Spanked, not Silenced

New url: www.PandoraBlake.com

2011-04-19T15:53:00.002+01:00

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Wanted: male spanking performers

2011-04-16T21:27:00.006+01:00

There's been some excellent discussion this week about discrimination among spanking afficionados, especially site owners and event organisers, against M/m couples and content. I haven't had the chance to engage with the debate yet, although you can probably imagine where I stand.

Conversation and debate are essential, but so are actions. Specifically, so are positive, creative actions; I'd rather make the porn I want to see than criticise other producers for not making it. I haven't had the time or energy to contribute to the blog discussion yet. But inbetween reading other people's comments I have been thinking about the fact that I intended to launch my site with some M/m video, and it's the one orientation I haven't shot yet. I would have by now, but suitable performers are thin on the ground. So this is my (initial) response to the discussion, in the hope that I will be able to effect change with actions rather than words.

--

WANTED: Spanking performers for M/m video productions.

I'm interested in hearing from male tops and bottoms who fulfil the following criteria:

- You're a keen spankophile or kinky chap aged between 18-45. You're at ease with your kink and comfortable expressing it in performance.
- You are comfortable acting out non-sexual spanking scenarios with other men as a top or bottom.
- Ideally, you have some professional or amateur acting experience, on stage or screen. If not, you can demonstrate an interest in performance and roleplay, and have the confidence, presence and improvisation skills to back it up.
- You have enough experience giving or receiving spankings to convince me that you know what you're doing. (If your experience has mostly been with spanking professionals, please do let me know their names so I can contact them for a reference.)
- If you're a top, you can demonstrate that you are skillful and safe using your hands or implements to administer discipline.
- If you're a bottom, you can demonstrate that you have enough experience to be aware of your own preferences and limits.
- You are willing to have images of your face and bottom published publically online, under a stage name of your choice (full frontal nudity is not required).

I'm offering a decent rate of pay plus your travel costs (within the UK) for a day's work creating spanking stills and video content. You'll need photo ID and I'll ask you to sign a model release. We'll look after you, treat you like the professional you are, respect your limits without question, and provide catering and accommodation if necessary.

I'd be particularly interested in hearing from young or youthful looking spankees, men of colour, and male/male couples who have good chemistry and would be willing to share their play on camera.

If this is you, please send an email introducing yourself to info at pandoras-bot dot com. Include at least one face shot of yourself, and one full body shot (spankees should include a shot of their bottom if possible).

Your bottom doesn't have to be as beautiful as Jimmy Holloway's, but if it is, it'll help.

In addition to the above, I'm also interested in hearing from male spankees fitting the above criteria who would like to be considered for F/m productions. If you're applying for F/m work you don't have to be comfortable working with other men - but it'll endear you to me if you are.

Schoolgirls in Space!

2011-04-14T21:43:00.001+01:00

Here's an awesome thing: Northern Spanking Institute have just released a spanko sci-fi satire to warm the ~~cockles~~ consoles of geeks everywhere. Starring the "comedy core" NSI cast of Amelia Jane Rutherford, Leia-Ann Woods, Paul Kennedy and Amy Hunter (whom you may remember from Strictly Come Spanking!, among myriad other projects), Schoolgirls in Space is described as the closest the team have come to producing a "Carry On" film. If you like a dash of laughter with your kink, or if you've ever enjoyed classic British sci-fi like Doctor Who (or spoofs like Red Dwarf), this is for you.

Schoolgirls in Space apparently started out as a dare to come up with an original schoolgirl spanking scenario, and that it certainly achieves. I'm told that unlike many web clips, this one was scripted, resulting in a snappy back-and-forth of witty dialogue, laced with geeky references and terrible puns (and, no doubt, great potential for cock-ups - I'm looking forward hugely to seeing the out takes from this one).

There is no denying that this film is very, very silly. Featuring tin foil hats (remember: they're keeping you safe), arachnid-invested swimming pools, regulation space underwear, a nasal-voiced space stewardess and unexpected lingerie-related incidents, this is not for those who take their kink too seriously. The NSI crew gleefully and mercilessly rip off sci-fi, schoolgirl spanking scenarios, the vagaries of air travel and themselves. The result is gloriously entertaining, with several laugh out loud moments.

Pornography and satire have always gone hand in hand. It's impossible to resist the urge to remake our favourite entertainment with more explicit content, and if you're doing so with a lower budget and a sense of humour, remake almost inevitably becomes pisstake. Some have criticised Schoolgirls in Space as nonsense. If so, it is extremely high quality nonsense. The script is witty and delivered with perfect deadpan timing. The actors are watchable, charming and very nice to look at. A great deal of care has gone into the set and costumes, with perfectly matching school uniforms, an extremely impressive futuristic set by the design wizards at Restrained Elegance, a lovely latex outfit for Amelia and matching metallic accessories for the ship's crew, including a silver-coloured cane. Comedy it may be, but it's well crafted. Even the tinfoil hats and flight console represent more effort than goes into many spanking productions, as do the silly sound effects (which bring the whole thing together perfectly, in my opinion).

Whether it serves to satisfy as pornography is a question of personal taste. For me, this clip is closer to a clever, laugh-out-loud burlesque show than a straightforward erotic striptease. The spankings are extended and the caning hard enough to leave visible red welts, but the giggle-inducing dialogue stimulated my funny bone and my brain as much as my clit.

As titillating, kink-positive, fabulously satirical spanko entertainment, Schoolgirls in Space is a total success. This is one to show your pervy and geeky friends, especially the ones who need putting at ease with the CP aspect of their kink, and I'll definitely be re-watching it.

Click below to download the trailer:

And the full video can be viewed online at Northern Spanking.

Delicious domesticity

2011-04-11T18:08:00.002+01:00

Things are pretty good at home right now. The sun is shining, and we're all basically solar powered. Tom and I have been making more effort to spend time together and put each other first, and it's paying off. His health and my work commitments still aren't predictable enough for us to plan for intense scenes, but we've done pretty well at unplanned scenes lately.

As this year has progressed I've become more active, more healthy and more productive. It's a positive curve and I'm proud of the progress I've made. It means I have a stab at achieving what I've set out to do - launch a self-funded spanking site through freelance work and my own energies alone, alongside various ongoing not-for-profit commitments. The strategy I'm working on means I have to work three times as hard as I ever have before. Firstly, I have to earn a living wage. This is getting easier the older I get, and the further my career develops; a few years ago I was living hand to mouth, but I'm now debt-free and able to put something aside each month. Which is useful, because secondly, I have to save up a couple more grand to invest in my site to get it off the ground. Thirdly, I have to save up enough to pay my bills and living expenses for a couple of months, in order to buy myself a couple of months to get all my editing finished and build the site.

This is the main reason progress has been so slow, why the launch date keeps getting put back. It's also the reason I've been working this year as if someone had lit a fire under my tail. I've been running around like a mad thing trying to earn three times as much as normal so I can save two thirds of it. And I've been winning; I have enough contracts lined up that between them they're covering my budget, and I'm not taking any more work on for other people after that. The downside is that my energy for anything other than work is peeled back to the bare minimum. I'm not keeping up with activism or political organisation at the moment. My good friends who are oft-time lovers are, at the moment, just friends; I'm barely getting enough couple time with my primary partners, and I have almost no social or romantic energy beyond that. I'm happy enough, but Tom has had to put up with me having almost no free time, and being very tired whenever we do make time together.

So instead of romantic date nights, he's started helping me with the small stuff. He brings me tea to get me up in the morning. He reminds and encourages me to do the physio exercises that D is helping me keep track of. We've started going to the gym together. He offers to rub my back. We aren't quite yet at the point of turning any of this into a formalised discipline relationship, but I respect him enough to follow his suggestions when he makes them, and his attentiveness has been both lovely and extraordinarily helpful.

All this is making it sound like he's turned into my support staff. Perhaps he has, a little; but we've always been very good at caring for each other, far better than at caring for ourselves. We support and help each other, and that has always been mutual. What's changed recently is that rather than simply picking me up at the end of my hard day, Tom has started engaging with my day itself.

And that's where we've had most success with play, lately. Twice recently, a particularly hard, frustrating day has put me in a stressed, irritable mood. Work stress, things not going to plan, the internet not working, accidentally bashing myself against pieces of furniture, headaches, backaches. I go into Tom's room and he pulls me onto his lap for a cuddle. I growl about my day. And it suddenly seems obvious, to both of us, how to fix it. I take my tea back to my desk with a 15 minute warning, and at the end of it, he comes through, quiet and gentle, and leads me to the bed.

The first time, he started with his belt. As I watched the shadow of it fall on the wall I thought I can't do this, not cold; but when the impact landed I devoured it. He wasn't going full force, but he wasn't messing about, either, and as I warmed up I slipped into a place where I couldn't take enough. Once my behind was glowing from the belt he got out a couple of canes and proceeded to make me sigh into the pillows.

The second time, one of the things making my day difficult was an aching muscle after my first squash lesson. My right glut had throbbed the day after, but the day after that a muscle in the top of my left thigh, right in the crease of my bottom, was shrieking with pain. My desk chair just seemed to be making it worse, and by the afternoon it was really pissing me off. I'd been idly wondering all day whether spanking would help or not, and I enjoyed finding out.

The impact of each smack didn't alleviate the muscle ache itself, not quite as I'd hoped it would. And my soreness made me more sensitive to the pain. Tom sat beside my shoulders and reached down my body to whack first one cheek then the other with his broad, strong palms. It felt shockingly hard, but the angle was enjoyable, with the sensitive skin on the lower half of my bottom receiving all the attention. He spent some time painting my arse various shades of pink, and amusing himself making handprints. And afterwards, the glow of endorphins managed what ibuprofen hadn't, the tension flowed out of me and my limbs bathed with good feeling.

It's amazing how much a spanking can turn a shitty day around. And it's a surefire way to guarantee that Tom and I will get distracted; the sort of spontaneous loving which leaves us feeling connected and intimate, without either of us putting pressure on ourselves beforehand to perform. I go back for another few hours of productive work, refreshed, relaxed and energised. And when we snuggle up tiredly at night, that connection is still there. It's all good.

Acquiescence

2011-04-06T18:33:00.001+01:00

I have some very exciting news.

A film I started making nearly four years ago is now, finally, available. Tom and I wrote and filmed Acquiescence with Michael Stamp and Stephen Lewis for Control and Reform in the summer of 2007, but the process of editing and finishing it has been a long and drawn out one (with some spankings along the way!). I haven't seen the final cut yet, but Michael Stamp has just sent me a trailer and the news that it's ready. Click on the picture to download the five-minute video preview:

This remains one of my favourite projects, and I'm very proud of it. It's a dark, psychological interrogation thriller set in a dystopian near-future. My character is dragged from her bed and into a state van in the middle of the night, and taken to a secure facility where she is questioned and isolated. She was never particularly political and her arrest comes as a complete and total shock. She has no idea what information they after, and (apart from references to certain forbidden sexual habits) she is never accused of anything more specific than "sedition". Her interrogators are verbally aggressive, but never touch her; and during the night and the long periods of solitude she is frequently hauled from her cell, blindfolded and shivering, and beaten by anonymous figures who never speak a word.

Then one day, a new interrogator arrives; a smooth-talking, civilised, quiet man who offers her bargains, playing increasingly complex mind games with her in an effort to undo her sense of time and identity. As the beatings and the interrogations escalate, she retreats inwards, clinging to whispered mantras as she escapes inwards to the safe space inside herself. When the final reckoning comes, she doesn't even know which side her interrogators are on. Are they trying to break her, or are they double agents, trying to re-make her as an activist with a renewed sense of purpose, strength and justice?

While this film is a Control and Reform production, it's not currently available to download from their website - new updates aren't being added at present, pending its re-launch as a members' site. Drop me an email if you want more info about the DVD release.

Communicating by touch

2011-04-01T19:45:00.000+01:00

I'm an inconveniently light sleeper. I've also suffered from insomnia my whole life - as far as I can tell, the primary cause is having too much to do, and a brain that is extremely reluctant to turn itself off. Since moving out of London I've managed to develop a routine which has mostly suppressed my getting-to-sleep insomnia, but I still tend to wake throughout the night - and have the same struggle getting back to sleep every time I do.

I recently obtained some ear plugs for the first time to see if they helped me sleep next to a lover who snores. I'd previously only encountered people using the things at nightclubs or while skydiving, those foam ones you have to push in. These were a new design: gel pads which you push over the ear canal to form a seal. They're far more comfortable, and surprisingly effective. As soon as I started using them I realised how much of my wakefulness is in response to sound. Suddenly I'm able to sleep through the night, or take naps in the middle of the day, or get to sleep even when the neighbours are playing loud music. It's incredible - and Tom, a fellow insomniac, has had similar success after I recommended he try them.

The other night, for the first time, we both bedded down together with our ear plugs in. Mostly I've used them while sleeping alone. I realised as soon as we were both deprived of hearing how frequently Tom and I communicate in words. We talk a lot: we have always bonded through in depth conversations; we rarely run out of things to say to one another. Even at the end of the night, preparing ourselves for sleep, we exchange words along with cuddles, sweet nothings, verbal love and affection to reassure and soothe each other. (By contrast, D uses words sparingly; I hadn't noticed any difference when wearing ear plugs in bed with him, as he tends to respond to my remarks non-verbally anyway.)

Sharing our small, temporary sensory deprivation, Tom and I snuggled up to each other in the dark. I would open my mouth to say something, remember he wouldn't be able to hear and kiss him instead. I became very aware of the places where we touched: his hand lightly stroking my spine, my hand sliding around the smooth skin of his torso, thighs pressed against each other. Each touch became resonant with meaning. Eyes closed, I could hear little beyond the pulse of blood in my skull. We could only communicate by touch, and something about it was profoundly intimate.

Sensory deprivation is a common tool for BDSM practitioners, usually experienced by the submissive in a scene. It's not something I've played with myself apart from the occasional blindfold or gag, and I've certainly never heard of a dominant taking part too. It made me wonder what it would be like to be spanked in this state of heightened sensory awareness; deprived of sight and hearing, how much more acute the experience of being over my dom's knee might be.

Playing in a night club is the closest I've come to that experience, where the wall of sound from dancefloor and crowd drowns out subtleties; if you aren't within a few inches of someone it's difficult to hear each other without shouting. When I'm bent over a whipping bench, head down, and my dom/me is standing behind me, the usual verbal check-ins are not possible over the noise of the club. My partner has to pause, bend down, speak into my ear; or else communicate with a hand on my back, a caress, a shoulder squeeze, a brush with the flogger or warning tap of the cane. But I can't reply, not without breaking position.

It's an intense way to play, but it's also difficult. Scenes can go awry more easily without the direct feedback provided by vocal response. And both parties have to work harder to communicate.

I find myself curious about the idea of a scene in which both me and my dom wore ear plugs. If I were blindfolded as well, we would be even more dependent on our sense of touch. What would it be like, being hit without the evocative sounds created by different implements? The cane would sneak up on you out of nowhere. Heavy paddles and straps would announce themselves with a whomp of air before they landed. Would hand spankings feel as sharp without the loud crack of palm hitting flesh? Would every sensation be more welcome, without any other way for me to experience the closeness of my partner?

I'm not sure if I'm going to suggest such a scene or not, but it's fascinating to think about the different role each sense plays in this thing we do.

When a caning is just what you need

2011-03-25T01:39:00.001Z

Frustrated by not being able to run any other processes while editing video, I recently souped up my four year old Dell to a whopping 4GB of RAM - the maximum I can get without replacing the motherboard. It's much more capable of multitasking as a result, but file conversions and rendering still take bloody ages. I set the "Scrubbing a floor naked for 60 minutes" video I was putting together for my client rendering at about midday, and it's still going now. Admittedly that's an hour's film at DVD quality, but still. I need a new PC.

Since I'm not going to be able to sleep as long as my computer is whirring fit to take off, I may as well tell you about the spanking I got this evening. D and I left it far too long between dealing with my accumulated misdemeanours. It's been a horrendously busy month for me, so I've had little time for exercise; that, combined with snatched, tired time together meant that I'd built up a hefty score to settle. As he was doing the maths I groaned and asked if we could deal with some of it next time. I didn't expect him to go for it, but he did, and when I discovered that the total was over a hundred swats with the brush, I was relieved.

He let me go over his knee this time, and I was grateful - the physical contact made me less afraid, although it didn't really make it hurt less. I was due 42 this time for missed exercises, with 48 still to come; plus 12 for two missed check-ins. The 42 came in long, brisk sequences, more than six at a time, at least it felt like it; possibly in tens. Although I had the reassuring warmth of his thighs under my hips I didn't even get a rub inbetween sets, or a word from him, until we were most of the way through. I am developing a healthy fear of that brush, I can tell you; he doesn't even have to use it hard and it stings like hell.

I found myself experimenting with ways of processing the pain. Holding my breath. Clenching my teeth. Stuffing the duvet cover in my mouth. Kicking, yelling, cursing, hissing through my teeth. Taking deep breaths. Howling. Nothing helped me get through it except time and endurance, and then I was hanging limply over his lap, out of breath, amazed at the ability of that piece of wood to break through all my experience and enthusiasm to render me completely helpless.

The last twelve, for failing to make my daily check-in twice, were hard. I opted for the "yelling" approach this time.

Then it was over, and after a very welcome rub I got an affectionate smack, which my whole body responded to by going yes! That's more like it! That I can deal with! I communicated this to D, and got a lovely short, firm hand-spanking in return which, bizarrely, felt like balm to my blazing cheeks.

D reminded me that my health is more important than almost anything else, and when I'd conceded his point we settled into some serious cuddling. My arse was glowing hot with two hard round spots in the middle of each cheek. I huffed and exclaimed and took the piss out of myself for being such a wimp, and he tried to make me feel better:

"Whhhyyyyy did I sign up to this, I am so stupid."

"Because you're a good girl. And you want to be a better girl."

"STUPID."

I bemoaned the strange effect the brush had on me - it's so weird that I can take canings so readily and this just flips me out, I have no way of processing it calmly. "Actually," I said, half in jest, "I could do with a caning right now, that'd make me feel like less of a wuss."

"Well, there's one right here," he observed.

So I lay over a pillow on the bed and offered him my throbbing arse, and D took advantage of my already being warmed up to thrash me soundly with the 12mm dragon cane that had been standing by the bed.

I didn't count the strokes - 24? 30? My whole body welcomed the familiar, beloved sensation. I breathed into it, bathed in it, until I was awash with pleasure.

And all was well with the world.

Room 33

2011-03-23T18:01:00.001Z

Room 33 Erika Lust from boolab on Vimeo.

This is another acclaimed short film from Erika Lust, the talented feminist producer who brought us Handcuffs. Minimal, tantalising, the film follows a couple checking into a hotel with a difference. This five minute short is a conceptual piece - it's more about stimulating the imagination than gratification on camera - and the concept is absolutely delightful. I want to stay in that hotel! Doesn't everyone?

It also includes some hot F/m moments, highly erotic glimpses of an MMF threesome, and enough subtext and charged glances to fill a fair few fantasies. I'd love to have seen the extended version of this film, but I admire it for what it is - a condensed, lust-provoking snapshot into an extremely hot, and rather kinky, idea.

Eye-catching spanking photos

2011-03-17T22:19:00.006Z

I've just been doing a bit of catching up on spanking blogs after a week or so in which my vanilla life completely took over. It's not been a long break, but I haven't really thought about kink much at all, and despite my extensive collection of drafts and post ideas I'm finding it a bit tough to get back into the blogging headspace.

So, by way of easing back into it, here's a round up of spanking photos which have recently caught my eye for one reason or another...

Chelsea Pfeiffer spanking Sinn Sage on Spank Sinn

I love Sinn's posture of surrender, her bowed head and the elegant line of her back. I love the natural light in these shots (as in much of Sinn's work), the subtle lines of light and shadow across the thighs, and the way the sunlight catches the line of the strap, naturally calling attention to it.

Irelynn Logeen spanking Leia-Ann Woods on Triple A Spanking

Who doesn't like old-style Girl Guide uniforms? I love them, and I also love candid shots of actors having fun in between the serious posing. Spanking shoots are mostly, in my experience, extraordinarily camp, silly affairs, and it's always nice to get a glimpse of the fun reality behind the fantasy.

Mr King spanking Ivy and Brooke at Real Spankings Institute

I'm not so keen on the composition of this one - a landscape picture would have worked better to get all three figures in - but I love the facial expressions of the two girls.

Unnamed top (man, when will companies learn not to do this!) spanking Sophia Nova on Dallas Spanks Hard

The first thing that struck me was the perfect bubble curve of Sophia's pinkened bottom. Once I was looking, I noticed her shapely legs; the elegant lift of one foot; the intensity in the top's expression, and the incredibly real look on her face. Flushed, slightly sweaty - breathless - absorbed - overwhelmed. It's halfway between distress and ecstasy. I love feeling like that.

Ashley spanking Kay Richards on My Spanking Roommate

I love the impression of motion in this one, the sense that Kay has just been tipped, indignant, over Ashley's lap. Kay also has the most deliciously rounded bottom which is shown off perfectly by this low angle. Lovely!

Unnamed models on Cutie Spankee, in "The Teacher's Humiliation"

Like all the photography to come out of Cutie Spankee, the lighting, colouring and composition in this shot are exceptional, a cut above most of the images that come out of the UK and US spanking studios. But this image leapt out at me, not only because of the beauty of the models, but because of its surreality. Clicking through and reading the scene synopsis I learn that one teacher is being humiliated by another by being forced to wear tight student gym shorts. But at first glance, it's deliciously weird: the inexplicable stepladder, placing the spankee's bottom almost level with the top's head; the bizarre combination of tight shorts with smart jacket; the dramatic yet completely unnecessary pot plant in the background. Out of context, it's dreamlike in its weirdness, and I find that very exciting. Anything could happen!

Leia-Ann Woods spanking Kami Robertson, Emma Bishop and Donna Davenport on Northern Spanking in "Behind the Bike Sheds". I didn't initially realise that the first photo was from the same set as the second two, since it didn't include the distinctive purple blazers (I would have been SO happy if those had been the uniform at my school).

There's lots of things I like about these pics. The atmospheric, nostalgic set and props really work for me. I love the wooden chest under the desk and the red leather teacher's chair.

The first shot is a great three-figure composition - the cane slicing a line across the middle, pointing from Ms Woods (who is given classic cinematic right-hand dominance in the frame) to the two girls. Kami's gracefully vulnerable body language. Donna's curious, slightly tense over-shoulder peek.

Ms Woods looks stunning in the second photo, directing a witheringly beautiful "you're next" look at Donna over the hapless girl across her lap.

And the third one caps it off - a between-takes candid shot of spanker and spankee grinning at each other while Leia-Ann blows on her hand to cool it. The implication of the hard hand spanking she's just given makes this behind-the-scenes shot, for me, one of the hottest of all.

Bathbrush, meet thighs

2011-03-10T23:13:00.000Z

My discipline deal with D (how's that for an alliterative beginning?) has been revealing so far. To my surprise, I've pretty much kept within my drinking limits, apart from one week which included two birthday parties and two other boozy social occasions.¹ And my gym schedule has been easy to maintain, at least when I'm at home and not gallivanting around the country. But the daily physio exercises I'm meant to do to help my long-term back pain - day after day, despite my best efforts, I'm failing to find the time.

I tried doing them last thing before bed; but then by the time I've finished for the day, I'm flattened and just need my sleep. We haven't tried first thing in the morning yet as my morning routine is already longer than it should be, and I don't want half the day to disappear before I get down to work. I tried fitting them in as and when, but my schedule is already squeezed to bursting and I seem to never have a space of time when there isn't something urgent needing doing. D and I sat down and talked about it and agreed that a mid-afternoon break might work, since an excuse to get up from my desk and move around will help my back in any case. I have an alarm set for 15:00, but it always seems to go off when I'm in the middle of something super-important. My new idea is to set the snooze on it to half an hour, rather than five minutes, so chances are I'll have finished whatever I was busy with by the time it goes off again.

