the sight of her as she dressed. I've only ever had sex this way once before, a cheap drunken fuck with someone I didn't particularly like in my second year at university. I've never really counted it. So, in a way, Penny took one of my few remaining virginities that night. We fucked vigorously, joyously. I arched my back for her like a cat in heat, to discover that my thighs were longer than hers; so we rolled over and I rode her, hard and fast, neither of us able to control our movements. I remember her hands on my breasts and waist and hips; her face as I came, tossing and - even then, I think - laughing with pleasure. When I reached down she was soaking wet, and she lifted her hips, urgently - "fuck me, somehow, any how, I don't care." I slipped two fingers underneath the harness, and she ground herself down on my hand, crying out as I fucked her as furiously as she had just fucked me.


iii.

I've finally decided on a pseudonym for the graceful goddess I went to the Venetian masquerade with a few weeks ago: Serafina, after Serafina Pekkala, although with her high cheekbones and blonde locks she looks a little more like Mrs Coulter than the Finnish witch queen.

She, Tom and I spent Sunday in the company of a small group of beloved friends, performing Renaissance drama for our own amusement. She looked stunning in a corset and petticoat, and we managed a certain amount of flirting and surreptitious necking during the play. (Afterwards she insisted I take a photo of the marks left on her back by the tight lacing: a hint of what was to come.) We'd agreed beforehand that she would stay the night, but the plan was very nearly abandoned when I, sleep-deprived and full of wine, nearly fell asleep on them before the evening was out. I decided I was a bit over-peopled, and retreated to Tom's room with a book and a mug of herbal tea. The peace and quiet was clearly what I needed: after a little while I woke up a bit, and found myself thinking how nice a spanking would be.

When they came up I popped to the bathroom, and climbed the stairs again to discover the two of them entwined. The rest followed naturally. Serafina is an inexperienced but enthusiastic switch. She and Tom hadn't played together before, and she seemed more nervous about bottoming to him than topping me - until we talked it through, and she realised that enjoying the sensations of being spanked or whipped didn't mean she had to be submissive; that it was possible to enjoy the sensations on her own terms.

The next four hours passed in a haze of lust. Tom put me over his knee, talking over my head to her about his technique, pointing out things of note, inviting her to observe the responses he elicited. The two of them purred over my bottom, remarking how pleasant it was to have such a canvas. Their spanking styles were almost opposite - Tom experienced, effortlessly heavy-handed; her hesitant at first, but increasing in confidence, favouring stinging, stiff-fingered smacks on my crease and upper thighs. They passed me back and forth, talking about me as if I wasn't there. When the time came for her to experience Tom's hand I stroked her, part sympathetic, part nervous with the strangeness of watching her be topped - and part, secretly, sharing in Tom's sadism and wanting to watch her overcome.

Fleeting images: me being bent over pillows to be whipped; Sera being taught to use the riding crop and the cane. Tom giving me rather more demonstration strokes than he strictly needed to. My confused response as she found her stride and gave me a series of smart strokes, not sure if I was happy for her achievement or sorry for myself. When Tom bent her over to taste what she had just dealt me, I suggested he build her up as slowly as possible with rapid, bouncing strokes from the thinnest switch. I could see her melting underneath them, exactly as I do.

I remarked at one point, while Sera and I were jointly adoring Tom's cock, "I always forget how pornographic threesomes are." It was an athletic tangle of limbs, flushed and sticky. I remember Tom instructing me to worship her graceful cunt, while he whipped my raised arse. She and I kneeling up face to face in the middle of the bed, kissing and caressing while Tom flicked his softest flogger around our pressed-together bodies. Me supporting her head as she succumbed to the heavier thuds of the lambskin thongs, her hair in my face, her breasts against mine. Later, Tom indulging himself with a demonstration of severity, telling Sera to watch while he gave me six with the Big Black Stick. Of course I devoured them, husky with pleasure as I gasped out my count; and she murmured in disbelief as she watched the welts blossom in time with my lust.

A final image: me, kneeling, a demonstration object again, hands behind my head while Tom cupped my throat, and clipped first one, and then another clamp onto my erect nipples. Cold stabs of pain - many months since I last felt this - shooting straight between my spread thighs. Tom's eyes burning into mine. And then two hot, wet mouths closing around cold metal, softness of warm tongues exploring the sensitive, squeezed flesh until I was dizzy with sensation. I spread my legs unconsciously wider, desperately wanting to be touched, to be fucked ... Then the clamps being removed after they'd pleasured me into oblivion; the throb of blood pouring into my injured nipples, into my cheeks, flushing my collarbones and throat.

We finally collapsed in a sweaty heap sometime after 2am, having kept Tom's housemates rudely awake for the last few hours. We were very apologetic the next morning, but even though Sera had to get up at 6.30am to do something unlikely at the other end of London, I don't think any of us had any regrets.

the laden stag

I seem to have come down with a cold. This is annoying: I'm having to cancel commitments, I'll get behind on work, and it means I'm not well enough to tell you about the particularly hedonistic weekend I had. (Which I would be tempted to blame for my lurgy, except that none of my lovers have a cold and I sincerely hope it stays that way.)

Instead, have a non-spanking-related but nonetheless weird and pleasing fetish photo:



It's called Chessman XXIV from the series by Erwin Olaf. I love the combination of horns, mask and boots, and the impression of grace and strength the boulder gives to the figure. Although it would kind of get in the way.