I'm encouraged by my success in the other areas, and determined to break the back of this one (as it were). In the meantime, however, my record is fairly shoddy. The last time D and I settled the account, I was due 48 whacks with the bathbrush for missed physio exercises; a bonus 6 for missing a number of days in a row; plus 12 for going a week without a booze-free day. Hardly a glowing report. We talked about ways I could try and do better, but I did feel genuinely disappointed with myself, and D, while gentle, was not exactly impressed.

So the tone was very different from our last punishment session. He asked me to undress completely, and as I lay on the bed I knew this wasn't going to be pleasant. D's manner was calm, but a little cold. The strokes for missed back exercises were so numerous that he didn't give them to me in sets of six, this time; just one extended application that did not care how much I wriggled or cried.

I did cry, before we were halfway through. The tears squeezed themselves out onto the pillow and it felt good to surrender to the pain, to our collective disappointment, the shared sense that this punishment was thoroughly deserved. The last six, bonus strokes for missing my back exercises too many days in a row, were hard, and if I hadn't cried I might have screamed.

But the worst came last: twelve hard whacks with the brush on my thighs. He delivered them with a clinical, even pace, starting at the top of one thigh and working down it for six, then back up the next. The pain was incredible. I gripped the rail at the head of the bed for dear life, willed my legs to stay still and not kick, and sobbed.

I felt better afterwards, though. Admittedly rather sorry for myself, but less burdened by the knowledge of my failure.

I'm sorry to say, however, that after all that the intervening weeks have been even busier, and my good intentions have continued to fail. I'm still not giving up - I want my health to improve, and I'm determined to find a way of making this system work for me. But the next accounting is likely to be another painful one.

1. I could perhaps blame Emma-Jane for the jugs of mojitos, but that would go against the spirit of spankee solidarity.²
2. Which is, of course, Bacardi.

How to make housework more interesting

2011-03-08T19:50:00.000Z

Today I spent an hour scrubbing wooden floorboards, naked.

This was an intersection of many different aims. Most pressingly, the floor needed scrubbing. I also have a client who wanted to see a video of me cleaning floors in the nude. This was pretty convenient, as usually when I'm doing tedious chores I fantasise about being a hapless slave or scullery maid, mistreated and virtuous, forced to do boring housework rather than chasing her dreams. Ironic, really, that I have bucketloads of freedom, and my dreams mostly consist of making porn in which I am rather less free.

I decided that scrubbing the floor naked would be much more fun if I'd recently been beaten, so I may as well make a short film for my own site as well as the custom clip for my client. Sadly, radiators and plug sockets around the walls meant an actual Victorian maid scenario would have been somewhat unconvincing. But that's okay, because it gave me an excuse to break the fourth wall and make a film about the act of fantasising, not the fantasy itself.

Fittingly, today is International Woman's Day - a good day to make consensual D/s porn in which my boyfriend makes my fantasies come true. In the story, I'm meant to be scrubbing the floor on Saturday, and am not looking forward to the prospect - but when I come downstairs to start work, I discover that Tom has already cleared out the furniture and swept the floor for me, and is waiting looking rather dashing in a period waistcoat and cravat. My Victorian maid's uniform is waiting on a chair for me. It's his present to me, knowing how my mind tends to wander while I'm doing housework and wanting to make the chore more fun for both of us. I get dressed up in my maid's outfit, he gives me some lovely marks with the cane, and then I get undressed again (so as not to soil the costume) and set to work feeling warm, floaty and very loved.

I scrubbed for an hour, and the work went by ever so quickly - distracted by the rough wood under my bare knees, the cool air between my thighs and the glowing welts on my bottom. I can definitely recommend this as an approach to housework, if you can manage it!

e[lust] #23

2011-03-02T20:17:00.002Z

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #24? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Roadmaps of Consent - I fucking love consent. I love safewords. I can be much more cruel, and push much harder, if I trust my partner to tell me when I go too far.

Staying Safe - One cock, from one man, missing one condom, ultimately led to my brother’s death. And that sucks.

Flying the Friendly Skies - One button on her sweater was undone, there was a rip in her hose, scratches on her boots, and her hair was carelessly pinned back with stray wisps of hair escaping. There was a curious flavor of soiling about her, something a bit dirty and unkempt.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Labels and my thoughts... - In the past year and a half I have gone from being someone that was lost, without identity that fit, rattling around inside myself to someone that has names for what they are.

~ e[lust] Editress: Dangerous Lilly

See also: Pleasurists #116 and #117 for all your sex toy review needs

Kink & Fetish
5 Kinky Toys from the Dollar Store
Alive in my Skin
Dacryphilia
Digitalized for Posterity
Eroti...ca
filthy...
He ripped a string of orgasms from me, and then ramped it up
Manual Dexterity
Nadia's Surprise
Orgasms, Spoons Rests, and Fishnets! (The Play Party)
Punishment, humiliation and bondage
Schoolgirl in Saturday Detention
Steeling The Show
Water torture

Erotic Writing
A Little Night Music
Afternoon darkness
Crisp White Linens
dancing with (& then kinkily fucking) the dj
In the Mirror
Lope
Morning Sex
My First Anal Sex
September 1935
Shutter
Schoolgirl Part 1
Teenage Bukkake
Transition
You're Gonna Keep My Soul

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships
A Doggie Kind of Love
Ashamed?! Are You Kidding Me?
Giggles, Groans and Panting
I Can Imagine How You Feel
Sex As Love
6 Moves Men Need to Be Sex Gods in the Bedroom
Terminology Fundamentalism
The COME HITHER QUIVER -or- How To Squirt
This Love
What I Want

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor
Kink Network Announces the Opening of Their Adult Blog Host Kinky-Blogging.com
Porn, degradation, and Khan Tusion
Women With Two Vaginas
Kink, virginity and big-tittied whores

Porn discussion round-up

2011-03-01T23:25:00.000Z

Hello! I've had a brilliant few days away, including several kinky escapades which I will describe to you in due course. In the meantime, I have a growing collection of links I want to share with you in the wake of Lady Porn Day, so I thought I'd shove them all in a single post so I don't get overwhelmed by blog drafts.

1.
I really like this mini-comic Dirty Magazines by Heather Bradley about a young woman's first encounters with porn.

Obviously, I don't agree with the "no-one gets hurt" item in the narrator's definition of porn she's comfortable viewing, but I like the emphasis on the development of personal criteria. And you could more or less re-formulate it as "no-one gets harmed", using conventional BDSM distinctions between "hurt" and "harm".

2.
MayMay has written an excellent article unpacking the concept of "gaze" in porn, titled Breaking Pornography's Fourth Wall: Erotic Satisfaction as a Function of Gaze. Both article and comments are well worth reading.

Put simply, a gaze identifies a viewer, or a gazer. When a woman’s curves linger on-screen, as they so often do in cinema, or when a picture of, say, a “skinny white woman…baring it all” is shown, as it so often is in pornography, the viewer is commonly—and often rightly—assumed to be a heterosexual male.

However, this conceptualization of gaze is limiting. Knowing who the gazer is tells us very little about how they are gazing. Part of understanding a person’s pornographic tastes relies on understanding whether their gaze is objectifying or embodying. An objectifying gaze is one in which the gazer—the consumer of the pornographic artifact—imagines themselves as observing the model in a pornographic image, while an embodying gaze is one in which they imagine themselves as being the model. Read more »

3.
The Irrationality of the Anti-Sex Lobby by Brooke Magnanti on Freedom in a Puritan Age

The notion that exposure to sexualised imagery is a) different now than it has been in the past, and b) causes damage to children as a result, is widely assumed but not proven. Most of the reviews on the topic rely on data from adults viewing pornography, which is clearly not the same thing as children seeing a Bratz doll. In any case the results from adult studies are mixed, with a tendency to indicate that pornography may somewhat exacerbate, but does not itself cause, negative effects. The hype about sexualisation seems to assume a slippery slope that might not even have a fulcrum in the first place. Read more »

4.
Finally, here's a refreshingly balanced take on porn legislation on the Guardian's Comment is Free, by Kristina Lloyd - Why doesn't Jacqui Smith take a relaxed view of pornography?

And what might happen if people watched porn for hours on end? The implication is that this would be personally harmful and socially destabilising, a conclusion based in part on the notion that sexual pleasure is inherently corrupting. A great deal of lazy thinking, myth making, poor research and anecdotal evidence surrounds debates on the sex industry. A recent Cambridge debate asking "Does pornography provide a good public service?" saw prominent, anti-porn campaigner, Gail Dines, taken to task for supporting her argument with shoddy stats from unreliable sources. The Lilith report of 2003 used inaccurate statistics to conclude that an increase in lap-dancing clubs in Camden led to an increase in rape. The report, challenged by Brooke Magnanti, remains influential, presumably because to many people it sounds right. Read more »

His hand; my mouth

2011-02-23T23:09:00.004Z

So last night I was sitting down to write my #ladypornday blogpost, feeling kind of achy and creaky and grumpy about the idea of sitting at my desk when my back already hurt. I know, I thought, I'll have a drink, that'll ease the aches and help the words come forth. Except I was due a teetotal day. So I didn't have one, I went and bothered Tom instead.

He's been poorly again this week (after that brief sunlit ray of health) - just a cold, but enough to frustrate us both all over again. But he was very sweet. We cuddled, and he asked if I wanted a backrub. I regretfully turned him down - I didn't really have time for a massage AND writing a blogpost before dinner, plus I'd feel guilty getting him to look after me when he's the one who's sick. But it occurred to me, sitting on his lap enjoying a cuddle, that I could perhaps ask for a spanking.

So I did.

We started with him sitting on the edge of the bed and me over one knee, but that made my tummy ache, so after a little bit I asked if I could go over both knees instead. He spanked me carefully, with restraint, not wanting to push too hard but knowing that if I was going to get the endorphins-as-painkillers I was after I would need to be pushed a bit. Even over my knickers, even at a fraction of the strength I know he's capable of, I couldn't take it. I owwed and winced and sucked in my breath and tried to be brave and knew full well I was being a total wimp. I hung on, waiting for my body to catch on and start to mellow out, but the switch didn't flip.

Tom reads me well. He knew that it wasn't quite getting where I needed it to, so he put a pillow on the floor and got me to kneel on it, bending over the side of the bed. This was more comfortable - but it made my bare bottom all the more vulnerable, the skin seeming even more sensitive. For whole sequences of smacks I managed to be brave and not yelp, face screwed up and hands tightly squeezing the bedding, but it never got to the point of actually feeling good. He layered the smacks so cautiously and thoroughly, interspersing them with such tender rubs, that surely I must have been properly warmed up - but the harder smacks, when they came, just made me yell "OW!" in a tone of voice that was more annoyed than anything else.

I was too stubborn to want him to stop, but I didn't know why this wasn't working for me. Was I too tired? He paused to rub my back again. I instantly relaxed into the bed, grateful noises muffled by the duvet. He stroked me and kissed the back of my neck. "This isn't really helping you much at all, is it, love?"

"Mmmmmf." I didn't want him to stop stroking.

He didn't stop; but his other hand did move within reach of my lips, so I kissed his fingers and his palm. He rubbed a particularly achy spot between my shoulders, and I leaned forward, mouth pressing against his hand. He kept it resting lightly over my mouth and I felt myself softening, mellowing. There was something intensely, tenderly vulnerable about it. It made me feel sort of little, but not really in the "little girl" sense, just suspended between those two strong, clever hands. My awareness focussed in on these points of contact; one hand on my back, one gently resting against my lips. I suddenly knew that if he were to start spanking me again now, it would be lovely, and I waited to see if he would; but he was still being careful. So in the spirit of enthusiastic consent, I murmured, "if you wanted to spank me again, that might be nice."

He did. And it was suddenly perfect, everything I'd needed it to be. He spanked me hard, slow, fully, and I breathed deep and my body filled up with sensations. Everything slowed right down and the pain washed over me. His hand wasn't stopping my mouth, but the light touch of his fingerpads against my lips was deeply arousing. When the pain got intense I focused on that sensation, his hand over my mouth, and it was enough. He gave me big, powerful spanks and I gratefully kissed his fingers.

Such a tiny thing; such a huge impact.

Afterwards I knelt on the pillow between his knees and we clung to each other, all filled up with love. Then I took my laptop through to the lounge and sat my spanked bottom on the sofa, to write my blogpost in comfort.

#ladypornday: Porn as a public service

2011-02-22T23:47:00.007Z

Today is Lady Porn Day, a new initiative organised by sex blogger Rabbit Write to encourage and empower women to share and discuss porn. Rabbit describes the project to the Huffington post as follows:

Lady Porn Day is essentially to celebrate porn and masturbation. I'm inviting everyone to talk about their porn experiences, share stories and to ultimately share their porn recommendations. This is about not only opening up a dialog about how porn is good, but also how porn is hard, how it can be an issue for women, in terms of dealing with guilt or body image or their sexuality.

I haven't really participated in the twitter conversation, which is still going strong if you want to pitch in, but I'm thinking of using the excuse to write a few blogposts this week about what the concept of "porn for women" means to me (actually I'm quite liking the coinage 'ladyporn', I might start using that more regularly). The page on Rabbit's site seems to be acting as a hub for contributions, and her interview with Jiz Lee today (the most recent post as I type this) is well worth a read. Jiz talks about the positive social contribution ethical and queer porn can make and has made, emphasising its role in education (for example in normalising safer sex practices) and in personal affirmation and validation, reassuring people that their sexuality and orientation is normal and okay.

This is obviously very close to my own relationship to porn. Looking at porn gave me the vocabulary and courage to think about - and come to accept - my own queerness and my own kink. Working in fetish and spanking porn has expanded the way I think about my kink, improved my relationship with kink and my body, helped me make more sense of what I like and how I like it, introduced me to more and more things that it turns out I like, improved my confidence, my physical fitness, my professional skills, my writing, my self-knowledge and self-belief. My relationships have benefited. My mental and physical health have benefited.

My inbox is a testament to how valuable what I do is to other people. This is pretty amazing given that what I do is essentially self-indulgent. I like performing, I like recording experiences through creative media, and I like spanking, D/s and BDSM. I've been writing scene reports for as long as I've been playing. The urge to record, share and discuss my sexual and kink experiences is not a commercial one - it's an essential component of those experiences. The fact that I can get paid for performing my fantasies on camera, and the fact that men and women across the globe find those performances affirming, reassuring and empowering continues to baffle - and delight - me. It feels like the biggest stroke of luck in the world that doing this thing I like doing can bring pleasure and validation to other people. But after receiving countless emails from people who have been affected by watching me reflect their own fantasies, who have been helped to understand that those fantasies are normal, healthy, less unusual than they feared, I'm no longer in any doubt that porn can have enormous social and personal benefits, particularly to people with alternative sexualities.

To my surprise, the Cambridge University Student Union recently agreed with me. The House voted in favour of the motion that "pornography does a good public service" by 44 votes. Feminist pornographer and former Parliamentary candidate Anna Span led the team debating on behalf of the motion, and feminist anti-porn writer Gail Dines spoke in opposition. I can recommend Anna Span's write up of the debate for AVN News. The BBC World Service invited Span and Dines to recreate the debate on air, and you can listen to a six minute excerpt from the show here.

Anna Span's initial answer to the question of how pornography does a good public service was that "it democratises the body" - otherwise known as the Rule #34 Social Benefit (list that one under phrases I never thought I'd type). If you don't like an aspect of your body or sexuality, she says, Google it plus 'sex', and you'll discover sites which think this is the most attractive thing about you. Anna Span argues that porn is much more varied when it comes to body type, gender and types of beauty and sex appeal than mainstream advertising, films, TV, fashion photography and the other images we are surrounded with in public spaces. It is also broader in its representation of alternative sexualities. There is porn for everyone, if you care enough to put a little effort into finding it.

Span cited the recent UK study Comparison by crime type of juvenile delinquents on pornography exposure, which found no correlation between exposure to pornography and sexual violence. Both USA and UK governments have funded extensive studies into the social harm of porn, with no conclusive findings.

Gail Dines responded that mainstream porn isn't varied, and is often violent, dehumanising and debasing to women. To which of course the answer is: support indie, queer, feminist and alternative porn! As Lynn Comella writes for Las Vegas Weekly,

Dines takes a slice—the world of hard-core "gonzo" porn, which, according to her, is porn that “depicts hard-core, body-punishing sex in which women are demeaned and debased”—and presents it as emblematic of an entire industry. This is akin to talking about Hollywood while only referencing spaghetti Westerns; or making sweeping glosses about the music industry when what you are really talking about is hair metal. It’s an approach that makes for neither a sound argument nor good sociology.

When Gail Dines says "porn" she means the stereotype of porn, the sort of thing you get in top shelf magazines or if you type "porn" into Google; big-busted, narrow waisted female bodies; big cocks; shaved genitals; simplistic storylines and limited dialogue; straightforward, vigorous penetration; cum shots; unconvincing expressions of pleasure.

When Anna Span says "porn" she seems to mean what I mean - a broader spectrum of possibilities including all representations of human sexuality; incorporating indie, alternative, amateur, kinky and feminist porn. Mainstream porn might be easiest to find, and, statistically, the thing new viewers are likely to see because there's more of it and it's been the 'norm' for longer. But that doesn't mean it's sensible or useful to assume that all porn should be judged by the same standard, or to ignore the ever-increasing range of alternatives which are available.

Instead of railing against the evils of sexually explicit imagery in general, anyone dissatisfied with mainstream porn is better off creating or supporting better, healthier alternatives; porn that's more ethical, interesting, humane, respectful and egalitarian. Which is exactly what Anna Span - and I, and the long list of positive porn projects endorsed by Lady Porn Day - are trying to do.

'Discomfort me with apples': a fantasy shared

2011-02-21T13:02:00.004Z

I love the two most recent posts by Abby Williams, telling the story of an impromptu roleplay scene in which she's punished for scrumping apples.

Escalation is a fairly common consequence of sharing a fantasy with a top. It's your fantasy, in which everything is arranged to your liking. Emma Jane has recently written articulately about the difficulties involved in this, how much detail to go into, how faithful a reproduction it's reasonable to expect. As a bottom, it's not usually realistic (or fair!) to expect a top to become a cipher, to play their role exactly as you imagine it; and it's unfeasible and unsatisfying for the bottom to micro-manage a scene in advance. So offering a fantasy to a top is very much a gift - you're not asking them to reproduce your vision exactly, but opening it up to their personality and contribution. After all, most self-respecting tops prefer to inject a little surprise into a scenario, rather than merely reciting lines agreed in advance.

In my experience, when I've asked one of my doms to do something I've fantasised about, one of two things happen. It's either a very fluffy, very consensual, very instantly gratifying scene where I get what I want and there isn't much of a D/s dynamic in action. Or they take the opportunity to turn the tables on me - change something, do something I didn't expect, go harder than I expected - anything to unsettle me a bit, to swing the balance of power their way. Ironically, if my fantasy is of an edgy, intense scene, this is pretty much the only way to give me what I've asked for. Reproducing my fantasy exactly as described may tick all the boxes, but it won't have the same psychological impact as a scene in which I'm given something real to overcome, some genuine fear or uncertainty.

I know this, and yet I'm still not used to the way it makes me feel. When an asked-for scene makes me struggle, I'm swamped with feelings of inadequacy. I asked for this, I fantasised about it, why can't I take it? Even after the scene is over, I can dwell on that initial resistance, wondering if it means I'm a wimp, or not submissive enough. And yet, over time, I have come to realise that without initial difficulty, the scene would lack impact - would lack that psychological journey which gives it meaning.

Abby's writing describes this experience perfectly. When her husband initially springs on her the apple-scrumping punishment fantasy she's told him about, she doesn't react as positively as she expected.

I bent over, fingertips to toes, shifting my body weight from side to side as if I really was an impatient young thief, ready to receive her spanking so she could be on her delinquent way. "Thirteen strokes, then," said Mr. Williams. "You will count."

"Yes, sir," I murmured, but at the first stroke of the belt, I found myself angry, irritated with the pain and the situation. I huffed, letting him know I was irritated with the punishment. "One, Sir," I sneered.

I find roleplay can liberate me to feel anger and irritation with a top in a way I wouldn't be comfortable with in most of my romantic D/s dynamics. But it's not just an in-character fabrication - it's a genuine reaction to the pain.

The fifth and sixth strokes were less shocking. I counted them properly and I didn't make a scene. Stroke seven would mark the halfway point. I had started to relax after the two strokes I could handle; I thought I had shown that I was willing to take the punishment and that he would be less forceful about the punishment, in kind. I was wrong. The seventh stroke crossed my thighs in a painful amalgamation of cruelty and curiosity. Mr. Williams knows that I detest any spanking upon my thighs, and I know he's always interested in my reaction. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that I was being tested. Instead, I screamed. I don't know if I was speaking to Mr. Williams or myself when I followed the scream with, "What the fuck?" I just had not been expecting that level of pain in our apple farmer scenario.

The silence then was so strong that I began to twitch. "I'm sorry, Sir," I whispered. "That's seven."

"That's right," he said tersely. I was in for it.

Strokes eight through twelve were hard, but my submission was no longer an act. I wasn't going to fight the belting any longer.

This passage really resonates with my experience. The hottest scenes are often the one in which the bottom can't "win" - in which we can't predict or manipulate how things will go. But it's not an easy ride, and I wouldn't want to do it with someone I didn't trust utterly.

I love how effortlessly Abby blends fantasy and reality; how her innocent apple farmer scene turns unexpectedly nasty - and then unexpectedly sexual. My favourite bit is in the second part of her write up, the perfectly captured moment where all the tension is broken:

As wife, I know I'm wet, know I'm ready for Mr. W to take the scene where it always leads, but the swish of a cane through the air behind my poised backside lets me know the farmer is not ready to let the apple thief off so easily. I clutch a pillow just before the cane lands.

Thirteen strokes of the belt have not properly warmed my bottom and I lurch forwards into the pillow to stifle my howl of pain. A tap on my lower back reminds me to return to position, kneeling on my hands and knees properly with my back arched and bottom presented. I tensely shift back, not ready but not wanting to seem unwilling.

The next stroke cuts full across the spot where bottom meets thigh, and though I begin to wimper, the thief, who can say the things I would not, says through clenched teeth, "That. Fucking. Hurt."

"Maybe this will help with the pain," Mr. W says. He goes to the nightstand and I think he's going to pull out one of the smaller paddles, something to finish warming me before the remaining eleven cane strokes I know he still wants to give me. Trusting in my husband, I close my eyes.

He returns to his place behind me, stroking my bottom, then clutching the flesh beneath his palm, pulling me open so that I feel even more naked than I already am. His finger touches the orifice between my reddened cheeks, pressing just a little. I relax into the touch. He presses deeper, then pulls out. I think I am about to receive a gentle leather paddling, something sexy, something that will finally send the farmer and the thief from the room. Instead, he presses into me again, this time with something thicker, firmer. It's not flesh. I recognize the toy we bought just weeks ago specifically for this purpose, for this spot, and irrationally, indignantly, the apple thief rears back. "Sir! I hardly think I know you well enough for that!"

Mr. W, clever farmer that he is, pushes me back down. "You've been on this farm before," he says.

I can't hold back. I snort, then giggle, then I'm all out laughing. He begins to laugh too, and the tenseness of the entire scenario is broken. I wiggle my bum at him. "You're right," I say, "I have been on this farm before. I remember now why I came back."

My edible Valentine

2011-02-18T16:25:00.003Z

I like food a lot. It will therefore come as no surprise that my Valentine's celebrations this week have involved some truly excellent cookery. The remarkable thing is that I didn't do any of it myself. Normally I'm the feeder in my relationships - but this week I've been thoroughly spoiled with some delicious dinners.

D, at the weekend, was the exception. He's not a big chef. But that was okay; after an all-nighter on the town, we'd digested too many stimulants to have much appetite for food in any case. Instead we took to bed for a luxurious, lazy Sunday - snuggles, sleep (well, I managed some, I'm not sure D did) followed by hours of slow, drowsy debauchery. He also gave me a card which entertained me no end:

Think of the possibilities! I can place it pointing at my work desk; pointing at my bed; pointing at friends I want to ~~annoy~~ amuse. First, though, of course, I had to arrange it pointing at D's butt. Which is, I have to confess, fairly edible.

On Monday I saw Penny, and I've already written about what we got up to during the day - which was certainly adult and very entertaining, but not especially appetising. The evening, however, was a gastronomic triumph in five courses (although we never actually got as far as the cheese). Baked pumpkin risotto balls with parmesan; broccoli and stilton soup; pasta with mushrooms, garlic and pancetta in a cream and wine sauce; bread and butter pudding with homemade Seville marmalade. She knows the route to a lady's heart, alright - and she's pretty tasty herself.

Then last night, Tom treated me to a belated Valentine's dinner at home. We'd had an extended scene planned which it turned out I was too tired for (to my disappointment - but we'll find another date), so I was prepared for a quiet evening. At the last minute he decided to spoil me rotten, and surprised me with an unexpected three course dinner. Tsatsiki, houmous and pitta dippers to start, then pan-fried marinated lamb steaks in garlic and rosemary, with roasted vegetables and cheesy cauliflower. Plus strawberries with vanilla cream for dessert. Oh, man.

*brief interlude to eat leftover toasted pitta strips and red pepper houmous (nomnomNOM)*

But the biggest and best surprise came later that night - after we'd repaired to the bedroom and I'd been lavished with affection, cuddles, and an over-the-knee spanking which didn't push my tired body too far. As if all that wasn't enough, he then presented me with the best. Valentine. EVER:

They're giant chocolate biscuits with icing and HANDPRINTS. Edible spanko valentines! OMG!

Would you be wooed by this man?

The first hand and spanked ass disappeared quite quickly. Luckily, there were two more sets in the bottom of the box :)

(They're by a kinky friend of ours who's just setting up shop as a confectioner. Aren't they awesome? As a thank you to her I thought I'd let you know she was taking orders, in case there's anyone who fancies giving their own partner a delicious spanko gift. They're £10 for one hand/heart or £20 for three, including P&P. Let me know if you're interested and I'll pass it on!)

Green Porno

2011-02-15T14:20:00.000Z

Yesterday the lovely Penny and I celebrated Valentine's Day by going to the Sexual Nature exhibition at the Natural History Museum. It's good fun, and well worth the money, revealing lots of beautiful and gross details about the sexual habits of various animals, with a refreshing emphasis on the variety inherent in nature and the weird restrictiveness of human sexual morality. Did you know that homosexual orangutan sex is much more cuddly and affectionate than hetero encounters? Or that spinner dolphins mate in large orgies known as wuzzles? Bisexuality, homosexuality, transexuality, polyamory - the animal kingdom has it all.

The highlight of the exhibition was a selection of Green Porno videos by Isabella Rossellini, a charming series of shorts in which she dresses up and demonstrates the bizarre mating habits of different creatures. Such as this delightful take on sadomasochistic snails:

You can view the whole series online at the Sundance Channel's Green Porno page. Look out for lesbian lizards, necromantic praying mantises, and the decombobulating vaginas of ducks...

A long-awaited scene

2011-02-14T13:52:00.001Z

I've noted before that positive sexual energy seems to flow through my polycule; when I have fun with one partner, it can precipitate unexpected good times with the others.

It felt a bit like that last Wednesday. Even while D was still at mine, I was stealing occasional kisses and cuddles from Tom which held far more promise than I've been able to expect of him since his health worsened last November. On Wednesday evening, after D headed home, Tom caught me in an unexpected embrace. From the way he kissed me my hopes that he might be feeling a bit more like his usual self started to soar; and as I drew back enough to look into his eyes I discovered to my delight that his domly twinkle had returned.

It's a tough balancing act, a relationship with chronic health problems. The person who isn't ill has the job of not putting any pressure on their partner to do more than they're capable of, and reassure them that it's totally okay and they should take whatever time they need - even though you desperately miss being physically close to them, would kind of like some physical reassurance, and want to show your partner that they're wanted. Likewise, the person who is ill has to be honest about their limitations, clearly express their boundaries and reassure themselves that they aren't a failure for being ill (probably while feeling humiliated, guilty or angry or a mix of all three), at the same time as reassuring their partner that the issue isn't lack of desire or interest. It's tough.

We've been getting better at it, I think, although initially I was so keen to reassure Tom that I wanted him lots and lots and lots that I ended up making him feel even worse about not being able to give me what I wanted. Poly helps; having other partners I can turn to has enabled me to put less pressure on Tom, and having a nice time with another partner gives me an energy boost which I can then feed back into my relationship with him.

Over the winter I got used to not expecting Tom to be well enough for the sort of play I knew we both wanted, and I was happy to put those desires to one side and simply enjoy his company and closeness until he told me otherwise. So when that twinkle reappeared in his eyes, I wasn't expecting it - and my surprise made it all the sweeter.

It was the first time we'd played for weeks, so he was understandably cautious. I on the other hand was in high spirits, and being as cheeky and flirtatious as I thought I could get away with. The combination turned out to be remarkably successful.

Over his knee, I peeked over my shoulder every chance I got, and encouraged him as he started out with gentle warm-up smacks. He set a leisurely pace and I had no desire to rush him; I just wanted to let him know it was all good with me. As he slowly stepped up the power I found my joy at being back in this beloved, familiar situation bubbling over. Every time he elicited an "oww" from me I couldn't help laughing. I loved the strength of his thighs bearing me up, loved the warmth and promising pressure between them, loved the rough smoothness of his big work-hardened hands. I didn't go wanting for rubs and caresses, and when he made me yelp with his trademark strong, full-bodied, fleshy smacks - and, next, with the hairbrush - rather than feeling fear I found myself giggling with delight.

It was a joyful, positive vibe. I kept making eye contact with him and grinning. As I lay down over pillows in the middle of the bed I knew this was going to be an extended session, a making-up-for-lost-time sort of scene, and my heart was singing.

I'd been slowly, methodically warmed up with hand and hairbrush, Tom taking care to colour my bottom evenly from thighs to dimples. So I was more than ready for his belt; felt not a jolt of terror as it increased in force; watched the shadow of his arm lifting on the wall in front of me with lip-biting anticipation. The razor strop was next, broader and heavier but old, old leather, and I lifted my arse and groaned gratefully at each impact. He used the wooden ruler almost full force and I sighed into the pillows. I was eating up everything he could give me. My masochism light had been turned up as bright as it goes, and I couldn't get enough.

At some point - just after the strop, I think - I flashed a smile at him and asked if he was taking requests. Why, what did I have in mind? I mentioned that all the canes in our collection were in my room, apart from one, which was in his. I was referring to the Master cane, the 12mm dragon I bought him for his 30th birthday. He made no promises, and when the ruler came out I complained, laughing. Next, though, he picked up one of our favourite medium-strength canes, and I knew he'd get to where I wanted, in his own sweet time.

Two canings. I think he made me count the first one, but did the honours himself for the second, harder one. I have the number 24 in my head but I can't remember if that was one or both. I just remember my hunger, my voracious appetite for impact.

I wish I could predict what will put me in that mood. The warm up helped, as did the long build-up since our last play session, but neither of those factors can be relied on; just as love, submission and desire alone aren't always enough. I do think that poly can play a part - I was feeling loved and rejuvenated from a happy two days in D's company, which meant I didn't need comforting or looking after by Tom, I was coming to him from a place of strength and happiness.

The warm up had another effect, which was purely physical. After a long session of hard impact play I woke up the next morning without a mark on me. (Despite the fact I have a kink for being marked, I was glad - I've just spent the weekend with D and am seeing Penny tonight and tomorrow, and it seems politer not to be pre-battered when I visit them.) Tom warmed me up so thoroughly that I barely even welted at the time, even though the final caning alone would have left me seriously bruised had it been given cold. The weirdness of this fact continues to fascinate me. Aren't bodies wonderful?

Getting Medieval on her Ass

2011-02-10T23:50:00.001Z

Northern Spanking have a new video online, featuring two of my favourite spanking models - Amelia Jane Rutherford and Zoe Montana - appearing together in the same film for, I think, the first time. It also stars Paul Kennedy, Stephen Lewis (flagellant monk par excellence!), and Zoe's husband Nick. I really like watching real couples interact on film. Plus a historical context with flowing medieval costumes. What's not to like?

The scene represents a public fantasy; a sort of punishment free-for-all. Zoe is displayed in the 'town square' and a herald announces that all whom this wench has wronged should come forward and deal with her as they see fit. Hot. The scenario is immediately made more edgy by the presence of Amelia's character, the virtuous lady spectator whose role in events is unclear. Her glee pointedly contrasts with Zoe's suffering, and her prurient smirks and faux innocence ("'Tis my sad duty to bare her wicked flesh!") made me grin from the offset.

When it comes down to it, this film is NSI ham at its best. Amelia-Jane strikes saintly poses in the corners. Everyone looks fabulous in their costumes (and we get a rare glimpse of Paul without his glasses!). The actors deliver snort-inducing lines with exuberantly serious dramatic flair. (At one point Amelia's shrieks of outrage max out the treble on my speakers, but her facial expressions throughout are so entertaining that I didn't mind one jot). And as a straightforward public humiliation/victim fantasy, it's extremely appealing.

Catch the full video and photostory at Northern Spanking

The evolution of punishment; or, how I came to like it

2011-02-09T02:21:00.004Z

If I were to tell you that historically, punishment has not been something I've enjoyed, I'd appear to be stating the obvious. Of course no-one enjoys punishment, that's sort of the point. But even within the familiar paradox of kink, punishment has not been a framework that I've tended to find fun to play with. Hot, undeniably; but in the context of a real dominance and submission agreement, coupled with a hopelessly strong desire to please those I love, earning a punishment has never been a fun way to initiate play for me. It's been rare, and when it's happened it's been about genuine upsets or disappointment, it's been tearful and it's not been pleasant for either of us.

Of course that mode of punishment also has value: catharsis; the putting to bed of heartfelt remorse, relief from guilt; the raw intimacy that comes from undergoing such an ordeal together for the sake of maintaining good faith. The self-respect that can be earned by bravely facing the unpleasant but necessary consequences of regretted actions.

Until now it's only ever arisen in two contexts; the breaking of pre-negotiated agreements, or the resolution of relationship conflicts where I came to see myself as being in the wrong, and craved some sort of absolution before I could forgive myself and move on. Neither an experience I'm inclined to seek out.

Recently, this sort of "serious" punishment hasn't been a feature of either of my primary relationships. Tom's health problems are well chronicled, as is D's reticence about adopting the more ceremonial aspects of D/s.

So the deal I've made with D this year has been an interesting experiment. My first punishment under our new agreement took place in a highly sexually charged context, and wasn't, to my surprise, the edgiest aspect of our play that day. Since then, at my instigation, we've expanded our agreement so that he's helping me keep track of more than just my drinking levels. I'm currently trying to improve my health and fitness more generally, and regular exercise is part of that, as well as the exercises I've been given by my physiotherapist to address my particular back problems. So as well as booze, I'm now reporting in on two additional counts: if I do my back exercises every day, and if I visit the gym three times a week.

Of course, as soon as he agreed to help me keep track of these extra factors, I immediately came down with a filthy cold, so I had a temporary reprieve until I was better. I was still not at all well the last time I visited D, which led to the punishment for the two missed days of back exercises before I got ill being postponed. Then once I recovered, I was working all hours of the day trying to make up for lost time on various client projects, I'd got out of the habit, and finding half an hour a day to do back exercises was not top of my priority list.

When we came to deal with things yesterday, then, I had quite a lot accumulated. One missed daily report. Six missed days of back exercises. To my relief, it turned out that I'd been doing really well with drinking moderately (thanks in part to the cold!) and I hadn't missed any gym sessions - but still. He'd already told me it would be six whacks with the bath brush for every missed day of exercises. Plus twelve for the missed report, adding up to a colossal 48.

So you'd think that I'd be a mess of nerves, leading up to it. But to my surprise, when he mentioned that he was packing the brush, when I saw it waiting for me on the pillow in the morning, when he came up behind me at my desk and softly kissed the back of my neck to give me my 15 minute warning, I didn't feel anxious, or upset. My primary emotion was one of reassurance, of security.

I felt loved, knowing that he cared enough to put energy into keeping his side of the bargain, even though it's not his normal style. My fear of the brush translated into a thrill of arousal. I knew I wasn't going to get shouted at. I knew I wasn't going to have personally disappointed him. The goalposts were set by me, and the only person I was letting down was myself. And I - well, I was doing my best, and working out this deal with D and accepting my punishment was part of that endeavour. There was no point feeling guilty about it. Half an hour of exercises every day is a tough habit to get into straightaway. I knew I wasn't going to manage it straight off. I'd done worse than I hoped, but there weren't going to be any recriminations or hard feelings. Just a quick punishment to deal with past 'failures', and the chance to do better next time. It felt honest, and straightforward, and strangely liberating.

When I reached a stopping point in my work, I joined him on the bed. He let me look at the spreadsheet and we discussed how I'd done. He was impressed with me for going to the gym while I was still ill; and my drinking had been lighter than my stated aims. But the back exercises were a problem. We talked about ways to help me get into the habit. Setting a time each day, and an alarm on my phone. It feels strange to stop working when I'm being productive, but I should justify it by thinking of the break itself as a health benefit; the consequences of doing computer work all day will be lessened if I get up and move around regularly. They only take half an hour, less time than the washing up, less time than a bath, less time than it takes to tidy my room or go to the shop.

After a little while I realised I was using the talk to put off the inevitable. Our eyes met. He stood up and held out his hands, and I joined him. A kiss, and then his eyes scanned me, and with a quirk of his lips he said quietly "Take off all your clothes, I think."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

I did. Then I lay down, as instructed, over pillows on the bed, and he told me that I'd be counting these in sets; not each stroke, but each misdeed, starting with the missed report.

I felt so safe in his hands, so reassured by his gentle manner, that I forgot how much that damn brush hurts. It doesn't seem to have much weight to it but every stroke is a targeted, stinging punch and I am incapable of thinking while it's going on. It just gets to me, pure and simple. The pain is startling, shocking; even when I know it's coming it takes me aback.

Tom was in the next room, so I tried to be quiet. I hissed, I took deep breaths, I yelled silently into the pillows, I grabbed fistfuls of duvet, and when one set of six landed hard and fast I couldn't do anything except twist and howl and involuntarily clench both buttocks and try to flinch away. In between he stroked my back with a tender hand, and I gasped and thanked him and gritted my teeth for the next.

Then it was over; and as I cuddled up to him I realised that I hadn't cried, hadn't had the catharsis experience I usually associate with punishment. This was less distressing and less complex than that. On one level it was wholeheartedly, straightforwardly consensual. This whole thing was my idea. D wasn't being domineering, making me do things I didn't want to do; he was my team-mate, my equal partner, working with me to help me achieve my aims. On another, my crime was not emotionally distressing; a minor blip in my striving for self-improvement, but I hadn't hurt anyone and had no reason to be overwhelmed by remorse or regret. This punishment was a tool in my arsenal; it was part of the plan. It wasn't anything to feel bad about. And I didn't feel bad. I felt relieved, satisfied, loved, reassured, safe.

And - oh, my treacherous cunt - actually really turned on.

It turned out I wasn't the only one. Of course, snuggling up to him, naked and trying to rub the persistent itchy sting out of my bottom, it was easy to get distracted. More kisses didn't help. When my hand brushed against the hot bulge in his jeans I asked "Is that from kissing me or spanking my bottom?"

He smiled. "Yes."

His hand, exploring in due course, discovered what I'd suspected - that all my protestations of being a good girl who hates being punished were belied my by body's reactions. I was slippery wet. "My cunt and I disagree on the question of the bath brush. It thinks it's hot."

"Your cunt," said D, around promising kisses, "thinks anything you're afraid of is hot."

--

He told me to put on black and white stripy stockings, and spanked me again just because he could, making me kneel with my arse stuck right out so there was no padding to bounce under his palm, just taut skin. He smacked the backs of my thighs, too, and at various points my breasts. Our enthusiasm was mutual, and our lovemaking an excruciatingly pleasurable mix of tenderness and violence.

I can't help feeling that there's something wrong with this positive feedback loop; that if we have so much fun every time I'm punished, won't it be self-defeating? I do genuinely want it to help me improve. But those objections are theoretical. Deep down, I'm not conflicted at all; my satisfaction is too self-evident to argue with. Yes, I'll try to earn less punishment next time. If I get some, I'll take it and it'll bring us closer together. If I don't, he'll probably find an excuse to beat me anyway. Or perhaps I'll just keep raising my goals to stay slightly ahead of my progress, so I'll always fall slightly short of them - all in the name of self improvement, of course. It's all good.

(I'll leave you with one final image: me, just after D had put his jeans back on and returned to his work, doing my back exercises on the floor in knickers and a t-shirt, bottom still glowing from my recent spanking and the carpet feeling very rough where I was tender. The whole thing probably helped me loosen up, but if I'm going to used that method regularly I'm going to need to get a yoga mat.)

The neurological connection between pain and pleasure

2011-02-06T20:35:00.002Z

What happens in the brain during orgasm? I don't know about you, but I've always wanted to know. It turns out to be pretty cool. Did you know that the clitoris alone has more than 8,000 nerve-endings? Or that women with a severed spinal cord can still enjoy vaginal orgasms?

Interestingly, they discovered that there aren't too many differences between men's and women's brains when it comes to sex. In both, the brain region behind the left eye, called the lateral orbitofrontal cortex, shuts down during orgasm. Janniko R. Georgiadis, one of the researchers, said, "It's the seat of reason and behavioral control. But when you have an orgasm, you lose control" [source: LA Times]. Dr. Gert Holstege stated that the brain during an orgasm looks much like the brain of a person taking heroin. He stated that "95 percent is the same" [source: Science News].

This research doesn't seem to have included any non-cisgendered participants. Other studies show that the brains of transgendered people have more in common with their chosen gender than the gender they were born as, but it's unclear what extent the differences in the nervous system would have on orgasm at a neurological level.

There are some differences, however. When a woman has sex, a part of the brain stem called the periaqueductal gray (PAG) is activated. The PAG controls the "flight or fight" response. Women's brains also showed decreased activity in the amygdala and hippocampus, which deal with fear and anxiety. The team theorized that these differences existed because women have more of a need to feel safe and relaxed in order to enjoy sex.

I'm obviously cagey about the team's reading of the decreased activity in the amygdala and hippocampus. I'm not a neuroscientist, but I've written before about the problems inherent in the assumption that women need to feel "safe" to enjoy sex. Most people need to feel reasonably safe to enjoy sex, in the sense of trusting that your partner will respect your boundaries - and it doesn't match my experience at all that women are any more likely to enjoy risky play within those boundaries than men. I don't know enough about the amygdala or hippocampus to make a sensible theory myself, but it seems possible that the causation there is the other way round - i.e. the pleasure of orgasm temporarily decreases fear and anxiety, rather than vice versa?

The most interesting part for me, of course, was this:

In addition, the area of the cortex associated with pain was activated in women, which shows that there is a distinct connection between pain and pleasure.

It won't come as a surprise to any spanko that there's a connection between pain and pleasure in the brain. What's interesting is that the research picked up this difference on gender lines. Since not all women are into spanking or pain play, and of those that are, not all of them are into receiving it, this is a curious finding indeed. I'd be fascinated to see some research which compares the level of activation in this part of the brain during orgasm between men and women who identify as kinky or non-kinky, dominant or submissive, sadistic or masochistic. It would surprise me to discover that masochistic women had more in common with non-masochistic women than with masochistic men. If the neurological connection between pain and pleasure is not universal among humans, I'd expect the differences to along lines of preference rather than gender. But I suspect we won't see much of this sort of in-depth research conducted in a gender-neutral and kink-positive way quite yet.

BDSM, bondage and six pairs of pants

2011-02-04T01:13:00.000Z

To my delight, more and more spanking models are launching their own sites. This isn't a new phenomenon - some of the oldest and best sites around are performer-led - but it's pleasing to see the numbers increase. After all, what better way to ensure that the porn you're watching is ethical than to know it's independent and homegrown, with no directors or decision-makers other than the primary spankee? When, like me, you prefer to watch scenarios with a non-consensual edge, that security becomes all the more important.

My own baby will be some time in coming, but US model Sarah Gregory has recently launched her own site, Sarah Gregory Spanking, which I've been watching with great interest, and which seems to be reaching a consistently high standard with a strong sense of authenticity and fun. And to my great pleasure, other UK models are getting in on the action - such as the geeky, poly, switchy Nimue, whose forthcoming site will be live at NimuesWorld.com sometime in the next few months.

Like mine, Nimue's kinks bridge the boundaries of BDSM and spanking, and her site will reflect her broad range of interests from traditional CP to bondage, D/s and hot queer action. When she had a model cancellation last week I jumped at the chance to help out a fellow lady entrepreneur, and get a sneaky preview into what her project was about while I was at it.

In the intervening week I managed to come down with a hell of a cold, and even after three days of reluctant bedrest I still wasn't quite 100% come Monday. The situation wasn't improved by a night of bizarrely persistent insomnia, despite the help of Night Nurse and D's very comfy bed. Still, I made it onto the early train, and in the event my croaky voice was more of a hindrance than the sleep deprivation. Nimue was very understanding about the lack of voice (huskiness is less forgivable in schoolgirls than vanilla adult porn!) and I kept tiredness at bay with performance adrenaline, and a constant stream of cups of tea.

The first clip went through several changes of plan. Originally it was meant to be a piano lesson with some hand caning - until we found out that the piano space in the studio was more industrial decay than schoolroom. Nimue suggested a student sneaking into an old junkroom or attic to play without permission, but that lovely idea was scuppered by the loud building works taking place overhead. So we moved into the classroom setup - but now I needed something to be punished for.

I floated an idea based an email I'd received, a true school story of the day my correspondent wore two pairs of pants to detention, fearing that they'd get whacked. They weren't - but oh, what if they had! We decided to take it to extremes: I put on as many pairs of knickers as I physically could.

The trickiest bit was getting it to look reasonably inconspicuous from the outside. If I'd had advance warning I'd have packed some gym knickers to go on top, but I had to make do with layering a pair of black shorts with a pair of black briefs; one covering the hems underneath at the top, one at the bottom. Below them I had three pairs of patterned knickers and one pair of white shorts. A knicker fetishist's bonanza! They felt slightly odd to sit on, delightfully silly and ever so naughty. I had to struggle to keep a straight face as I sat in detention, writing out lines.

As I bend over for the inevitable tawse, the teacher's suspicions are raised by the unusual sound it makes - and the fact I'm taking the strokes far better than he expected. My cunning ruse is rumbled! So, of course, I'm taken over the knee and spanked over each pair of knickers in turn, the spanking becoming increasingly effective until it reaches bare flesh.

Not only that, but I'm awarded a stroke of the cane for every pair until I've learned that 'cheats don't prosper'.

I actually ended up getting about 12 strokes so we could get the different camera angles we needed. Not that I minded. I don't usually need much persuasion to take the cane.

The next scene was Nimue's chance to get in front of the camera and be a prize bitch. We were two fashion models, conveniently allowing cameraman to play photographer and our real photographer to take stills while we were filming, with flashes for once in character.

Jealous of being put in flat shoes while her taller co-model towers over her in heels, Nimue gets her revenge - and gives the photographer some shots he wasn't quite expecting.

Finally, we did something new for me, although not so much for Nimue. Although BDSM activities are a regular part of my private sex play, they aren't something I do much on camera - and until now, only if I was shooting with one of my partners. When I found out that Nimue was after some BDSM content, I realised that my habitual reticence is mostly my reluctance to do this sort of thing with male tops - I hadn't had the opportunity to film a BDSM scene with a woman before.

We discussed my limits: no intimate touching below the waist, but breast play is fine; pinwheels and electricity aren't hot for me; bondage clamps, gags, blindfolds, kissing, throat/breath play and whipping all good. I was also up for some hot wax, but the candles didn't get packed. Next time!

We set up a simple little D/s scene on the four poster bed. No acting, no complicated plot, just two people connecting. I wore wrist and ankle cuffs, and crawled in at my lady's summons. She put me in a chest harness and tied me spreadeagled on the bed. The position was superficially comfortable, but I quickly realised what a strain it put on my thighs, and by the end they were shaking. I was teased, tormented, and thoroughly toyed with. Nimue experimented on me playfully, carefully, always measuring my reactions, her eye contact warm and constant. I quickly developed a healthy respect for her sadism, but it still felt natural to grin and make the occasional pert remark.

It was the first time I'd explored a new D/s connection with someone on camera, and it was fascinating. It was clearly bounded by professional limits, and didn't contain the depth or passion of my romantic partnerships - but the energy and trust we exchanged was real, and I felt very comfortable and safe in Nimue's hands.

And, I'll admit, it was hot. She whipped my vulnerable chest and belly with a tiny, sharp-thonged flogger; made me jump and squirm with cruel smacks on the front of my stockinged thighs; attached clamps to my nipples and hung weights off the chain; slapped my breasts a lot and caned them with a thin switch. Yeah, it was hot.

As I headed home, hindered by tiredness, it took me some time to get my head around the newness of the experience, the things it was and the things it was not. I felt unusually chaste that evening, despite the company of the lovely Penny; played out for the day, perhaps, or just physically exhausted. But that was just an adjustment process; I have no regrets whatsoever. What a lovely treat to enjoy such pleasures as part of one's job. I definitely wouldn't object to doing it again, if the circumstances are right.

The disciplined dancer

2011-01-26T20:47:00.000Z

I love this promo gallery shared on Spankolife by David Pierson. Starring dancer Angelica and top Veronica Bound, it features beautiful use of natural light and some simple, striking compositions.

I love the use of the high-legged chair to adjust for tall spankee and average-height spanker.

Beautiful kneeling bench, too - although having experienced a similar kneeling punishment recently, I know how hard that position is.

You can view the full photoset and video on Punished Brats.

Plans are afoot (although not - yet - legwarmers)

2011-01-25T02:19:00.003Z

This morning, as I emailed D my daily report on the previous day's drinking (one pint of berry cider, for the curious) I asked him a question which came up while I was swimming yesterday. How about if I listed my exercise along with the booze? No pressure to add it to the D/s deal, but I'm picking up my fitness schedule at the moment and I want to keep track. Since I was sending these emails anyway, it seemed easiest to roll it in, if he didn't mind?

Happy to keep notes, he replied, also happy to discuss how you might be held accountable for keeping at it. Thrills.

This evening, I got online to an email entitled 'Instructions'. I'm to bring a school uniform with me this weekend. Not the sexy brat kind, the authentic kind. White knickers. Flat shoes.

Things progress apace.

It's astonishing how well long-distance (well, relatively; different towns, but only 2 hours away) has suited us these last few months. Seeing each other is a treat; in between we miss each other like crazy. It's not just the distance; our communication is the best it's ever been, we're confident with each other, and every good experience swells the positive feedback loop. But the distance, the missing, wanting what we can't have, sending each other horny text messages when we're not seeing each other for days - it gives it that urgency, that edge.

In chat this evening, he enquired whether asking for spanking would ruin the experience for me. I was surprised by the question - surely I've blogged enough about asking for a spanking over the years? - but thinking about it, I realised I've done that with Tom far more than with D. Partly because D's topping style is so spontaneous; partly because our communication about sex has only recently become so fluent, and in past years I was more insecure and afraid of rejection, and less articulate about my wants. Partly because D has, historically, been more into mindfucks than beating me - has treated my penchant for CP with a wry amusement - and I didn't want to impose my kink on him too much.

But the positive feedback loop seems to have done its stuff. D's confidence has grown with experience - specifically, his confidence that I really do enjoy it - and that knowledge seems to have fed his sadism in a direct way. He's more interested in spanking me, and, apparently, he's also interested in being asked explicitly when I want it. He's always encouraged me to talk filthy. He likes it, especially if I feel shy and end up squirming.

In answer to his question I said that spanking works for me with a myriad different headspaces. Wanting to please, but finding this implement difficult. Sexy, enthusiastic, loving it. Immersed in subspace, flying high. Playful and laughing, mock-hating it. Roleplay scenes. Punishments. Edgy and emotionally difficult scenes in which I'm pushed.

I enjoy all of these, but only some of them are compatible with asking for a spanking. If I've asked, the consent is made explicit - it's difficult to play with non-consent after that point. So yes, asking for a spanking is great if I want a playful, sensual scene - but for the D/s to get intense the control has to be out of my hands. The only way an asked-for spanking could become edgy is if the top turns the tables on me and gives me more than I expected, an implement I didn't ask for; starts to make me regret having asked in the first place. Which ... would be hot.

"Even if I want and ask for a spanking," I said, "there are some types of pain that are just going to push me. Like anal sex."

D grinned.

As I've mentioned before, anal play has been off-limits for a while for health reasons. Nothing serious - just fragile skin that tore (frustratingly, not during any sexy escapades) but has taken over a year to heal up. Much patient nursing has paid off and lately, it's felt it might be possible again.

D has been teasing me with the idea accordingly, as any self-respecting sadist would. Somehow, I guessed that this whole schoolgirl plan might have something to do with my recently healed, pseudo-inexperienced arse. The image made me shiver with arousal and fear.

He confirmed my impressions as soon as the topic came up. "I tell you this now," he said smugly, "so you can agonise about it for the rest of the week."

"Waaay ahead of you."

"I hope my housemates are out. I'd like to hear you screaming for me."

I visualised myself, white knee socks, innocently flat heeled shoes, white school blouse. White knickers puddled around my ankles. Being spanked, the fantasy remained demure. But this ... I would be frightened, struggling, sweaty. School tie around my wrists, perhaps? Knickers stuffed in my mouth?

"Pity I don't have a Japanese school uniform," I quipped, disguising my flutters of erotic fear with flippancy. "I'm going to feel like a manga character."

By mutual unspoken agreement, within a minute we were both browsing Ebay.

I've also developed a sudden desire to own legwarmers, one pair black, one white:

Neither could arrive by this weekend, but the English schoolgirl has her own appeal. And it's nice to have more than one thing to look forward to.

--

So I asked D if he wanted me to play a schoolgirl, or a grownup woman wearing a school uniform. He considered the question happily for a moment before replying that a schoolgirl would be fun. Now, our previous attempts at non-consent roleplay have been very sexual, and my ability to pretend to be suffering goes out the window once penetration is concerned. But since then I've had more practice at roleplaying, and the idea of being a very scared, very helpless, very punished schoolgirl who doesn't know what's happening to her and feels horribly dirty and violated is a fantasy that appeals. I sent D a link to Mr Defeu's extremely hot "punishment plus" story when it was posted, and he apparently found it as hot as I did.

I also like the idea of being an older schoolgirl, daring to ask for what she wants. But roleplay is where it's easiest to play with non-consent, and the little girl image appeals right now, especially in the context of the violation fantasy.

The only question remaining was, who would D be? With his long hair, tattoos and cat eyes he's not the classic authority figure. My wicked uncle? My perverted biker uncle, the black sheep of the family. Not uncle. Guardian, perhaps. I'd definitely find roleplay easier if I wasn't the only one in character; and the rougher and meaner he was, the easier I'd find it to take the pain.

To my surprised delight, and despite some understandable self-consciousness, he's game to try playing a role. I don't know what sort of shape it might be, but it wouldn't be D without some spontaneity. I'm looking forward to being surprised.

Pictures of Zille Defeu provided by the incomparable Northern Spanking. Thankyou for providing such hot fantasy fodder!

Pyjama punishments at Triple A Spanking

2011-01-22T20:46:00.013Z

I've just been watching some of the videos at brand new spanking site AAAspanking.com (I think you're meant to pronounce it "Triple A Spanking", although the idea of a spanking site called Aaaaaaah Spanking does have a certain appeal). You may remember my post last summer about this shoot, which included a gruelling game of Spanking Twister and a luxurious scene in a hot tub. Both of those videos, however, have yet to be released in full on the site (the Spanking Twister one is currently being published in installments, but I'm waiting for the whole film to be available before I watch it).

Don't be put off by the lads' mag style branding - the films are less trashy than the site design might lead you to expect. With only nine models featured at this early stage, there's already more of a range of looks and body types than you see on many sites. The shoot I was on was very model-led, with opportunity for us to come up with scenes we'd enjoy playing, no pressure to do things we weren't comfortable with (like the Religious Tattoo Punishment scene I vetoed first thing), and a light-hearted vibe which lent itself to some entertaining improv. Witty dialogue never harms a spanking scene, and quite a few of the videos had me giggling when I watched them. The concept and cinematography are hardly groundbreaking, but if you're looking for straightforward, classic spanking scenarios in high definition, you could do a lot worse.

There's a respectable amount of material for a new spanking site, but the funny thing is that nearly all the films of me so far feature pyjamas. The site is only a week old and it already has me being spanked in THREE different pairs of jim-jams. More than any other spanking site to date - how's that for a claim to fame?

Pyjamas #1: Purple polkadots (AKA 'Arson Attack')

It wasn't until I was over Paul's knee that I was informed what we were being spanked for, every morning before school. Burning down the local corner shop!

Favourite line: Leia-Ann, "It needed renovating anyway".

Pyjamas #2: Blue with pink flowers (AKA 'Red Bottoms at Breakfast')

Why bother going into school on the last day? It's a half day anyway, and the lessons are always filler. Besides, there are far more interesting things at home - like Buffy, or bread that looks like regurgitated insects. Not hairbrushes though. Hairbrushes are almost as bad as school.

Favourite moment: Leia-Ann, valiantly ignoring Jean Bradley's attempts to get through to her via her bottom, starts faking a cough while over the knee to try and get out of both the spanking, and school. It doesn't work. But good effort nonetheless!

Pyjamas #3: Black and white polkadots (AKA 'Wakey Wakey')

My bed was so comfy! Why did I have to be dragged and shouted out of it to go to the bloomin' dentist? On a Saturday morning! No fair!

I actually loved the rougher aspects of this scene. It's short, sharp and the spanking pulls no punches. Jean hauled me out of bed and over her knee, and no amount of crying or struggling did me any good whatsoever. So I took the opportunity to struggle rather a lot. HOT.

--

But the pyjama thing isn't just me. Check this lot out:

Bonus Pyjamas #1: Black satin (AKA 'Post Party Punishment')

That's Cindy Hodges modelling the slinky black and white leopard print number, and Sarah Winter (who also works as Winter Skye) not only demonstrating the "watching with horror" facial expression with flair, but suiting the blue and pink pyjama set way better than me.

Bonus Pyjamas #2: "Come here and kiss me" (AKA 'Bathroom Leathering')

Krystal Delight looking ridiculously pretty in a flirtatious 80s-style "come here and kiss me" t-shirt, teamed with cutesy teddy bear print pyjama bottoms. Her private moment in the bathroom is interrupted by Chopper, who decides that a dose of the belt is in order. Don't tell anyone, but you know, I think she might like it.

Bonus Pyjamas #3: Blue and stripy (AKA 'That's My Boyfriend!')

Jasmine Lau rocking the pale blue check with hotpants, Kami Robertson as cute as ever in blue/green pastel stripes.

I have to admit though, this scene does remind me of that bit in that Black Books season 2 episode, 'Fever', where Johnny Vegas as the sleazy landlord interrupts Fran and her neighbour arguing. "Girls! Girls! Girls ... You're both such lovely girls. Don't fight. And if you do, fight nice. With pillows. And jim-jams."

--

Finally I want to mention the way Triple A Spanking has handled their model profile pages. The bios are written by the site owner rather than by the cast themselves, but he's done a respectful job of it. My only criticism is that it would be nice to see the male actors listed alongside the women - Paul Kennedy did a fantastic job on our shoot, and deserves just as much credit as his female colleagues. But the descriptions give each actor a bit of love, with some glowing praise for their performances, and emphasis on each model as a whole person, promoting their activities within the scene and beyond on their own terms. It's not hard to do, but it makes all the difference.

Punishment, humiliation and bondage

2011-01-19T21:17:00.006Z

Photo of Ariel Anderssen courtesy of Restrained Elegance

Actually, when D suggested we get the spankings over and done with at the end of my last entry, there were two in the offing. My punishment for not checking in as per our agreement a couple of days earlier; and a fun spanking he owed me to make up for being mean.

Put like that, it sounds kind of contradictory. But I suspect you'll understand.

I was waking up with my laptop and a cup of tea, and thinking about making breakfast. I asked what he had in the kitchen, we made a plan. I settled in to read twitter while I finished my tea. D and I exchanged some sort of internet-related banter I can't remember, but which probably involved my teasing him. His retort: "Get into the kitchen and start cooking, woman!"

Now, we've talked about him making sexist jokes, even in jest. I want to call him on it but I'm in too good a mood enough to properly have a go. Instead I say: "Well, I was just about to start making you breakfast, but now you've said that I'll only do it if I get a spanking later."

He thinks for barely a moment. "Yeah, that's fair." And all is forgiven.

--

After dinner, slightly tipsy, I walk past the open bedroom door and catch sight of what's waiting on the bed. The punishment bath brush. And his belt, coiled neatly and waiting on the pillow. My tummy flips with nerves.

The next thing I remember is me, naked, standing in front of him as he sits on the corner of the bed, bath brush in hand. I'm grateful that he's on the corner rather than the edge of the bed - it allows me to go diagonally over his knee with hands and feet on the floor. I always feel awkward and huge, a giantess, when I'm lying over someone's knee with my arms and legs up on the bed. Hands and feet on the floor ironically makes me feel less self-conscious.

I got some warm-up smacks with his hand and the brush as he tested its weight. It doesn't look like it's having any effect at all, but it stings like blazes - as my squeaks testified. My head was right next to his big wall-mirror, but I stared at the carpet, unwilling to look myself in the eyes. Once he'd satisfied himself that he had the measure of the brush, he asked me if I was ready.

"Yes, sir." I was feeling very sorry and submissive and just hoping I could stand it. How many minutes was I going to get?

Then - "I'm going to give you twelve," he said, and I realised all in a rush that he didn't mean twelve minutes, he meant twelve whacks, and that this was going to be bearable. Not pleasant, but bearable.

I winced and squirmed my way through them, continually amazed at how so small and innocuous an item as that wooden brush could have so much effect - but then it was over. Ironically, the 'fun' play that followed was far more humiliating than the 'real' punishment.

--

"Put on your pretty things," said D, his smile telling me that the punishment was over. Most tops just give you a hug afterwards. He ... well.

I put on the sheer black hold-ups with ridiculous hot pink lacy tops which I'd bought for amusement's sake a couple of days earlier. Plus black patent stilettos that do up with ribbon. Standing in the heels I teetered over him, feeling shy and unbalanced, like a little girl playing grown-up dress up.

His erection told me how much he'd enjoyed spanking me (or perhaps just how much he enjoyed seeing me in stockings and heels). I was grateful for the punishment, both its inevitability and its relative lenience, and more than happy to show him how grateful I was with my mouth. In return he lay me on the bed with the heels in the air, and rewarded me for shaving my pussy that afternoon with teasing, loving licks, working inwards from my mound and upper thighs in a slow, slow circle that had me panting.

Just when I thought he was going to let me come, he stopped. I was guided to my feet again, and he tied my wrists behind my back with soft black rope. My breath was coming in tiny, nervous flutters. My whole body felt sensitised.

Suddenly he slammed me backwards against the wall. I fell against it, unsteady in the heels. His hand wrapped around my throat and forced my head up. My face was higher than his but he was looking straight into my eyes. I felt too tall, too vulnerable, my hands pressed together behind me against the cold wall. His other hand carved tendrils of sensation on my skin, making my breath catch, and then he lifted it and slapped my left breast with such force that panic, like white noise, fizzed in my brain for long seconds. I yelped loudly, shocked, and then gasped for breath, face feeling very pink, unable to move my head, his hand a steady pressure around my throat.

Our eyes met with the electric shock of hunter and hunted. I was overwhelmed by the terror of being trapped, knowing I couldn't escape his unwavering gaze, or the next slap - which made me cry out again, even though I knew it was coming. I squirmed, not sure if I was more humilated by the smacks or by his continuing to look into my face as he hit me. More slaps, making my breasts bounce. My nipples felt hard and tight and too sensitive, a situation not helped by his insistence on pulling them, pinching them before slapping them again.

I felt horrible, humiliated, scared and so aroused I was dizzy.

After taking his time punishing my breasts, he threw me onto the bed. I landed awkwardly, hands still bound behind me. Normally I'd scramble to regain my balance, try to find out where he wanted me, but all autonomy had been shocked out of me. I just lay there facedown, breathing fast and waiting for him to act. He tied my ankles together with more of the rope. Then, with another length, he bound my thighs, just above the knee.

So I'm trussed hands, thighs and feet, unable even to steady myself for balance, high heels sticking out off the edge of the bed and aching breasts smooshed into the duvet. He climbs on top of me and busies himself spanking me for a while, which is actually kind of a relief. Hand spanking, that I can cope with, and I ground myself in the familiar, pleasant sensations. But then he stops, and I can feel his cock nudging against my bottom.

He slides the velvety tip up and down my crease, teasing me with its hardness; pushing, gently, insistently, pushing, just long enough for me to start to groan, to resign myself to the pain, to whimper, "if you're going to do that, you're going to need some lube" - when he stops toying with me and plunges himself into my cunt instead. In that position I can barely move, can't do more than rock my hips back against him an inch or so, and the angle isn't one that will get me off. But that's not the point. He takes me ferociously, one hand pinning my shoulders, my head, to the bed, and I surrender.

When he stops, it's only to flip me over and shove his cock in my mouth instead. I'm so deep in subspace that I take the length of him easily, and don't resist as he violently fucks my mouth and throat. He moves me wordlessly between positions as he uses my body to his satisfaction, and I do everything he wants. Passivity isn't normally my style, but I'm so brimming over with joy and intimacy that every motion, each acquiescence feels like the most significant act in the world.

I'm back on my face, being taken roughly once more from behind when I can't bear it: I need to come. I beg him to untie me so I can kneel up. To my astonishment he indulges me. Once free I offer myself to him, arse in the air, as wanton as a bitch in heat. He seizes my hips in both hands and gives me what I'm after. I come shaking, violently, screaming, my head pulled back by the fist grabbing my hair and my arse lifted again and again against his hips.

Afterwards, I'm drowsing on the bed in a blissful haze when he jumps up and starts digging through a drawer. He gives me a kinky merit badge and I don't guess until I'm holding it in my hands which one it's going to be.

I smile. Yeah, that makes sense. I had wondered if it was going to be the Deep Throat one, but I guess that adventure is still to come.

e[lust] #22

2011-01-18T22:09:00.001Z

For I think the first time in the history of this blog, my submission was voted in the top three posts. Wheee! Thanks so much, anonymous judges! You know how to make a girl's day :)

Photo courtesy of Lady Grinning Soul

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #23? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Erotic asphyxiation: treatments of kink in therapy and the media - Kink and BDSM practitioners often come to an enhanced understanding of their own desires through the emphasis on personal boundaries and communicative consent which arises from a responsible approach to power and pain play.

Mirror, mirror - I found myself back there again, perched on the edge of the white expanse, spreading myself shamelessly in front of the glass

Worry - I’ve been thinking about rape culture more than ever before. On the outside, much of K’s and my play looks like sexual abuse. It’s not, because consent is always central.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

gender and misogyny: responsibility and erotic writing - I spent a good portion of my adult life being gender fluid myself ... and have partnered with several gender fluid folks as a top. Creating representation of us and our eroticism feels so vital to me, so important.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Help End the Backlog - Speaking out works. Taking action works. Silence doesn’t. Politicians on every level need to hear your voice saying “this is unacceptable”. 76%. 3/4. That’s how many rapists get away with it on a national level.

See also: Pleasurists #111 and #112 for all your sex toy review needs

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Writing

A Tryst By The Car
Compliant
Fantasy: Brand New Day
First-Time Sex: How I Lost My Virginity
Happy New Year
Hysteria
Indiscretions Vol. 1: Caught And Wild Chlid
Like Mother, Like Daughter (part two)
Loving her, Mounting her, Owning her
Merry Christmas Baby
O/One
Should Have
The Starlet
Undiscovered
Wax Off
Whenever I'm Alone With You
Yeeees. Date Night

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Breaking Up, Polyamory Style
Computer Sex
Douchebagopolis - When Communication Fails At A Swinger Party
Epiphora's best and worst sex toys of 2010
Good Head
Hormones & Biological Clock Ticking
Lockets, Sins and Ink
Off My Chest
Swing Shift Volume 39- One and Only
Semi-Rant Part Two

Kink & Fetish

Barely Cooking Christmas Party
Camp Smack That Ass!
Fucked in bondage
Fucking bitch
How He Does It
Master's Good Medicine
Paddled and Fucked
Parodies and Pizza Boys
Photographer
School Girl Night
shes and me...
You Know It Was Good When...

Temperance

2011-01-17T15:21:00.007Z

Before Christmas I asked D if he'd do something for me. I'd become aware, lately, that I'd been drinking more than I was comfortable with, and I wanted help keeping track of it. With some nervousness, I hinted that the sort of help I wanted was the D/s type. D's never been particularly comfortable with formally structured protocols, and prefers a level of informality and spontaneity to both play and punishment. 'Serious' rather than playful punishments have been rare between us, and mostly on a one-off basis - although I've learned over the years that this doesn't mean our D/s dynamic is any less real.

So I wasn't sure how he'd react to the idea of a more structured, explicitly negotiated system to help me watch my drinking. I told him the truth - that I'd taken the proposal to Tom, first, but although he'd agreed, he never ended up acting on it. Tom's health has been so poor lately, and his stress levels so high, that it hadn't seemed fair for me to put extra pressure and responsibility on him. So I checked that Tom didn't mind, and approached D instead.

To my surprise, D seemed amenable. Unlike Tom and me he almost never drinks; perhaps that was why he felt comfortable keeping tabs on this area of my life. He'd feel hypocritical, he said later, holding me to standards he wasn't keeping himself. (In my defence, I'm not a total pisshead - four pints of cider is an unusually heavy night's drinking for me - but I do find it all too easy to have one or two at the end of a long day, and it adds up. When I realised I couldn't remember the last day I'd abstained completely, I decided it was time to change my habits.)

After a vague "yes" but no further discussion, I knew better than to push, and left the ball in D's court. Sooner than I expected, however, I received a startlingly stern email from him describing the process and principles he wanted me to follow, and asking me to let him know the guidelines I wanted to be kept to. I read that email several times: it was a delicious mix of negotiation and dominance. The basic rules were up to me - although he was prepared to let me know if he thought my suggestions were too slack. But once agreed, he would keep me to them; and it was him that insisted that I send him an email every morning reporting what I'd drunk the night before. If you don't report a drinking level for a given day, without a good reason, then I'll assume you deserve a punishment for that day regardless of surrounding drinking levels. I shivered with delight at the realisation that he was taking this seriously.

We discussed punishments. A designated implement seemed sensible, given the associations it was likely to accumulate. With some trepidation I proposed the horrible little bath brush which, conveniently, has been barely used since I bought it. We were both being very honest with each other - him about his lack of booze knowledge, and me about my own weaknesses. The whole thing felt more consultative than authoritative, but I felt very secure knowing that, unlike me, he wasn't going to cut me any more slack than I deserved. I was confident that the structure we'd developed was sensible and sustainable, holding me to the spirit (as it were!) rather than the letter of the law, and I trusted D to make fair judgments.

As I sent him my daily emails (a hard habit to get into), it became clear that I was trying to lean too heavily on my 'rules', whereas he was more interested in general patterns and my perceptions. At first it felt like I was in a constant state of self-denial - possibly the restrictions increased the temptation - and moderation felt surprisingly difficult. Nonetheless, as I'd hoped, the act of recording affected my decisions, and the prospect of disappointing my Dom proved far better motivation than my vague guidelines in themselves.

After about a week, I discovered that he was collating the emails in a spreadsheet. A categorised, colour-coded spreadsheet. I was amused, flattered, aroused - but also shiveringly nervous at the precise record-keeping this implied. I've had punishment books before - but this was my first punishment spreadsheet!

I got to see it in person on Friday afternoon. Green text marked the booze-free days; red the heavier ones. A blazing scarlet background denoted the day I forgot to check in. We argued about that, a bit. The thing is that I was fairly sure I'd not drunk anything that day, but I couldn't prove it until I got back home. I was perfectly happy to be punished for not sending the email, but it seemed unfair and unproductive to treat the missed email as if I'd had a piss-up. The two crimes were clearly separate! Eventually he agreed - by which point of course I felt anxious and guilty about having got my way.

Once the spreadsheet was up to date, D cheerily suggested that we get the punishment over with. With alarm, I suddenly realised how close I was to tears. A combination of disappointment for having missed a report, anxiety about the perceived unfairness and guilt for arguing with him. As we hugged he noticed my trembling, and decided that spankings would happen after dinner. I was both relieved and disappointed. I appreciated the chance to calm down enough that I had a chance of taking my punishment with some dignity, but no-one likes to wait.

(To be continued...)

Porn, criticism and dialogue

2011-01-14T01:00:00.006Z

As some of you will have seen, this week has seen Kink.com come under scrutiny for the press release starting to be known as "Hymen-gate", in which the ceremonial deflowering of young model Nicki Blue was marketed using sexist and damaging language. It's been an enlightening conversation for all sorts of reasons. Here's the lowdown:

The offending press release, as reposted across the adult web.

Kink.com model Maggie Mayhem wrote a comprehensive and balanced critique of the press release, complete with educational material on vaginal anatomy and why these details are socially and ethically important. She has just published an inspiring follow-up post in which she credits Kink for responding quickly and positively to the criticism and talks about the ways in which small things can change the world.

The post on the Kink forums in which Nicki Blue announced her desire to experience her first vaginal penetration on video. It's interesting that Nicki seems to have initiated the problematic language about "taking her virginity" and "breaking her hymen" - either her forum post is deeply 'in character' of her virgin fantasy, or she could perhaps benefit from a little sex education herself.

Adele Haze explains why, although this isn't okay, it isn't surprising given Kink's track record with affiliate promos that are demeaning to women (which is weird, given this trend really isn't reflected in the scenes themselves).

Maybe Maimed roundly condemns Kink for their mode of porn-selling, if not their mode of porn-making; his post contains a number of links to other discussions of this issue, if you're interested.

This discussion has been fascinating for its revelations into Kink's workings. Like Maggie, they were one of the first BDSM websites I came across, and I always felt comfortable with the extremity of their scenarios because of their overt focus on consent, the enjoyment and limits of the models, and transparency. In the presentation of scenes on the site the promo text is usually "out of character" and praises the models' professionalism, courage, endurance, beauty and horniness. Even in the free previews you get a happy smiling post-scene shot, and the videos are supplemented by forum discussions and a lot of behind the scenes content. It's great to be reassured that this impression is upheld by outspoken feminist performers who have worked for them.

At the same time, the models who support them don't do so unconditionally. Being able to honestly and publicly critique a studio you hope to work for again is hell of a brave thing to do, and I'm full of respect not only for models like Maggie who are prepared to do so firmly and politely, but also for a studio that can listen, take the criticism on board and not take offence. That's got to be healthy, and it's the sort of dialogue I'd like to see between more models and producers in an open and respectful way.

This is why the internet has revolutionalised porn; because it facilitates exactly this sort of conversation. This is why blogging, online commentary and interaction between viewers, performers and producers will be instrumental to transforming the porn industry into the safe, respectful, thoughtful and sex-positive place we want it to be.

The Woman's POV

2011-01-11T20:18:00.004Z

This is exciting! Award-winning adult performer, feminist and pornographer Madison Young (whose work you've probably enjoyed on Kink.com) has launched a new porn project called The Woman's POV. It's part paysite and part open resource, combining free articles, sex toy, book and DVD reviews with photosets and videos inside a member's area, all exploring the concept of the female gaze and women's perspectives on sex, sexuality and porn.

Madison's work is artistic, feminist, fairtrade, queer, kinky, emotionally intimate - all my favourite things. There is no doubt, looking at her site, that this is woman-positive, woman-driven, respectful and ethically produced; but Madison Young is one of the most hardcore kinksters of them all, and the site already includes hot examples of consensual power play and D/s.

I discovered the project through a review by Violet Blue, and this quote from her article just made me want to applaud:

What I find very interesting about this is seeing links to female porn performers (where they are performing) and showing viewers which women have self-identified as feminist. These female performers, if you look at their online presence, can be found to be fully versed in various stances on women and pornography and feminism – and where they fit in the pro-porn feminist ideology. They are not bubbleheads saying the word "feminist" because it is the thing to do, and they are open to engaging anti-porn pundits in debate on any level (Maggie Mayhem, Madison Young, Courtney Trouble, many others). This aspect dispels a significant assumption about women who make and perform in porn (even "extreme" porn, as some of these women do) – that these women are unaware victims, or somehow duped or coerced. The Women's POV seems to be actively seeking self-aware, educated women in porn to create a community that dispels myths and empowers women that participate in porn, and women who watch porn."

Fucking yes. This is what I'm trying to do. This is what we should all be trying to do. This is, in my opinion, the future of porn.

It's weird writing this now - I've been working only this week on my own definitions of "feminist" and "fairtrade" porn as part of the branding documentation for my own embryonic spanking site (although its long gestation progresses apace; these days I'm definitely showing). Trying to translate the values of feminist pornography to the spanking genre is a complex business. I'm inspired by Madison Young's pioneering efforts in bringing the female gaze to BDSM porn. And it turns out that what I've come up with has a fair amount of overlap with the values listed on The Woman's POV:

The Woman’s POV is dedicated to the authentic documentation of female pleasure and orgasms. We realize the power of orgasm and plan on changing the world one climax at a time.

We are devoted to showing diversity in female identity, the expression of feminine sexual desire, diversity of body types, as well as a wide spectrum of sexual and gender identities.

We are devoted to empowering women and creating safe space for exploration of sexual desires and fantasies by handing women in our community the camera. It's time to turn on the camera and get turned on.

We are dedicated to obliterating body shame and sexual negativity through realizing and documenting of our sexual desires and our sexual culture.

We are ready to reclaim the term pornography and recruiting YOU and YOUR LOVER/S and FRIENDS to pick up the camera and show us YOUR POINT OF VIEW.

Oh yes, that's right - the project is also collaborative, and welcomes submissions of photosets, videos and prose from readers and viewers. This openness breaks down the traditional categories of performers and voyeurs; everyone is invited to participate. I'm tempted, but I won't - I've got a site of my own to build. I am delighted, however, that the road ahead is being paved so expertly. Thanks, Madison, for showing us what's possible.

Hitting Snooze preview

2011-01-10T21:16:00.003Z

I'm doing so much editing at the moment there's no time left for proper blogging, so have a couple of screencaps from the clip I've been working on instead. It's from the first ever film shoot for my site, with Tom and J back in March 2009, and the story's called 'Hitting Snooze':

Extreme porn legislation: after the Act

2011-01-06T17:16:00.016Z

To some extent, I've been blithely assuming that the "extreme porn" sections of the Criminal Justice and Immigration Act 2008 wouldn't have any real effect in law. Yes, the wording is dangerously vague and creates a 'thought crime' in UK legislation, but wasn't that case with the comical tiger sex clip dropped in January after the prosecution actually listened to the soundtrack? Apart from that, I haven't been aware of much activity since the Act was passed. Perhaps our concerns that it would be used to police sexual fantasy and give police ammunition against people they didn't like but nothing to charge them with were unfounded.

Yesterday a dramatic local news article announced that this law was being tested in a "landmark trial":

In one of the first cases of its kind in the country, Kevin Webster is accused of having "grossly offensive or disgusting" pictures, even though they are "fakes".

Webster, aged 47, denies three charges of possessing extreme pornography depicting images likely to result in injury to a person's breast and one similar charge depicting an act which threatens a person's life.

In this case, the staged nature of the images is not in question - the subject matter is what is relevant. Darron Whitehead, prosecuting, stated:

"Why is there a need for this new legislation? There is a need to regulate images portraying sexual violence, to safeguard the decency of society and for the protection of women."

This suggests that our fears about the consequences of the extreme porn legislation are being borne out. It's no longer about protecting the people involved in making the images, but about policing our fantasies. Never mind that no causal connection can be demonstrated between viewing pornography and sexual violent crime (in fact it's arguable that access to pornography helps prevent violent crime by giving people with socially 'unacceptable' desires an outlet for their fantasies), nor that it is perfectly possible to create ethical images of violent acts using consenting actors. Under this way of thinking, even illustrations and cartoons are too dangerous. This isn't about regulating the porn industry, it's about personal taste masquerading as morality. The prosecution in this case explicitly uses the Victorian concept of the "decency of society" as an excuse for censorship.

This position is demonstrably hollow. If drawings of tentacle rape are so dangerous, what about the constant barrage of violence and sexual violence we see in mainstream film? If porn affects the "decency of society", why not these? If you're really interested in protecting women, Mr Whitehead, why not turn your attention to prosecuting rape and sexual assault cases?

Porn is no more inherently dangerous than any other cultural text. Claiming that violence in porn is somehow worse for us than the violence and carefully-policed sexual content permeating our media is to create a ludicrous double standard. Sex is everywhere we look, and yet explicit sexual discourse, real human sexuality, is still the enemy. Our culture is fucked up about sex, and the only way to fix that is from the bottom up.

Censorship has never, in the long run, been successful, and often serves to increase the taboo appeal and cultural interest of the banned content. Top down legislation of this nature is not the way to fix the exploitation within the porn trade or violence against women. If you're worried about unethical porn, support independent and fairtrade producers. This legislation is clearly not intended to make anyone safer, but merely to make people who think their culturally-approved sexuality is the only 'decent' option more comfortable, and to punish those who don't conform, regardless of whether anyone is harmed by their desires.

All these arguments were made countless times, and by better spokespeople than I, during the campaign against the legislation. Once the Act was passed, our only remaining hope was that in practice, few people would actually be charged under it. And until yesterday, I thought that was more or less the case.

How wrong I was. A bit of googling revealed that Kevin Webster's case is far from the first to be brought under the extreme porn legislation. Very few of them have made national news, but the local papers carry many more examples from the last couple of years. Here's what google threw up on a first pass (names included merely to demonstrate that these each represent a different case):

16 June 2009: Colin Blanchard, Manchester, accused of sexual assault, making and distributing indecent images of children, and possession of extreme porn.

18 June 2009: Man prosecuted for possession of extreme photographs depicting women and animals; given an 18-month supervision order and 24 hours at an attendance centre as the judge deemed "support and assistance" were needed.

4 September 2009: Nathan Porter of Pendleton charged with seven counts of possession of extreme pornographic images featuring "content of a bestial nature".

17 December 2009: Matthew Jones, Chertsey, charged with possessing child pornography, making an indecent image of a child, and possessing extreme pornography portraying sex with animals and an act likely to result in serious injury to a person’s private parts.

13 May 2010: Peter McArthur of Kingskerswell pleaded guilty to possession of extreme pornographic images featuring 'mutilation' and bestiality, and and six indecent images of children.

5 July 2010: John Wood,of Thurlby, near Bourne, pleaded guilty to two charges of possession of 17 'extreme images', and one charge of possession of child porn.

25 July, 2009Alan More of Carrickfergus charged with sex offences against a 15-year-old and possession of extreme pornography (BBC erroneously claims this is the first case to be brought under the 2008 Act.)

3 August 2010: Darren Toone of Worsley jailed for 16 months for two counts of possession of child porn, possession of amphetamines and possession of extreme pornography featuring violent rape scenes and bestiality.

17 August 2010: Paul Reynolds of Walpole St Peter charged with making indecent photographs of a child, and possessing child pornography and sexual images involving animals.

24 August 2010: Glen Smith, Chingford, sentenced to 2.5 years in jail for selling pirated CDs and DVDs and possessing extreme pornography. Officers claim they're the first in the UK to bring charges under the Criminal Justice and Immigration Act 2008.

18 September 2010: David Harvey of West Cross charged with making child pornography and possession of images featuring sex acts between people and animals.

1 November 2010: Brian Porritt, Manchester, sentenced for possession of child porn, cocaine and extreme pornography.

30 December 2010: Mark Russell of Neath, Wales charged with possessing extreme porn featuring animals, making indecent photographs of a child and possessing child pornography. Case continues - his next court appearance is February 23 2011.

That's a steady stream of cases, and it's no doubt an incomplete list. Since it was passed, the extreme porn legislation has certainly been earning its keep. So what do the cases so far tell us about how it's being used?

All of the defendants so far have been male.
Bestiality porn seems to be the most frequent target of the legislation to date, although the "serious injury" clause has had a couple of outings.
These cases mostly represent "extreme porn plus" - that is, possession of extreme pornography charged alongside cases involving child pornography, counterfeit trading or drugs possession. Two of the 2009 cases listed here are the only exceptions I've found so far; I haven't seen any cases in 2010 which were brought involving extreme pornography alone. (Edit: but that doesn't mean there weren't any: see this list for more.)
Images seem to mostly come to light when the defendant's home is investigated relating to other sex offences, a crime committed in their own home for which their computer is evidence, or else the images are reported by engineers fixing the computer. I haven't seen any examples of random police raids, or computer searches arising from warrants unrelated to sex offences.
Where the charge is possession, no details are reported of any investigations into the creators of the images.

If Kevin Webster is found guilty, he may be the first person in a year to have been prosecuted under only extreme pornography charges alone, which would herald a worrying shift. And unlike cases which involve images of children or animals, in this instance the images only portray adults - and, since even the prosecution describes the images as "fake", most likely consenting adults, at that.

This has been a wake-up call for me. I had no idea the Act had been so, well, active; and the Webster case has some notable, and worrying differences from most of the cases last year. Of course I'm not about to start self-policing and clear any images which may be covered by the legislation out of my cache; if people start doing that, the censors have won.

Please do send me any relevant news items I've missed - I intend to keep a careful eye on the way this legislation continues to be used.

--

Edit 17:33: Snap! I'm not the only one to blog about this today, but Heresy Corner has more up-to-date news sources; he's just posted the news of Kevin Webster's acquittal. Good news. Heresy Corner writes:

Had he been convicted, it could well have opened the floodgates to many more such prosecutions. Will his acquittal have the opposite effect, and make the CPS think twice about their own definitions of extreme pornography?

We can only hope so, but right now I for one am not inclined to be complacent.

Start as you mean to go on

2011-01-06T00:42:00.005Z

Two days after telling you all that spanking hadn't been on the horizon much for Tom and I, the new year has already proved me wrong - and I couldn't be more delighted.

The midwinter break has done us both a bit of good. Yesterday I'd finally got round to booking some time (and a venue) to film a couple of custom clips for a client, based around stress exercises and enduring punishment positions. I was a bit nervous about the exercises, so I decided to boost my energy levels and pain threshold by doing a clip with Tom first for my own site.

I'd originally thought of doing a bog-standard schoolgirl scene, so as to minimise the amount of effort and emotional energy it would take, and not detract from the exercise clips. Once Tom and I got to brainstorming ideas, though, we decided we'd have far more fun with a mystical/sci-fi/office crossover. Yes, it was as random as it sounds. But we had a hell of a lot of fun with it - and it served its purpose, in giving me a good buzz with which to approach the custom pieces for my client.

To my relief, I was able to endure the stress positions for the full 15 minutes each, despite a lot of anxiety beforehand about whether it was a good idea given my back problems (and one or two stern looks from my physio). I like to think that the endorphines from my spanking immediately beforehand played their part. After all, kneeling on a wooden stool in extended cornertime is far more interesting if you've actually just been punished.

It was even more of a relief to complete the assignment given that the shoot had originally been scheduled for Tuesday, but had to be delayed by a day for reasons beyond my control. After spending the morning getting everything ready and then having to call it off before I got to shoot anything, I felt thwarted and frustrated by the delay, and began to feel that I'd never manage to shoot these damn clips. It was a real sense of achievement when I managed to survive both of them today without any further hitches.

But perhaps not being able to shoot on Tuesday was the best thing of all. Despite not being in a very kinky headspace lately, Tom had taken the time to gear himself up and get himself into the right mood to shoot a hot scene with me. When it was put on hold, I was mostly feeling down about it, but Tom's dominant (if tired!) energy was there to buoy me up again.

He made the offer that we could play anyway while we were preparing lunch. Originally, I felt so irritated about the shoot not going ahead that I turned him down - although I couldn't believe what I was saying, given how much I've missed playing with him lately. But we had lunch together, and once I felt a bit more relaxed I decided that although I needed to do a bit of work before my guest arrived in the evening to compensate for the wasted day, I would very much like a spanking if there was time.

There was time. And oh, I'm glad - it was quiet and loving and, well, not gentle exactly, Tom has a great oar of a hand, but very safe. I whimpered and tried not to squirm too much over his knee, and then I knelt up to arrange bolsters on the bed at his instruction, and melted a little bit when he started pulling his belt out through the loops of his jeans. (He teased me about that after the whipping, and I laughed. "Yeah, you don't even need to whip me, in fact. Just slide your belt out ... and slide it back in again ... and slide it out again...")

The belt was hard, but I knew it wasn't as hard as it could have been and I was grateful for that. By the end I was swallowing my cries as each stroke fell, absorbing them quietly, responding with murmurs and tiny bucks of my hips.

I wish we'd had time for more - but I went back to work with a smile on my face, contented and mellow. And I got everything I needed to done before I had to stop for the evening.

Two scenes in as many days; domestic spankings, a successful shoot and content for my site. Here's hoping this unexpectedly positive note sets the tone for 2011!

Erotic asphyxiation: treatments of kink in therapy and the media

2011-01-04T16:45:00.003Z

Just before Christmas, Dr Petra Boynton called my attention to a worrying article in Psychologies magazine (remember, the one which supplied the bad science which has been used to justify the idea of a UK opt-in system for online porn).

This nuanced piece of journalism, entitled "Erotic asphyxiation — why do people do it?" springboarded off the unfortunate death of MI6 spy Gareth Williams, who was found mysteriously dead in his flat. As soon as it was "revealed" that he liked to look at bondage websites, speculation abounded that auto-erotic asphyxiation was the cause of death.

Public opinion has a strange relationship with erotic asphyxiation (better known to you and I as breathplay). The stereotype of the solitary version is a sad man in a suit, accidentally hanging himself to death while seeking cheap masturbatory thrills. When I was 15 my dad, aware of The Story of O's presence on my bookshelf and concerned for my moral and physical welfare, had a long Talk with me about the dangers of BDSM. He cited the tragic case of a couple he knew, wherein the gentleman was accidentally strangled during a consensual bondage game, leaving his widow harrowed by guilt.

Psychologies magazine quoted relationship psychologist Susan Quilliam, who explained to the layman reader that this bizarre yet fascinating quirk of human sexuality was "like taking a drug. As with all addictions when you’re not doing it you start to fantasise about doing it." Oh dear; that doesn't bode well, for a start. There are all sorts of things I think about even when I'm not doing them. Sex, work, creative projects, music, food, things that made me laugh ... clearly those are all dangerously addictive, too.

As it happens, I enjoy breathplay a lot, but it's neither an addiction nor a core component of my kink. In fact I almost never fantasise about it - it's more about the doing. The actual 'headrush' physical stimulus enhances my orgasms, and the threat of a hand, rope or blade against my throat makes for powerful D/s play.

But never mind that, my experience apparently doesn't count for much - since according to Quilliam, practitioners of erotic asphyxiation are "usually male".

"Because a woman needs to feel safe and secure to orgasm there's a direct contradiction between the high risk of asphyxiation and pleasure."

Problematic? Oh, let me count the ways.

1. A woman needs what? This bogglingly sexist statement might be true of Susan Quilliam, but such inane generalisations are impossible to make of a whole gender, and this one in particular buys into the toxic "men need cheap thrills, women need security and romance" stereotype which damages all of us.

2. Personally, I quite like a bit of danger. In fact a hand around my throat as I'm being fucked can pretty much guarantee me a blinding orgasm. And I'm a woman.

3. Since when did orgasms equate to the sum of sexual pleasure anyway, for people of any gender?

4. Breathplay is edgy! That's sort of the point! My experience and observation strongly suggests that it's something responsible kinksters undertake warily, with trusted partners, not on a first play session with a casual fling. "Safe, sane and consensual" is the watchword of many BDSMers for a reason - everyone has boundaries, and needs those boundaries to be respected in order to enjoy risky play. Trust and security enable a better experience for everyone. It's not gendered, it's just good sense.

So not only were these damaging, incorrect generalisations peddled without comment, criticism or a balancing perspective from someone who actually knows what they're talking about, but the article closed with this gem:

Sexual therapist Simone Bienne says bondage and sado-masochistic fetishes are subconsciously related to childhood trauma. "It's about a struggle with life. They could work through their issues in a normal way, of course, talking to counsellors or using self-help books."

Talking to the kinds of counsellors who will pathologise their sexuality and make insulting assumptions about their childhoods, you mean? Hrm. Psychologists claiming that in order to be "normal" people should spend money on their services and products. Let's just think about that for a second.

Just to set the record straight: BDSM isn't a pathology, studies have provided no evidence that it's linked to trauma. The assumption that a kinky sexuality is a symptom of post-traumatic stress is harmful and outdated. There is no such thing as "normal" or "abnormal" when it comes to the colourful spectrum of human sexuality.

This sort of speculative reporting peddled as science is irresponsible, judgemental and dangeous, and sets psychology back by decades: pathologising kink is so last century. And yet many therapists and medical professionals still receive inadequate training in how to engage productively with kinky patients; and the media is all too quick to reproduce the resulting assumptions and stereotypes.

Therapists and counsellors hold a position of immense responsibility. Particularly when helping people with issues of sexuality, it is vital that they do not let ignorance or prejudice distort their duty of care. A couple of friends have already left excellent comments on the guilty Psychologies article - it would be great to see more. And a complaint or two to the writer Sophie Herdman, or editor Louise Chunn might not go amiss. They and other healthcare practitioners may find the following resources useful in coming to an understanding of kink and BDSM:

A kink in the process - Su Connan (Therapy Today, July 2010)
"Sadomasochistic sex is arguably one of the least understood and most demonised forms of consensual sexuality. How able are we to offer ethical therapy to kinky clients when there is so little awareness of the kink experience?"

Kinky clients, kinky counselling? The challenges and potentials of BDSM - Meg Barker, Alessandra Iantaffi and Camel Gupta, 2007.

Health Care Without Shame: A Handbook for the Sexually Diverse and Their Caregivers - Charles Moser, 1999.

Safe, Sane and Consensual - Contemporary Perspectives on Sadomasochism. Edited by Darren Langdridge and Meg Barker, 2007.

(Thanks to Dr Petra Boynton for the twitter chat and links.)

The bottom line is that kink is nothing to be ashamed of, not a symptom of any mental or emotional disorder, and can be a vibrant part of a healthy sexuality. Moreover, kink and BDSM practitioners often come to an enhanced understanding of their own desires through the emphasis on personal boundaries and communicative consent which arises from a responsible approach to power and pain play. All sex is risky; these themes are not exclusive to kink, merely thrown into focus. The vocabulary and discourse of kink can offer meaning to people of any sexuality, and better the sexual discourse of our society as a whole.

2010 redux, 2011 resolutions

2011-01-03T17:47:00.014Z

Happy new year, kinksters! How's 2011 shaping up for you so far? I've had a lovely, low-key few days, mostly taken up with cooking and housework, but also picking up the project threads laid aside over Christmas, scenting that new year energy on the wind.

Twelve months ago I wrote a long kinky retrospective on the year just gone. The picture that emerged was of a whirlwind of work and creative projects, at the expense of personal time and private explorations.

My resolutions were a bit long-winded, but they boiled down to four key points for improvement. Did I manage to achieve them in 2010?

1. For Tom and I to move in together, and hopefully find more time for play and domestic discipline as a result.

A half win. Most of this year has been dominated by Tom's new business start-up, which is currently struggling through its first winter but hasn't gone bust yet. I've given an awful lot of time to it, but he's given more. While in many ways he is much happier and the changes have improved both our lives, the stress of starting a new business has been very detrimental to his physical health.

Our partnership has grown and strengthened - we've had some rough patches, worked through them, and right now are greatly enjoying each other and the prospect of a shared future. Living with him, getting to see so much more of him, sharing so many experiences with him, has been great. But sex and play have been off his radar for most of the last six months. Polyamory (and lots of talking) has helped me learn patience without pressuring him, but I'll have to wait a little longer before improvements start spilling over into our shared sex and kink life.

That said, Tom and I have had a couple of epic threesomes this year, a fun video shoot with Ludwig and Kaelah, and a brilliant photoshoot with Adele and Jimmy - plus a few memorable play evenings regardless. So I can't complain too much.

As for increased D/s structure - Tom has been willing but we've both been aware of his limits, and he hasn't needed me to burden him with extra responsibility. Strangely enough I've recently started exploring this side of things with D, which is new for us. More on that later.

2. To launch my new site.

Nope, pretty much entirely for the above reasons. I've given half my year to Tom's business, and the rest of my time has been taken up by earning a living, political activism, and doing less of that overworking thing, and more of that resting and socialising thing. (Ha! Well, a bit.)

That said, I've turned things around in the last 6 weeks and have been throwing myself at the project every spare moment I have. I have plans for fundraising and investment, I've made progress with editing, post-production and brand development, I've got money put aside for the site build and I've had a couple of great shoots. I may not have achieved my aim, but I'm leaving the year feeling motivated, driven and totally fired up about this project, and I'm confident that one way or another, I can make it happen, on my own terms and in my own time.

If I make one kinky resolution for the year ahead, this is it.

3. Develop a private D/s connection with a woman (specifically, with the lovely Penny D) and generally enjoy kinky play with more ladies.

I'm happy to report that 2010 was a total win on this front. I'm going into 2011 on the arm of a dominant lady as well as my lovely men, and Penny and I have had all sorts of good times together this year, including an outing to Club Subversion. I've enjoyed bottoming to the delicious Adele Haze on a couple of memorable occasions, including a double caning from her and Abel back in January. In fact I've not had a shortage of new female lovers with a taste for spanking me, and have enjoyed hot dates with March Middleton and Serafina. I continue to be amazed at my good fortune.

Finishing School was also a landmark here - a whole weekend roleplaying with the sublime Lucy McLean and Amy Hunter (culminating in another double caning - the second of three this year, which is a theme I wholly approve of!) It turns out that I find playing with friends on a social basis (rather than with lovers on a romantic one) far easier and more appealing if the friends in question are female. Lucy and Amy provided a blinding initiation into the joys of immersive group roleplay, and I loved every minute of it. I hope to carry this trend into 2011 - I'd love to attend more roleplay events, and there are one or two lovely switches among my kinky friends that I'm keeping an interested eye on. (Look out, ladies...)

4. Generally, spending more time and energy on socialising, meeting new people and lovers, and quality time with my partners.

I think I can safely say I managed this one as well. As well as the delights described above (plus a couple of unnamed others!), paradoxically, my relationship with D has thrived since moving away from London. Long distance does seem to suit us, and the second half of this year has brought unexpected renewal, romance and kink to our partnership.

I've still tended to overwork this year, and accumulated more long-term fatigue over the summer, but I've got better at resting sensibly to recover from it. Life feels pretty good at the moment, and I'm really looking forward to the challenges and new adventures 2011 has to offer.

Reading your comments on last year's post, I'm pleased to see that some of you have fulfilled your 2010 resolutions, as well. I hope 2011 brings you everything you hope for, and more!

Unwrapped

2010-12-27T13:48:00.001Z

Merry Christmas and season's greetings! I've had a lovely few days at home with the boys, making, eating and drinking impressive quantities of delicious things, enjoying (and gently mocking) the Doctor Who Christmas Special, sitting round the fire playing silly parlour games, inviting friends over and all those other traditional midwinter activities. Hope you've had a restful and cheering time, whatever you've been up to.

D and I have also taken advantage of the time off work to jump each other's bones at every opportunity. We've had late-night Christmas Eve sex when I was exhausted and in pain and he methodically and selflessly took his time in making me feel better; tipsy post-prandial Christmas Day sex, giggly and uninhibited after too many champagne cocktails; and lazy extended Boxing Day sex, dipping in and out throughout a long mellow afternoon (and amusing Tom no end when he unwittingly disturbed us a couple of times). I particularly enjoyed having my breasts slapped with a small piece of wood D found which remarkably resembled a ruler.

Wishing you all a happy holidays, however you're spending them, and that you get to enjoy some quality time with your loved ones. Hope you've had as much fun unwrapping your presents as we have ours!

Let the turkey burn

2010-12-23T18:09:00.004Z

D and I both seemed to be in odd moods last weekend. I, after being totally on top of things all week, was fragile, overtired and crashing, but desperately trying to brave it out and not be a needy little girl. Apparently it came out sounding like I was pissed off with everything, which suggests either that I'm not as good at braving it out as I think I am, or that D is better at reading me than I think he is. Or perhaps it suggests that sometimes, what I need is to be a fragile little girl. D, after all, is one of the few people I'm genuinely comfortable being small with, so I'm not sure why I was trying to fight it so hard.

Anyway, the resulting bickering was outdone by the truly electric make-up sex that came after it. Not normally a pattern D and I find ourselves in, but our emotional vulnerability lent itself to play of a remarkable rawness and intimacy.

At one point, being pushed with breathplay, my body suddenly went into an uncontrollable panic - emotionally I was alright but in three seconds I'd gone from turned on to hyperventilating, crying and shaking (and, okay, still turned on). Credit to D: he immedately stopped, held me, took my word for it when I said it was just a physical reaction and wasn't a big deal, and was perfectly happy to pick up where we'd left off as soon as I'd regained my composure. Sometimes, being pushed until I break can make me feel just as safe as my top taking care to push me without breaking me.

After a mutually satisfying, loved-up fuck he pulled three implements out of his toybox - cane, wooden paddle and belt. I'm looking at him half going WTF, we just finished, and half delighted that we aren't done yet.

"Pick one," he smiles.

Just one? I'm disappointed. I consider. We had fun with the paddle last time, so today I fancy something different. I suspect he wants to cane me - it's not an implement he plays with often, and the fact he's got it out suggests he's in the mood. But what I really want is the belt - the liquidy warmth of leather, the sharp but glowing sensation which wraps around my bottom like a caress.

"I'm surprised," he says when I make my choice (I think he was expecting me to opt for the cane), but he humours me: the belt is laid out on the bed, the other two put to one side.

Throughout a restful evening the belt is a teasing promise of what's yet to come. I was expecting to get it later that night, but tiredness overtakes us both and I fall asleep on him around 11pm.

The next day, dinner is in the oven and somehow we end up snapping at each other again. We talk through it but he needs some time to calm down, so I flop on the bed and distract myself with my netbook. Ten minutes later I hear him come in behind me. I'm wondering what mood he's in when I feel his touch, an affectionate stroke along my back. "Permission to glomp?" he asks hesitantly, and no sooner have I granted it I'm engulfed in a whole body hug. Well, there are worse ways to say sorry. I love the feel of his weight resting on me, and tell him there's no hard feelings by bumping my arse playfully against his hips from below.

Which is how I came to be facedown on the bed, jeans unbuttoned by him and tugged down over my bottom, which is lifted by a couple of strategically placed pillows and practically tingling with anticipation. The enormous mirrors alongside his bed had been making me feel self-conscious of my fuller figure all weekend, so I hid my face from them (as I had while over his knee the day before) and wondered if my over-emotional self would be able to cope with the thrashing I'd chosen.

Perhaps he was wondering the same; the first three strokes were light, testing the waters, warming us up. I breathed deeper and murmured my assent. The gentleness of his approach meant that when the harder strokes fell I lapped them up. I felt cocooned in love and security, safe to yelp and hiss through my teeth as the pain nudged against my thresholds, safe to moan into the bed when they hit that perfect sweet point of simultaneous pain and pleasure.

When the fire in my bottom was well and truly lit he paused and gave me a rub that almost made me purr. I felt like he could keep going all afternoon, except of course that dinner was still in the oven, and in fact I should have started putting the veg on ten minutes ago. "Shall we reconvene later?" he asked, not wanting to ruin the meal I'd started, but I had absolutely no desire to interrupt proceedings.

I was reminded of the Ann Summers ad I saw at Victoria station recently - a lady wearing sexy negligee and the slogan LET THE TURKEY BURN. At that precise moment I felt wholeheartedly in agreement with the sentiment. Let it burn. Dinner could wait. I had other priorities.

So D nipped out to turn the oven off, the veg was left sitting in cold water, and my bottom got cooked instead.

He re-appeared in front of me (I was still stretched out on the bed with my jeans around my knees and my arse glowing pink), grinning like a kid who's done something they shouldn't, holding up the two rejected implements. His grin widened as he waited for me to get the joke. "Pick one."

So that was his game. I hid my amusement and excitement with my best sardonic look. "Am I choosing what else I get, or am I choosing what else I get first?"

He beamed at me, delighted with his surprise and wanting to string it out, then relented. "First."

"Alright." I briefly compared the relative sensations and marking produced by belt-cane-paddle or belt-paddle-cane. The belt had left me nicely tender and the paddle is a very blunt instrument. I opted for nuance. "Cane."

He was surprised again, but given I'd thought I was done, that made two of us.

He made me thank him for the cane strokes, but not count them, so I don't know how many I got. They hurt, though, more than I'd expected after that languorous, sensual belting; every stroke a jolt of sting that fizzed and itched along the line of the welt, making me jump, making it impossible to relax. I hung onto the rail at the foot of the bed and gasped my way through a caning that pushed me more than I expected.

It had the desired effect, though. By the time he finished I was soaking wet. As he stood in front of me again and unzipped his jeans I pounced on his cock hungrily, eager and grateful. The pleasure of feeling it slide against my tongue made me close my eyes in bliss.

Skip ahead a bit (past me on my back with my head hanging off the foot of the bed so that he could slide deeper into my throat, stopping my airway - but not making me panic this time) and before long I definitely wanted to be fucked more than I wanted the paddle. I may have mentioned this aloud, because D tutted and thwarted my impatience with a reminder of earlier negotiations. "Mmm, not yet - you have to shave first, and put stockings and heels on, and all sorts of things."

He was referring to online chats in which we'd agreed that I'd shave my pubic hair for him over Christmas. I mildly prefer the appearance of trimmed hair, but I like to keep my labia and crack shaved for ease of access and silkier sensations. D has a strong preference for ladies and gentlemen who are completely shaved, a bias I'd find less forgivable if he didn't keep himself smooth in turn. It's too much faff for me to indulge all the time, but I enjoy variety, and I don't mind obliging him occasionally. If nothing else, I can usually expect to be rewarded with pleasingly enthusiastic cunnilingus.

I needed no further prompting. I jumped up to grab a razor and towel and headed to the bathroom.

It's strange - if you described this situation to me I might expect to feel somewhat indignant about having my pleasure forestalled until I'd corrected some lacking aspect of my personal grooming. Perhaps I should have been annoyed with his presumption. But as I perched on the side of the bath, shower foam mingling with the slippery evidence of my arousal, I felt supremely content. The act of revealing newly bare, sensitive flesh seemed remarkably like unwrapping a present for him, and I felt a similarly happy anticipation at the prospect of pleasing him. I hummed to myself as the razor slid delicately over my swollen labia, enjoying my awareness of the cane welts striping my arse. At that moment, cheerfully obeying his orders with a sore red bottom, I felt very, very loved.

--

We didn't get round to the paddle before dinner. Not that I'm complaining - events proved more than satisfactory (and so, when we eventually reheated it, did dinner). It wasn't until I was getting ready to leave that I was reminded of our unfinished business. I'd already missed one train due to not being ready in time, and was belatedly packing and trying to find my netbook case. I went into the bedroom to look for it. A little while later D came in to ask how I was getting on, and raised an eyebrow at the discovery of me on the bed, checking twitter on my netbook.

"You've packed all your things up already, yes?"

"Nearly!" I chirped, jumping up and hastily scooping up evidence to the contrary.

He looked at me. I looked innocently back, jamming netbook, socks and phone charger into my rucksack.

He picked up the paddle.

It was a fair cop. I bent over the end of the bed and lowered my jeans for my third and final dose of the weekend. I received several rapid, crisp whacks with no warm up which had an effect similar to that of a bucket of cold water. I squirmed and yelped throughout, a far cry from the submissive pleasure with which I'd taken the belt a few hours earlier. His raised eyebrows at my wimpy reactions made me wish I could turn my masochism on like a tap, but the paddling served its purpose. Suitably chastened, I tugged up my jeans and finished my packing with a smile on my face. I do like it when tops keep their promises.

UK porn ban?

2010-12-20T17:59:00.011Z

A month ago, Tory MP Claire Perry called for British ISPs to implement an "opt-in" system for internet pornography based on age verification, to prevent under 18s from looking at sexually explicit content online, because she believed that "British internet service providers should share the responsibility to keep our children safe." Fortunately for us, culture and communications minister Ed Vaizey disagreed. "We believe in an open, lightly regulated internet," he said. "The internet is by and large a force for good, it is central to our lives and to our economy and Government has to be wary about regulating or passing legislation." Mr Vaizey suggested that taking responsibility for what your children see online and how they respond to it is kind of what parenting is all about.

Fine. Except that yesterday, Ed Vaizey made a dramatic U-turn by inviting ISP giants such as BT, Talk Talk and Virgin Media to a meeting to discuss how they might implement such a system. "I think it is very important that it's the ISPs that come up with solutions to protect children," he said, in a dramatic reversal of his stance four weeks ago.

This is worrying stuff for a whole host of reasons.

Firstly, there's the practicalities of implementing the scheme:

The plan is to allow parents to 'opt out' of the sites and they will then be blocked at the source, rather than using conventional parental controls.

Adults who wish to view the material would have to choose to 'opt in'.

Following their decision, homeowners would then be able to choose what sites they receive in a cinema style guide, such as U for all ages, or 18 for adults.

Got that? Unlike cinema style age controls, this wouldn't be an individual decision, but a blanket one across a household. In short, it falls into the same trap as the Digital Economy Act. In order to prevent their children from viewing porn, parents would have to give it up themselves. Adults living at home? Forget it - you're under your parents' roof, you follow their rules. Households of shared adults, like most Londoners who don't cohabit with a partner? You'd better have a good relationship with the housemate whose name is on the broadband account. What about students living in halls? Or adults who live with their landlords?

Either the system will impede the freedoms of adults across the country, or it will be so restrictive that no-one will use it. As Tom Scott writes for the Guardian:

Any "think-of-the-children" internet filter has a fundamental problem: if it's effective enough to actually block adult content, it will also be irritating enough that almost everyone will turn it off.

An effective filter would have to censor Flickr, which has a large amount of adult imagery. It has to censor every blogging platform: Tumblr, for example, has a whole swathe of porn blogs, and there are untold numbers of sex bloggers writing reams of explicit text. And it has to censor YouTube, particularly if 4chan decide to flood it with porn again. Facebook could probably be let through, thanks to its strong filtering policies – although right now, most mobile providers block it for under-18s anyway.

If an adult content filter allows those sites through, it fails. And if it blocks those sites, then hardly anyone will use it – and it fails.

The rest of the article is well worth reading, picking up on a number of reasons such an approach would be impossible to implement effectively.

Secondly, the 'research' and 'studies' cited to justify this idea are problematic at best. Violet Blue reveals how the study from Psychologies magazine quoted in most news repots was in fact conducted on 14-16 year olds from a single North London school - hardly comprehensive data - and Ms Naughty digs into Safer Media, the Christian group who believe whole swathes of modern media are "harmful", and from whom Ms Perry gets her "compelling evidence" that porn is damaging to under-18s.

I've written before about the myth that accessing pornography has a detrimental effect on young people and society in general. Bish Training, a sex ed resource for young people, summarises:

Even the briefest look on Google Scholar will show you that there is not a lot of rigorous academic research in this area. Arguments about porn, such as arguments about sexualisation, are usually values rather than evidence based. There is certainly no consensus in the academic world about young people and porn.

I would encourage you to read what I believe (I’m a practitioner, not an academic) to be the most thorough recent paper http://www.springerlink.com/content/c1k7r32gj9q72248/ It points out the lack of evidence of the extent of porn consumption and harms from previous research.

So much for evidence-based policy making. Claire Perry is quick to claim that "We are not coming at this from an anti-porn perspective," but the sketchy nature of the research backing up her proposals suggests that this is an ideological move. Her next remark clarifies this ideology: "We just want to make sure children aren't stumbling across things we don't want them to see." This isn't about the fear of children's sexuality: it's about an angry controlling impulse on the part of parents who cannot bear that their children might like anything they don't like, or have access to anything they don't approve of. To people like this the internet represents an enormous ideological threat. A 'nanny state' approach is the only way they can shut down freedom of speech and information for those who disagree with them.

Whose ideology will inform this proposed 'blacklist' of forbidden sites to be referenced by ISPs? (And who will maintain the list of 'opted-in' households? Bet Wikileaks would love the chance to share that.) 'Hardcore' pictures and video - okay. Text? Usenet groups? Fanfic? Chatrooms? Any site posting user-generated content would find itself at risk unless it implemented strict moderation policies. What about humourous sites which include obscene language? Or sex education sites like the excellent Bish Training, which includes guidance for young people about porn? Queer and trans activists are concerned that any site providing support and information about LGBT issues will be blocked - the mental health effects of which on young people could be far more devastating than those claimed to be caused by porn.

And then there's the civil liberties implications. Once a Great Firewall exists, what's to stop its expansion to include other controversial sites, or anything the government disapproves of? Maybe Maimed has recently argued that the censorship surrounding Wikileaks has always existed around sex. Once porn is banned from the internet, you can bet that other problematic content would find itself caught in the same net.

Every week, I get letters from kinky people who are grateful to me for helping them feel they are not alone. I hear from mature individuals who are only just beginning to discover the vocabulary to think about their desires, or to start to come to terms with them. I am so lucky, they tell me, to have become aware of my sexuality so young, to have accepted it and be able to find so much joy in it, and help other people make peace with themselves. Alongside the self-indulgence of creative work that turns me on, that's why I do what I do, and I wouldn't have been able to do it without the internet.

I started having sex about the same time as I got online - when I was 13. By the time I was 15 I'd started using the internet to explore sexuality and kink in a big way, but it didn't take over my life - I had many other hobbies and interests, and most of my online time was taken up with teaching myself HTML and design and creating vanity sites. I had my first serious play relationship when I was 16, which was very informed by the BDSM community I'd discovered online, and I met Tom when I was 19. I am enormously lucky to have been able to streamline my sexual development with the aid of online resources and support. If I hadn't been able to access sexual content at home, I would have made different, less well-informed choices; I might have made some very bad decisions; and I certainly wouldn't have reached a point where I could offer support and reassurance to others by my early twenties.

If you're worried about what your child is looking at online, either install some of the parental control software which is readily available, or sit with them while they browse the internet. Either way, talk to them about what they're seeing; teach them about staying safe online, give them the tools they need to question and critique what they encounter. Unlike our legislators, most UK kids are internet natives - they will easily be able to get around any controls we attempt to put in place. Trying to prevent them from accessing porn will simply increase its appeal. Ultimately, the responsibility for what we look at and how we respond to it is ours, and it falls to parents to teach that responsibility to their children, rather than dumping the hardest and most important parts of parenting onto corporations or the state.

--

All these things remain true, and given my audience I have little doubt that most of my readers will agree with me. Perhaps I didn't even need to write this, since today senior officials from the ISPs themselves have condemned the proposals as unworkable. But this is not the first time this idea has surfaced, and I doubt it will be the last. Thanks to the anti-porn agenda of over-anxious mothers, we have already seen our government ban certain types of consensual porn entirely. When it comes to freedom of sexual expression, we cannot trust our legislators, and we must remain vigilant. I'm willing to bet that the idea of a filtered web will come back, and when it does, we need to be ready with our arguments as to why it will not work, and cannot ever be accepted.

Both Cheeks

2010-12-14T22:10:00.006Z

Here's another audio piece for you, a kinky fairytale with a twist in the tail. It's by Jim, the writer who penned Towards Forgiveness and Halloween Switchery, and has kindly given me permission to share our collaborations on my blog. This is a bit longer than the other audio pieces I've posted so far and I think it's rather fun. Hope you like it.

Both Cheeks (10:06)
(Click to play or download)

That Bored to Death scene

2010-12-14T01:02:00.000Z

Everyone and their dog has probably seen this already, but just in case you missed it on Chross' blog, here's the recent scene from HBO's "Bored to Death" which is being hailed as the most authentic spanking ever aired on mainstream TV:

According to the TV universe, spanking is still only acceptable if it's presented as comedy, but the comedy scenes are certainly getting kinkier! This scene isn't particularly believable, but it's not unsympathetic, either. I think you're meant to enjoy Nina's enthusiasm, despite her weird timing and laughable inconsistencies. Extra props for mention of safewords, the focus on the spankee's desires and Jonathan responding as if this happened to him every day.

Zille caned in jodhpurs

2010-12-11T22:34:00.003Z

Another taster from my forthcoming site. Zille Defeu has been hard at work editing photos from the shoot I did with her a year ago (almost exactly, in fact), and she's just posted this image on her blog:

Thanks to her partner Malc for the amazing photo.

Zille is currently in the running for this year's New Spankee award at the Spanking Spot, although she's not a new spankee - she's been running BDSM and fetish porn sites for years as a producer and photographer, and is only new to the niche world of pure spanking sites. Speaking as a producer/director myself, I can tell you that she's an absolute star to work with - totally professional, very talented and a complete sweetheart. Please do vote for her - she's one of the pioneers of queer and female-gaze porn, a total hottie and a gorgeous person to boot, and it would be great to give her credit where it's due.

Little Crackers

2010-12-10T22:17:00.001Z

While I'm on the topic of M/m canings, Eliane posted an extremely tasty clip on twitter today. This is from a film coming out this Christmas starring Stephen Fry, which appears to be autobiographical in theme.

1969 - Christmas Term and twelve year-old Stephen Fry isn’t popular with his headmaster; his sweet tooth, extensive vocabulary and sharp wit regularly earn him six of the best. Unhappy with the pitiful offerings of the tuck shop, Fry Secundus, as he’s known, often ventures out of bounds to the village sweet shop. But when one trip to the confectioners too many catches up with young Stephen, and the headmaster threatens to exclude him from the Christmas festivities, Fry’s only hope lies with Bunce, the frightened new boy he’s taken under his wing.

If that wasn't enough of an appetising setup, add this into the mix: the headmaster in question is played by Mr Fry himself, and the film appears to show him giving a stiff three of the best to his 12 year old self. Don't believe me? Check out this tantalising clip (sorry - the video isn't available to embed, but your clicking finger will thank you for making the effort.)

"The last boy to whom I administered twelve strokes of the cane is buried under that apple tree. Be advised. Now, bend over."

I am pleasantly shuddering with anticipation.

The magician's (other) apprentice

2010-12-09T22:45:00.003Z

I've just received the images from one of the most exciting photostories we shot at the last stills shoot for my new site, with new photographer Daniel.

I knew that one of Adele Haze's favourite fantasies was a "magician's apprentice" scenario. We decided to shoot a set based on a story she was writing, in which the young male apprentice of a magician brings a wench home, with unexpected consequences. I wasn't modelling for this one, which left me free to direct - handy given the complexities of the narrative. It's a good 'un, though.

Our story begins with ceremonial magician Mr Sheridan, played by Thomas Cameron.

One night while out on the town, his young apprentice Giles (Jimmy Holloway) meets a girl called Sophie (Adele Haze). To impress her, he brings her back to his master's workshop.

Sophie is delighted, and soon she and Giles are engaged in some enthusiastic snogging in Mr Sheridan's chair. But as their kissing increases in passion, something very strange happens - all the candles in the room spontaneously burst into flame.



A moment later Mr Sheridan thunders in to investigate the cause of the magical flare which interrupted his very important working upstairs. He is not impressed to discover a strange woman in his secret workshop.



It was a real treat being able to bring Adele's fantasy to life - made even better by the fact that I persuaded Tom and Jimmy to do a rare M/m scene. They're such close friends in real life that it's not something they're usually comfortable doing, but they agreed to a formal, masculine six of the best for the sake of this scene. Much to the delight of me and Adele. She was enjoying herself so much that I had to crop her out of some of the photos due to her out-of-character lascivious grin - and she's posted some more photos of the caning on her own blog.



These are two of my very favourite boys, and I'm so thrilled that they had the guts to enact this scene to please us girls. Enjoy, ladies - it may not happen again, but I'm very happy I got to see it once at least!

This photostory, complete with an original fiction piece by Adele herself, will be available for download on my new site when it goes live sometime in the new year. But I'll post a sample from the second half before then. Jimmy and Sophie's ordeal isn't over yet - Mr Sheridan intends to get to the bottom of what caused the unexplained magical power surge, and he has a shrewd idea of where to look...

We who would virtuous be / leave smut behind us

2010-12-07T20:04:00.017Z

Perhaps unsurprisingly when your starting point is a group of adult women indulging in erotic roleplay, sexual misdemeanours became a bit of a theme during the Finishing School weekend.

Of course, our tutors Mrs Darling and Miss Hammond-Grant wholly disapproved of any crudeness or wanton behaviour. Those of you who read Amy Hunter's blog will already have been treated to the Darling's Academy anthem, in which smut (and its dangers) takes centre stage. The words of our beloved anthem were strangely prophetic. It's almost as if our tops expected modesty to be the thing we would struggle with most.

Twice during the weekend, Leia-Ann Woods earned herself a vicious tawsing for not wearing appropriate underwear. (I cringed a little as Miss Hammond-Grant tawsed her hands for not wearing a bra during class, as I never wear the things, but since I didn't fancy a hand tawsing, I thought it would be foolish to own up.) Several girls were punished for having illicit liaisons with 'bachelors' - and indeed other girls, despite Leia-Ann's protestations in Sunday assembly that the lovebite on her neck was the work of an unseasonal fruitbat.

My first punishment of the weekend, in fact, during Saturday morning assembly, was for making inappropriately sexual conversation during the drive to the castle the night before. Amelie Hammond-Grant targeted Violet Kynaston (as played by Adele Haze) first. "Could you explain, please, exactly what you mean by shagging, Violet?"

Titters from the girls. Violet kept her cool. "Um, it's when you get a very hairy dog, miss, and you have to shave it so it's less shaggy..."

Nor had our polyamorous gossip escaped their notice:

"Two boyfriends, Violet? Why would one possibly need two?"

"Well, Mrs Darling, it's useful to have a backup in case one of them is indisposed."

I hadn't got away with it either. I was informed that talking openly about sex, especially with multiple partners, is quite unladylike, and mention of same-sex encounters was quite disgusting (a fiction I am perfectly happy to indulge when both my tops have been known to partake of girly fun themselves!). Amy Hunter played the outraged teacher to perfection. "What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Blake?"

"Oh," I quipped, shamelessly stealing one of Adele's lines from the bus journey, "I must have come over queer..."

I was rewarded for my uncharacteristic cheek with giggles from my classmates. Somehow keeping a straight face, Mrs Darling asked me to step forward for my first whacking of the weekend - six with the tawse, over my (uniquely sensible) knickers.

Finishing School included some hilarious, imaginative pranks from my classmates which not only earned them well-deserved punishments, but provided excellent entertainment for everyone else. My personal favourite was the conspiracy to serve chocolate willies instead of after-dinner mints on Saturday night, which earned Caoilfhionn and Head Girl Catherine Thomas a blistering double caning each that was astonishing to watch. I particularly enjoyed Caoilfhionn's response when Mrs Darling asked if she was responsible for this outrage: "Responsible is a very interesting choice of word, Mrs Darling..."

Afterwards, though, as various miscreants were punished for a sequence of creative misdemeanours (nothing, it seems, escaped Mrs Darling's attention), I started to feel a bit left out. I'd been surrounded by CP all weekend, but received very little of it. I hadn't planned any outrageous pranks in advance. I'd tried my best to do well in my lessons. In-role eagerness to please clashes badly with an out-of-role desire to see some action.

I turned to Zille, who was watching the canings with a similar envy in her eyes. "Bad girls get all the fun," I whispered, and she vehemently agreed.

We looked at each other.

"Maybe we should be bad."

Thus a plan was born.¹ We'd intended to steal some alone time either way, but had left open the question of whether we wanted to be caught at it. Suddenly the idea of being interrupted mid-coitus behind the curtain seemed like the best of both worlds. But as we edged discreetly over to the tea table in hopes of engineering such a scene, we were waylaid by her 'guardian', Lord Buchanan-Defeu, who had picked up on our need for mistreatment and was attempting to make it happen in his own way. Frustrating as it was to be hindered from executing the Curtain Plan, he did manage to get us into trouble first.

I can't remember whether it was Zillah or her guardian who first started fussing with his bowtie. Did he ask us to neaten it or did we take the liberty ourselves? However it happened, before we knew it his bowtie, far from being tidied, was hanging loose around his neck. "It's alright," we told him, "loosened bowties are the fashion after a certain point in the evening."

Apparently our claims that he looked 'cool' didn't cut it. The next thing we knew, Miss Hammond-Grant was marching over. "Lord Buchanan-Defeu tells me you have been taking liberties with his dress!" she cried. "Am I to understand you have been touching him in an over-familiar manner?"

Our protestations fell on deaf ears. Lord Buchanan-Defeu nobly opted to help Miss Hammond-Grant correct her wayward charges, and thus it was that I found myself over the Deputy Head's lap while Zillah was dealt with by her guardian. It was the first over-the-knee spanking I'd received that weekend, and I found it very hard to conceal my delight. Everyone watched as Miss Hammond-Grant raised my ballgown and spanked me hard over my panties. Yes, my body was singing, finally, yes. I know I was supposed to be in the role of an embarrassed and petulant pupil, but I was jubilant. It was just what I needed. Amy Hunter spanks hard - it was actually the first time I'd ever bottomed to her, and it was lovely to engage with her on that level after watching her get her domme on over the last couple of years.

After that I took a turn over Lord Buchanan-Defeu's knee, which struck me as rather more familiar than merely adjusting a bowtie, but I was hardly going to argue at that point.

I'm sure Zillah and I were supposed to be chastened and sorry after our punishments, but I'm afraid to say they merely encouraged us. Happy and pleasantly buzzing with endorphins, we giggled on the sofa as we watched the party unfold around us. I was more than a little tipsy by this stage - I'd been so run down with cold over the previous few days that I'd nearly had to leave lessons earlier that afternoon, but somewhere during this evening, aided by champagne and the excitement of the experience, my energy had flipped into a slightly manic euphoria which I knew I'd probably pay for later.

Cuddling up to Zille, we revisited our plan. As Leia-Ann earned herself yet another public punishment (I didn't even hear what it was for this time) I whispered to Zille that we could probably get away with a quick snog while everyone else was distracted watching Leia-Ann. A quick snog, of course, turned into an enthusiastic makeout session, which lasted glorious minutes before a shout from Mrs Darling cut across the room like a knife.

We were in it. Caught red-handed. Despite having willingly leapt into trouble, when I stood up and faced the wrath of the Head and Deputy Head of the Academy my heart began to pound and I wondered if this had been wise. The heat of their scolding was like an onslaught, and I felt my face redden as we were told how much we'd disgraced Mrs Darling in front of her guests.

Zille and I were instructed to stand facing the tea table and bend over with our hands on it. To lift our evening gowns and pull down our panties. This would be a double caning, and it would be on the bare. I would receive my strokes first.

The caning itself is a blur. Mrs Darling and Miss Hammond-Grant arranged themselves either side of me and pulled no punches. It was hard - hard enough to make me clench my hands and gasp, although I didn't feel like I was making much sound compared to the buzz of the gathering behind me. I can't even remember how many strokes I got - I wasn't asked to count - 12 or 18, I think; but all I remember is a haze of sensation, intense, delicious, exhilarating. I devoured every moment. Perhaps I shouldn't admit to this where my tops can read it, but for me the experience translated as pure pleasure. I was flying so high that every searing stroke seemed to pour energy straight into my spinal cord.

I was left with a sequence of delicious welts which hardened to scabs over the next few days, proof that my memory of those slicing, burning strokes is not exaggerated. The marks are still there.

--

The next day, I felt a bit nervous about the fact that the only mischief I could manage was sexual in nature. Compared to the pre-planned pranks and exuberant naughtiness going on around me, it hardly felt imaginative. In our room, Adele remarked that she was glad I'd managed to land myself in trouble in a way that felt comfortable and natural for me, and that the incident with Zille had been "in character". I suppose, since I wasn't really playing a character, that this is true; but I couldn't shake the feeling that playing a different role next time and coming up with something a bit less predictable would have been more entertaining.

It wasn't until I re-read the lyrics of the Darling's Academy anthem a few days later that I realised the extent to which they focussed on sexual misbehaviour. Sluttiness, it seems, is one of the worst crimes the Academy can imagine:

We who would virtuous be
Leave smut behind us
Hereby learn decency
With sore reminders.
To Darling’s we are sent
Our tawdriness repent
It is our one intent
To be a lady.

Out of character, I'm proud of my 'tawdriness' - I don't see anything wrong with it and I know Lucy and Amy don't either. It's certainly an aspect of myself which I'm disinclined to curb even when I'm trying to be behave, and it's a type of wrongdoing I'm perfectly comfortable with. So I'm reassured that, rather than 'cheating' the system by not behaving in-role, my misdeeds were perfectly in tune with the script.

Clearly, when it comes to smut, my protestations of being 'good' are less accurate than I thought. In this area at least, I fear I may be a hopeless case.

1. While Zille and I were plotting, I did manage to earn myself six of the best with the aid of Leia-Ann, but I'll tell you that story later. Far from satisfying my appetite for punishment, it merely left me wanting more.

Playing the game

2010-12-03T00:23:00.004Z

One of the problems with being a good submissive at a kinky roleplay event is that well-behaved characters don't get punished, and can end up feeling a bit left out. (The exception is if the tops know you well enough to pick on you unfairly. Leia-Ann Woods would probably argue that this situation is not desirable at all, but I did find myself envying her, strange as it seems - I'd have found being singled out much easier!)

In private D/s scenes and social contexts like play parties and clubs, deliberately bratting, being disobedient or causing mischief in order to earn a punishment has always made me feel uncomfortable. I can't get over the idea that I'm being horribly self-involved, rude, demanding and attention-seeking. More generally, I've never really liked being made to feel "naughty" when I'm being punished. I much prefer to please my partners - and if I please them by being punished, so much the better!

But in a social roleplay like the Finishing School weekend, what's the best approach for a good girl who likes to play hard? Should I only roleplay with tops I can trust to set me impossible tasks, single me out unfairly, pick up on every little misdemeanour, deliberate or accidental? Not easy to achieve unless I only roleplay with my partners - and if every bottom in a scene needed such treatment, the tops would have their work cut out!

The first public punishments of the weekend were meted out at the Saturday morning assembly. Emma-Jane had organised matching Little Miss Trouble panties for everyone to wear instead of our regulation knickers. She'd made sure a pair was provided for me, but I agonised stupid amounts over whether to participate or not. I really wasn't comfortable playing a bratty persona and deliberately earning punishments. It's just not my style. But I didn't want to seem like some snotty goody-goody thinking she was better than everyone else, either. I'm more susceptible to peer pressure than I'd like!

In the end I decided that it was foolish to pressure myself to do something I wasn't comfortable with, and wore regulation knickers. I was in on the joke, but when Mrs Darling and Miss Hammond-Grant whacked their way down the line of naughty bottoms, mine was passed over (apart from a couple of over-enthusiastic, accidental swats from Miss H-G on her way past the first time, which was more funny than anything else!)

I think it was the right decision. I wasn't excluded from a big scene, and the teachers didn't go on about my abstention to the extent I felt embarrassed about it. But interestingly, as we stood there in assembly, skirts lifted to show Mrs Darling who had participated and who had not, I realised that despite my misgivings I probably would have felt comfortable if I'd joined in, after all. Okay, it would have felt a bit artificial, but it was no big deal and all in good fun. Next time, perhaps, I'll have the confidence to join in for the sake of the joke. After all, if my character doesn't misbehave somehow, my real kinky self won't have much fun.

I've already decided that at future roleplay events like this I definitely want to take a character, with a different name and backstory (I have a few ideas already...), to make it easier for me to indulge in this sort of play without guilt.

Being good out of character is great. (Being responsible and helpful, being nice to people, pulling your weight with chores, not being selfish or annoying). But my character and me have different aims. I like playing hard and want to be included in the kinky fun. My character, however, wants to avoid getting into trouble. Both of us want to please our tutors and get on with my classmates. But is being good in character necessary to be a good play partner?

The only kind of scene I've played for fun before involved crimes committed offstage, or unfair scenarios with sadistic tops taking advantage. An educational setting with fair, likeable teachers is very different. It's unfair to expect two tops to take responsibility for satisfying a whole group of kinky girls without any input from them - it's reasonable that we should help them along by giving them something to work with. Really, if you think about it, misbehaving is the right thing to do in this sort of context!

Outright bratting may not be my style, but creative mischief to amuse my classmates and enliven a group roleplay feels less self-involved - it enhances the experience for all. My teachers' characters won't approve, of course, but the real tops trying to pull together an entertaining and satisfying group scene will appreciate imaginative contributions (and are almost certainly finding it as funny as us). The consequences are an out-of-character reward as much as an in-character punishment. I favour active rather passive submission, and I think this sort of "misbehaviour" is the equivalent in certain types of roleplay.

One rule Adele Haze mentioned at the weekend which several classmates agreed with was, "don't commit the crime (in character) if you can't take the punishment". But I think it works the other way, too - if you want the punishment, you have to earn it somehow! Part of being a grownup, after all, is self-reliance - it's not fair to expect other people to do all the work for me.

There's a difference, of course, between the sort of imaginative, entertaining mischief which enlivens a scene, or cheeky retorts witty enough to make people laugh, and being genuinely annoying or aggravating. This line might be obvious to hardcore purveyors of mischief, but I'm just trying to puzzle it out - helped by following the good examples of my fellow Finishing School students.

Here's what I've got so far: think of this as Finishing School Etiquette (the unofficial version)...

Mischief and cheekiness are all very well, but unkindness and snideness are rarely justified. Creativeness and generosity of spirit aren't incompatible with rule-breaking!
Targets should be chosen with care - mean characters are fairer game than nice ones, and of course one should show solidarity with one's fellow students! Other people "playing the game" are better targets than those trying to be good.
Disobedience should be frivolous and entertaining for onlookers - attention-seeking behaviour is more justifiable if you put on a good show and raise a laugh.
"Naughtiness" shouldn't be an excuse to get out of chores or unpleasant duties, especially if this makes more work for your fellows. Same goes for bothering people while they're doing something difficult, unpleasant or necessary.
Just as tops can be expected to look after our limits, we should look after theirs. It's better to ease off when they're particularly tired of dealing with naughty pupils rather than demanding more attention from them.

What do you think? Is that a reasonable approximation of "bratting etiquette"? Are there any I've missed?

I think all my fellow players last weekend had an instinctive grasp of these rules. As well the teachers showing us how to be more ladylike, the other Finishing School pupils offered a masterclass in responsible naughtiness. Watching so much entertaining cheekiness and mischief has left me feeling much more confident that I could enjoy breaking the written rules, once I've got a better sense of what the unwritten ones are.

I've realised that so much of effective naughtiness is about confidence. Answering back is impossible if you're too tongue-tied to think of witty retorts. It's easier to cause trouble if you can trust that your play partners will enjoy the consequences. One of the reasons I default to obedience is if I feel shy or insecure and don't want to call attention to myself. I'm worried about seeming like one of those demanding, pushy bottoms constantly competing for attention. But this weekend offered a crash course in creative ways of getting into trouble that are fun for all involved, and by the end I was feeling more confident that I could join in without making a genuine nuisance of myself. Now I just need more practice - clearly, I'm just going to have to do more roleplay!

I'm not sure what Mrs Darling and Miss Hammond-Grant will make of the non-curricular things I learned this weekend. I'm sure Finishing School was intended to make me better behaved, not worse...

The first night at Mrs Darling's Academy

2010-11-30T16:15:00.004Z

On the way to Scotland on Friday, the new intake for Mrs Darling's Academy kept closely in touch via Twitter. It wasn't until Leia-Ann posted a message worrying that we'd be punished for traveling in jeans that it occurred to me that we might not be supposed to. We'd been told to bring smart, sensible and ladylike clothes, and it was made clear that jeans and trainers were expressly forbidden at the academy itself, but surely the rules would only apply once we arrived? The others, mostly traveling in warm and comfortable clothing like me, agreed. At least if we were going to get into trouble for wearing jeans when we arrived, I wouldn't be alone.

I wasn't as shocked as some of the others when we were met at the airport by an intimidating Miss Hammond-Grant rather than the friendly Amy Hunter we'd been led to expect. She put us straight into character, and I was happy to go along with it (although not entirely sure how to respond, since I wasn't really going as a character). Not only was there an actual school bus waiting for us, but the driver was in on it as well. The first thing that happened was our phones were confiscated, so there was nothing to do on the hour long drive to the unknown but talk.

Our chatting and joking had an edge of nervousness which I think made us a bit more manic. Discussion ranged from ferrets up trousers to normal, out-of-character gossip. Whenever Miss Hammond-Grant interjected with a reprimand about the inappropriate nature of our conversation I lapsed into silence, unsure how to respond. We giggled together in girlish solidarity, but I think I wasn't the only one to feel a bit nervous and uncertain. Was I meant to be conversing in character? What would that involve, anyway? And perhaps most importantly, would we all (except Catherine Thomas, impeccably dressed in a smart skirt and jumper) be in trouble on arrival for our comfy, unladylike attire?

My feelings about the prospect were mixed. Half of me was cross and indignant at the idea that we might be punished for breaking an unannounced rule, although given we hadn't been told we'd be put straight into role and immediately cut off from the outside world, it didn't seem impossible. And yet - I wasn't likely to get into trouble deliberately, so if I wanted to play I'd need my tutors to be mean. Wasn't this exactly the kind of unfair punishment I preferred?

It was an emotional tension that would characterise my experience of the weekend, as I slowly assimilated the realities of social CP roleplay, and its many differences from private, romantic D/s. My natural earnestness and obedience ceased to be an advantage as the naughtiest girls got to play the most, leaving me feeling excluded from the fun at times. But I never quite felt at home deliberately acting out, which tends to make me feel uncomfortable and attention-seeking. Trying to resolve my eagerness to please with my desire to be punished was a steep learning curve, and I think my real kinky self got as much out of Mrs Darling's Academy as nervous new girl Miss Blake did from her finishing school lessons.

In the end, we were only lectured for arriving in jeans. After the nervousness of the bus journey, we were treated to our first sight of the castle we'd be staying at for the weekend - the most luxuriously appointed roleplay venue I've ever heard of, which really enhanced the experience (even if it was painfully cold). Piling out of the bus with our scarves and suitcases, looking in awe at the snow-covered turrets of our new home, being greeted by the glamorous Mrs Darling and read the academy rules in the luscious oak-paneled drawing room - it was a treat for the mind and senses. I'd amused myself on the train north with the similarities between this and going to Hogwarts, and it was no less magical. Immersion in role was effortless as we were given a tour of the castle and shown to our dormitory rooms.

In fact, no-one was punished on that first night (except Leia-Ann Woods for smoking, but we only heard that story afterwards). Lucy and Amy decided not to push us too hard at first, given the intensity of our arrival experience, and especially since so many of my classmates were meeting them for the first time. They dropped out of role briefly during dinner, and the ease with which they switched in and out of character made the whole thing feel more natural for me. Our first lecture that evening on grooming and presentation felt very informal, almost not in role at all, except in the real sense in which my glamorous friends were sharing their expertise with us, and we genuinely wanted to learn. For all our tiredness (and I don't think any of the girls were tireder than our tutors) it was an interesting and informative lecture, and really helped my headspace. I didn't need to put on a role in this context; they actually knew more than me about these things, and I could accept their authority without any need for pretense.

--

I have huge amounts to say about the rest of the weekend, and I'll do my best to share as much as possible with you (it'll take several posts, I think, although I'm still wondering how to split it up into manageable chunks). For now, I'll leave you with some links to other posts from my fellow finishing school girls:

Adele/Haron: Finished off - or, To be a lady
Emma-Jane: To Darling's we are sent
Eliane: Eliane at Finishing School
Leia-Ann: Finishing School Part 1

Off to Finishing School

2010-11-26T13:24:00.000Z

I'm on a train moving north through snow-covered fields, and when I think about where I'm going my stomach tightens in anticipation. My suitcase, as well as warm clothes and wellies for a few days in the Highlands next week, contains carefully-assembled items, ticked off the list I was sent earlier this week: smart daywear, white blouse, stockings, ladylike underwear, sensible shoes, high heels, evening gown and demure cocktail dress. I'm going to school, but it won't be like any school I've been to before.

This afternoon myself and a handful of others in need of "finishing" will enrol in Mrs Darling's prestigious academy for errant young ladies. The curious can discover more about this institution through the characterful Twitter accounts maintained by Mrs Darling herself (AKA Northern Spanking's Lucy McLean) and her capable deputy Miss Amelie Hammond-Grant (AKA Amy Hunter).

This will be my first foray into the world of immersive social roleplay, and I feel as if I'm jumping into the deep end. A dozen pupils, four tutors and half a dozen unknown "bachelors" whose role in all this is yet to be discovered. Two whole nights and days sleeping, waking and eating in character. I've only played short, small-scale roleplay scenes three or four times before.

My anxiety over the past couple of weeks has been off the scale. There's the practical concerns: Will I forget to bring anything? Will my health be up to it? (I've had a cold most of this week, but have had too much work to do before going away to be able to rest and recuperate.) How will I, a grown woman who prefers to manage her own schedule, cope with being told when to sleep, when and what to eat and drink? Will we be allowed tea and coffee? (I won't have much fun with caffeine withdrawal headaches all weekend.) Will the unfamiliar constraints be enjoyable, or will I just find the loss of independence annoying?

Then there's the whole reason, I guess, that most of us are there - the CP. My instinct, as a first timer, is to stay out of trouble as much as possible, observe until I feel comfortable participating. Will I have the opportunity, or will our tutors ensure that all of us are dealt with as a matter of course? Normally I strongly prefer unfair punishments to deliberately earning one through misbehaviour; will that be true this time, or will I want to reclaim some control over my fate? If everyone else embarks on a collective prank, do I suffer the embarrassment of being the goody-goody odd one out, or risk earning a punishment before I feel ready?

I wrote on my application form that I had no experience of hand tawsing, and if it were to happen it would be an extreme and intense experience not to be undertaken lightly. But in retrospect, I started to regret not putting it as a hard limit. What sort of behaviour would count as "extreme" in the rules of this unknown academy? The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that I'd set myself up. If I wanted to, say, steal intimate time with any of my attractive fellow students (including close friends I rarely get to see), I could probably expect the worst. With a disappointed sigh and a hard look at my comfort zone, I've decided it's not worth the risk. I'm resigned to being good - or at any rate, as good as possible.

Then there's the theme of the school itself. This isn't the comforting familiarity of a traditional school - it's an aristocratic finishing school for young adults, set in the modern world. Wearing stockings to class, smartphones not permitted outside the dormitory - it's a dizzying mix of old and new, and the unfamiliarity of it is scary and exhilarating.

I decided to apply as myself, Pandora, rather than a character, figuring that it would be easier to cope with assimilating so many news experiences without the added complication of presenting a new persona. My application was filled out with total honesty. Thanks to a privileged education I am, in traditional terms, relatively accomplished, and so the areas in which I need "finishing" are those relating to elegance, etiquette and social graces, the trimmings of class which few real people are trained in these days. Sounds like fun, I thought, and with luck I'll genuinely learn something. But as the event loomed closer I found things to fret about. What about posture and deportment? Would the tutors accept my real-life back problems as a valid excuse for imperfection? Would I be able to deal with a critique of my way of speaking and moving, or would it all be far too personal for comfort? Suddenly I began to regret not having a character to hide behind.

But I'm on my way, now, reassuring myself with the same things I've told myself all along. This is a fun event run my friends, who know my limits and aren't out to get me. I'm hardly going to be on my own, and once I'm there I bet I'll be disappointed if I don't get into trouble at least once.

It's weird, but right now my good girl kink and my eagerness to please feel like my own worst enemy. I may not be very submissive to most people on the planet - which is not proving helpful in accepting the loss of control for two days of my life - but my anxious perfectionism is rehearsing every possible way in which things might not go to plan.

Ultimately, of course, I don't know the plan - and I'm going to have to submit to the authority of the lovely, generous ladies running this weekend if I don't want to spend it champing at the bit. My difficulty in submitting to anyone other than my partners is why I've so rarely indulged in these group roleplay scenes in the past, and if I'm going to enjoy this one, I'm going to have to get over it enough to trust the tutors with my boundaries and person.

As the train crosses through blizzards into snowy Scotland, my anxieties slowly peel away along with the world I'm leaving behind. Underneath them is excitement and the happy anticipation of seeing friends old and new. Deep down I know that all my fears are daft, and I'm going to have the time of my life. Dressing up, shared world creation, watching others be punished - in many ways this experience is a dream come true.

I'm looking forward to getting so immersed in it that I forget my uncertainties. See you on the flipside.

Love Me Like You Hate Me

2010-11-23T18:40:00.000Z

Lust Films have an exciting new short film in the pipeline. Erika Lust is a pioneer of feminist and female-gaze pornography, but none of her early work was quite edgy enough to tick my boxes. Her 2009 short Handcuffs ticked many of my boxes, however, and to my delight she continues to explore kink themes in her 2010 film Love Me Like You Hate Me. Here's the trailer:

TEASER LOVE ME LIKE YOU HATE ME
Uploaded by lustfilms.

[Love Me Like You Hate Me] provides a modern perspective on a variety of practices that may be considered taboo for many women: to be tied up oneself or to tie someone else up, role-play and dressing up, giving pain or receiving it, being a strict dominatrix or being a submissive slave, punishing our partner or being punished by them... explore with Venus O'Hara and Erika Lust the seductive thrills of domination or the fear and excitement of submission.

Lust Films are beautiful, stylish and elegant with production values most spanking studios can only dream of. As a feminist pornographer, Erika Lust is one of my political rolemodels. I'm ridiculously excited that she's turned her talents to fetish; it's so rare to see the combination of progressive ethics, visually rich aesthetics and the female gaze with the sort of edgy fantasy that turns me on.

Discovering to my delight that both Handcuffs and Love Me Like You Hate Me are included as extras on Lust Film's newest DVD, Life Love Lust, I bought it like a shot. If this looks like your kind of thing, I'd strongly encourage you to do the same. I'm not making any money off this one; the world needs more imaginative, progressive pornographers like Lust Films and it's up to us to support them if we want them to continue. (Plus, if her fetish themed films are a huge success it'll encourage her to make more, which can only be a good thing). I'm really excited about my purchase, and can't wait for it to arrive. I'll be sure to write a full review once I've watched it!

Miss

2010-11-22T21:22:00.004Z

This weekend I had the not inconsiderable pleasure of March Middleton's company. We enjoyed a stimulating evening together, during which March developed a liking for Tom's vicious little pocket-tawse, and demonstrated her ability to spank really quite hard when she knows she can get away with it. There was a lot of giggling (I do like sleeping with people who are inclined towards laughter during sex) and once my bottom was pink and tingling, we turned our attention to other pursuits which were just as satisfying.

The prefect/schoolgirl dynamic from the story she wrote me (now completed - and I not only have permission to include it in the members area of my site, but she's mulling over the possibility of appearing with me in an accompanying photoset...) persisted. At one point, as we sat facing each other crosslegged on the bed, winding down some conversational thread or other, March quipped, "Well, what should we tuck into first, the sardines or the fruitcake?" If I hadn't wanted to film a school dorm midnight feast scene before, I do now.

A couple of hours previously, by way of settling down to things, she showed me the "rude book" which was the star of her story: Miss, the 1912 (I think) novel by "Sadie Blackeyes" (otherwise known as the French author Pierre Dumarchey). I haven't read it, but skimming through it assured me that I wanted to; if anyone wants to buy me a Christmas present, the hardcover edition would be lovely. Mostly, though, I was distracted by the pictures - selected illustrations from various editions, many of which were beautiful, compelling and hot. I wanted to borrow it the next day to scan a couple of them in to show you, but we didn't get a chance; it'll just have to wait until I possess a copy of my own.

I'll leave you with another snippet from the story which kicked it all off, by March herself:

March's aim seemed devilishly accurate. The arc of the brush finished, again and again, on exactly the same spot. The hollow sound of the impact was startlingly loud in the quiet house.

“Twelve, March!” Pandora muttered, teeth gritted. If only she hadn't been such a fool as to move this might have been the last stroke. But there were two more to come and March seemed to be hitting harder every time. Why had she agreed to this?

March brought the brush down again, putting greater force into the stroke and matching the impact exactly to the red rectangle on Pandora's left buttock - a companion imprint graced the right-hand cheek. “Thirteen, March!”, she heard, in something that was almost a wail. The last stroke, then; March raised the brush and slammed it as hard as she could into the trembling girl's right buttock.

“Fourteen, March!” cried Pandora, and burst into tears.

The law and policy of sex work: II

2010-11-20T13:29:00.006Z

Continuing my discussion of the recent trend of sensible thinking regarding UK sex work legislation, it would be remiss not to mention the Westminster Skeptics talk on the subject by Dr Belinda Brooks-Gordon, with a reply by Dr Brooke Magnanti (AKA Belle de Jour). While prohibitionism still dominates the mainstream, it's pleasing to see researchers like Dr Brooks-Gordon given an audience at city debates. Her contribution can only aid the cause of those who wish to see a less ideological and more evidence-based approach to sex work legislation.

The talk was organised by blogger-turned-journalist David Allen Green, who recently wrote an article for the New Statesman arguing that our domestic laws regarding sex work are a mess, and putting a case for decriminalisation. I was heartened to see this argument presented by a male lawyer in a mainstream paper (albeit a left-leaning one). It does no harm to advocates of sex worker rights to have more privileged allies championing our cause - there are many who will take arguments presented by white, male, well-paid, City-bred writers far more seriously. It's generally useful to have the face of patriarchal respectability on side.

I missed the talk itself (one of the downsides of no longer being a London resident), but watched the twitter hashtag collect comments with interest. It was affirming to see the responses of audience members whose pre-conceptions of sex work were being challenged:

@taniaglyde Bungling inflation of trafficking figures. From tens to 100k! #westskep

@dnotice Govt position on Prostitution = War on Drugs. Simplistic; assumes criminal laws are correct & we just need to try harder to "win" #westskep

@zoeimogen Apparently the police have a *financial* interest in prosecuting sex work - they get to keep proceeds. How wrong is that? #westskep

@taniaglyde Fundamental human right of freedom of association is denied to sex workers. #westskep

Thanks to the powers of modern technology, my curiosity about what had been said was assuaged a few days later when a podcast of the event was posted online. The sound quality is a bit flaky, but it's well worth a listen. For the benefit of those who don't get the opportunity, and to put some legislative facts in a form that search engines can read, here are some key snippets from Dr Brooks-Gordon's overview of the current law and policy controlling sex work:

The current best guess of number of sex workers active in the UK is 48 393 (contrast with the 80 000 statistic you often see quoted by govt). Even if you believe sex work to be a social "problem", it's less of one than is claimed by legislators.
Current legislation includes controlling offences such as "Manage/Assist management of a brothel" brought in under the 2005 Amendment to the Proceeds of Crime Act 2002, for which the penalty is a fine or 7 years prison, and which criminalises workers operating under the same roof for safety's sake.
The offence "Causing, inciting or controlling prostitution for gain" (sections 52-54 of the Trafficking for Sexual Exploitation Sex Offences Act 2003) similarly threatens agents, administrators and employers who are as likely to be protecting sex workers as harming them, and carries a penalty of a fine or 7 years prison. The wording includes anyone who helps a sex worker find work in exchange for financial or emotional reward or goodwill.
Sections 57-59 of the same Act cover "arranging or facilitating travel" into, within or out of the UK and carries a fine or up to 14 years prison. This permits a ridiculously broad definition of "trafficking" which includes giving a sex worker a lift, and it's not uncommon for agency workers to rely on trusted chaffeurs to drive them to clients' houses and wait outside as security. Dr Brooks-Gordon argues that "Trafficking definitions need to align with the Palermo protocol so that the 'three Fs' of fear, force or fraud are incorporated into legislation. Sex workers have also campaigned for 'control' to be tightened up so the innocent maids and receptionists are not falsely imprisoned."
The Policing and Crime Act 2009 (commenced in 2010) includes Premises Closure Orders, which permit police to close down premises on suspicion of prostitution taking place now, in the past or in the future. On the basis of speculation about future acts, police are thereby empowered to evict a sex-worker from their home and confiscate their savings, with no legal recourse.
The Policing and Crime Act also includes the well-intentioned but highly unrealistic Engagement and Support Orders. Following police intervention, these prescribe three meetings between a sex worker and a supervisor to 'educate' them out of sex work. If after these three meetings the person exhibits no change or evidence of exiting sex work, they go back to court and are fed back into the criminal justice system at the expense of the state. This strategy completely ignores the varied context which might make sex work the best choice for that person. Even if the worker is highly vulnerable and does not have much opportunity for self-determination, this is hardly a viable structure for giving them the help they need to turn their life around. Vulnerable people who turn to sex work because their lives are in chaos require professional care, not a cursory "re-education". And sex workers who are content with their choice deserve the chance to live their life free from state intervention.
Pamphlets and posters distributed by police - intended to alert potential clients to the possibility that the sex worker they are visiting might be coerced or trafficked - have similarly broad, ambiguous wording. The slogan "walk in a punter, walk out a rapist" implies that no consensual commercial sex relationship is possible between sex worker and client. The myths propounded about trafficking (particularly in government-funded reports) make this implication particularly strongly if the worker in question is migrant.
Dr Brooks-Gordon said that "the law is replete with flawed and inadequate reports". For example, an original estimate of 4 000 trafficked sex workers in London (arising from the debunked Poppy Project estimation that 80% of sex workers who are foreign nationals are trafficked) was inflated further in a Home Office internal document; which was then further "rounded up" by some journalists to 25 000 or 100 000. Laura Agustin has some good analysis of this, and you may be familiar with the Guardian report on how trafficking figures were exaggerated.
Actual trafficking figures arising from police activity are far lower. No annual figure of migrant sex slaves found by police in the UK has been higher than 100. Police studies Pentameter 1 and 2 in 2007 and 2008 found 71 and 88 trafficked people respectively - less than 0.02% of the (actual) estimated total number of sex workers operating in the UK.
As Laura Agustin's research shows, far more common than trafficking are people who migrate to work in the sex trade for a reason. For instance, many migrant sex workers leave their own countries due to police violence. The UK has a minority population of trans or queer sex workers escaping homophobia or transphobia in e.g. Eastern Europe.
Discussing the type of person who chooses sex work, Dr Brooks-Gordon cites a study which suggests that 48% of off-street sex workers have a nursing, teaching or caring qualification.
One question often asked: is sex work demand driven, or supply led? (Speaking personally, my own experience is certainly the latter - I set out to explore things I wanted to do, at a deep level of personal fulfilment - creating kinky erotica is the culmination of all my prior experience of kink, performance and creative expression - and discovered to my surprise and pleasure that there was a market for it. My experience is privileged, but not unique.) Dr Brooks-Gorden floated the idea that with increased tuition fees coinciding with recorded higher numbers of students in sex work, government is in fact pushing supply rather than reducing demand.
Under the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act 2005, police are entitled to keep 25% of proceeds from brothel raids. The state and its enforcers have a huge vested interest in keeping sex work criminalised.

Heresy Corner has an interesting analysis of the language used by both sides of the debate. The discussion is also worth reading, including contributions from Magnanti and Agustin.

While legislators claim to be acting in the best interests of vulnerable sex workers, the evidence suggests otherwise. Vested interests, inaccurate data, prejudiced reports and broad, ambiguous legislation create a climate in which moralistic rescuers have too much power to intervene and too many distorted reasons for doing so. If we really want to help vulnerable people exit the sex industry, we should be preventing them from entering the criminal justice system, offering integrated, long-term care, and not conflating them with the (far more numerous) independent people who are capable of self-determination, and have made a choice which seems best for them.

The debt collectors

2010-11-15T23:30:00.002Z

This is definitely filed under "fantasies that wouldn't be hot in real life". I find the whole concept of professional debt collectors kind of dreadful - surely the worst sort of middlemen - but real-life scenarios in which it's plausible that strangers might enter your house and intimidate you are hard to come by. And everyone hates debt collectors, right? So they're the ideal sadistic villains; perfect fantasy fodder if you want anonymous thugs, straightforwardly scary and convincingly ruthless.

Gloriously sinister: the predator waiting patiently for their prey to wake up. By the time you realise they're there, you're already at their mercy.

In my head, of course, this is a CP fantasy. The debt collectors are there not only to bully payment out of you, they're there to punish, to claim their pound of flesh. But it's a rape fantasy too, inevitably. It wouldn't be convincing otherwise. These aren't the firm but fair, restrained disciplinarians of classic punishment tropes - they're baddies, and you can rely on them to be sleazy as well as brutal.

Mind you, any scenario that involves being manhandled by two strong chaps is likely to catch my interest. A bit of breathplay never goes amiss, either.

School days: true memories and unfair punishments

2010-11-12T00:07:00.011Z

This evening I was brainstorming some scenarios for a new audio piece with one of my correspondents, and in my email I ended up going into more detail than I intended about my preferences and real school experiences. I didn't have time to write a proper blogpost this evening, but thought you might enjoy some notes on my preferred punishment scenarios, and revelations from my school days...

I'm a sucker for the emotional narratives of punishment, but get bored easily with the traditional transition from petulance to remorse. Two friends punished together, each feeling worse about their friend's suffering than their own, and trying to protect each other - always good. I love noble self-sacrifice, and boys or girls voluntarily taking on punishments to protect someone younger or more vulnerable. In fact, I was raised on the sort of virtuous Victorian melodrama in which the protagonist suffers dreadful, unfair misfortunes but manages to retain a sense of adventure regardless, so I love anything centred around unfair punishments. I don't really have a "bad girl" kink, so if someone else has got me into trouble and the authorities believe them over me, that's a perfect way into a punishment scenario without the victim having to lose face.

One of my most horrible days at school was in the second term of my first year, when a group of kids who liked stirring up trouble decided to tell our head of year that I'd been bullying someone. It was completely fabricated, but the teachers hadn't got to know me yet (a few years later it would have been immediately laughed off) and it took most of a day to untangle. I spent the entire time feeling sick to my stomach, heart pounding and palms sweating. Unpleasant to live through; ideal fantasy fodder in retrospect!

One other memory leaps out at me as something I really did at school which might have resulted in a whacking if I'd been at school fifteen years earlier. I had an ongoing feud with a girl in the year above me who hated me with a vicious passion. I have no idea why, except that I wasn't the most popular kid in my year - nerdy and a bit of a misfit. But who knows what I did to get this bully's attention. Anyway, it was your normal taunting - her backed up by a crowd of mates, usually - which I did my best to ignore. One day in my fourth year, I was having a really bad day for various reasons, and whatsherface in the year above had been really getting on my tits lately, always managing to pop up with the same pathetic old jeers at the worst possible moment. I was on my way from the Great Hall to somewhere on the ground floor and her and her mates cornered me on the spiral staircase, trying to get a rise out of me. Something snapped in me. I've never, ever been a violent person, and didn't even really fight back to the sort of subtle catfighting which went on in our first year - pinches and foot-stamping in the press between classes, nothing more overt - but this time I'd just had enough. I turned around and smacked her across the face.

The weird thing is that it worked. She was gasping "the bitch slapped me!" and they were all yelling insults after me, and I was pumped so full of adrenaline I was shaking, but I walked away and after that, she never bothered me again.

If a teacher had witnessed that they'd probably have thought I'd been massively overreacting, and if I'd tried to explain myself they'd have said verbal taunts were no excuse for violence. But they'd have been wrong. It was the best possible thing I could have done, and looking back, I'm proud of myself for having had the guts to do it. If I'd been whacked for it I'd have been angry and upset at the injustice, but it would also have been totally worth it.

I find the idea of a punishment which doesn't outweigh the choice which led to it really appealing. It lends the recipient a degree of strength and self-determination which I find it easy to identify with. I think if I have a "bad girl" fantasy, it's definitely not one that fits into a remorse narrative. If my fantasy self is to be punished for something she's actually done, it's much more interesting for me if she considers it a fair trade-off; if she would make the same choice, and earn her punishment again, given the chance.

Kinky Merit Badge I: Spanking

2010-11-06T19:02:00.005Z

D has a thing for high heels. It's very specific: he doesn't like worshipping or licking them or anything (so the merit badge, sadly, is not one for us), he just thinks most sexual encounters or scenes are improved by his partner wearing unfeasibly high heels. The smoother, shinier and slinkier the better. Always spike-heeled stilettos, not wedges or sturdy heels, and preferably round rather than pointy toes. I refuse to wear the things in the usual vanilla contexts, but I've developed quite a collection of shoes I can barely walk in which I only wear in bed. And I've caught the fetish - I now associate wearing ridiculously high heels with having fantastic sex, and I've developed a taste for the way they look on other people. So when I'm gearing up to visit him and he tells me to bring some shoes with me, I know we're going to have some fun.

I've been waiting all night for the instruction, and am ready when it comes. We agreed that it would be appropriate to start the collection with the Spanking badge, so I think I can guess what's coming. He busies himself in the bathroom while I undress in the bedroom. I'm still wiggling into the latest favourite pair of strappy heels when he comes back in, which always make me feel self-conscious, but then I've grown to like the imbalanced self-consciousness D's topping style tends to make me feel. It's a sort of humiliation-lite.

We're already feeling connected. When I look into his eyes the love shining from them makes my throat ache. He asks me to kneel, and I notice he's holding my collar. I haven't worn it in a long time - not because we haven't been playing, but just because that sort of formality has never really been D's thing, and it kind of fell off our radar. (Plus, it's kind of hard to give head in it, which has always been a big part of our play.)

"I'm not going to give you your Collared badge tonight," he murmurs, his lips almost brushing my ear as he fastens the collar around my neck. "But I thought you should get used to wearing it again." I can feel love and lust and affection filling me up as if it's being poured into me. I'm still kneeling; he moves to face me, takes my hand and kisses it, and I return the favour, never breaking eye contact.

Then I'm lying facedown on the bed - facing away from the big mirrors that line one wall of his room. He moves behind me and I peek over my shoulder. He's holding his black leather gloves, the soft Italian leather driving gloves I bought him years ago because in my opinion all dominants should own some. He puts them on, slowly. I can't help it - at this sight of those gloves I'm already wet. The incongruity of the dark leather against his bare arms just heightens the effect. I imagine his leather-clad hands on my skin, my nipples, my lips, enclosing my neck; the contrast between the satin-soft leather and his strong grip. I'm so aroused I give an involuntary whimper.

He obliges me with caresses, his hand wrapped around my throat like a warning, brushing against my cheek, my breasts. Then he starts to spank me.

We tried this once before, so I know that the gloves diffuse the sting rather than enhancing it. He's spanking me as hard as he can, though, using all his strength, and each spank thumps against my arse, jolting me forward. The sting is dispersed but the thud is lovely. After a little while I wonder if he realises he's partly wasting his strength, and (respectfully) comment that the leather always hurts less than you might hope. The next thing I feel is the snap of an empty glove against one cheek. Such a mocking little sting, almost no weight behind it; the opposite sensation. A few more smacks like insect bites, and then he starts using his hand. After the extremes of sensation caused by the leather the familar warm sting of his palm is welcome, and I buck to meet each spank.

He turns me round, and onto my back. My arms are tucked above my head. He moves my legs apart, and then further apart. I don't even notice my reflection - I'm completely absorbed in the sensation trip he's sending me on, his wordless power over me. He holds down one leg at a time and slowly, carefully, smacks up the inside of each thigh, hard, from my knee to the damp crease at the top. I bite my lip and yelp at each high-pitched flare of sting.

When he gets to the top my breathing quickens. I know he knows that cunt punishment is off-limits, and I know that he knows that I know, and I trust him not to cross that boundary but I'm still scared. He takes his time. I swallow my panic, try to breathe deeply. He pauses, and then swaps to the other leg. The next painful series of inner-thigh smacks come as a relief. No, of course he won't. He wouldn't. I knew that.

He flips me back over. We're communicating by touch rather than language, and I'm no longer thinking in words. I hang onto the headboard as he spanks my arse with his bare hands, hard and fast. He's really going for it. He straddles my thighs, pinning me down, and spanks harder. The cumulative sting is overwhelming but I'm turned on and warmed up and I'm not scared; the pain is all mixed up with pleasure.

After a while he suddenly stops. He trails his fingers lightly along my heated cheeks. I respond with a wordless sound. His caress dawdles along my bottom crease and I can feel my breath catch and I'm suddenly dizzy. Anal play has been off-limits for annoying health reasons for far too long; I've been desperate for it at the same time as knowing it would be too painful and damaging to contemplate. I still don't feel quite ready, but maybe it would be okay, and then I feel the slick, cool smoothness of a slender buttplug nuzzling between my cheeks, and oh my god, it's slipping in. I'm going mad with lust. I can't think. He leaves it in place, all my senses shrilling my awareness of it, and reaches underneath me to pleasure me with one hand while continuing to spank me with the other. With every slap I can feel the plug jolting in my arse and I think I might scream.

I want/don't want him to take the plug out and fuck me in the arse, but he doesn't. He leaves it in while he goes down on me, which is maddening - I can't concentrate on either sensation and although the pleasure is overwhelming it's hard for me to climax. But I do, eventually, with his cock deep inside me and the high heels crossed around his back, the plug slipped out and forgotten a while ago.

--

Hot scene, but later I wonder, was it enough to earn my badge? He hasn't given me one yet (apart from in the obvious sense) and we're spending the next day together as well. Do I have more to come? That hand spanking was one of the most furious he's ever given me, if not necessarily the hardest I've ever taken. Or maybe it was that hard, and I was so turned on I didn't notice? In the end I ask him the question while we're making breakfast the next day. He says yes, he intends to give me the badge. I joke that he's earned one, too. He smiles.

Later that day, he's at his desk and I'm on the sofa with my laptop. I'm watching Pixie's Cause for Paws video. First I'm giggling at it, and then as the over the knee paddling and hairbrushing from her husband goes on and on at that intensity and speed, I'm hopelessly turned on.

I consider. We're both usually horny in the afternoons and tired by the evenings; it's an inconvenience we've lamented before. Well, here we both are. Why not seize the opportunity?

So I tell him about the video. "It's simultaneously sweet, funny and strangely intense, especially the OTK paddling scene. Mm. I'm all a-flutter now." I can feel my blush rising. "So. Um." I bite my lip and plunge in: "If you decided that you wanted to add a few more strokes to make me earn this spanking badge, I wouldn't mind." I'm bright pink.

He grins, and stands up. "Ha. Come on then."

I feel suddenly guilty for being so demanding. "It - er, it doesn't have to be now if you're busy..."

"No, no," he replies facetiously, "the bottom has spoken, I couldn't possibly delay," and his hand is out and his eyes are smiling. I make an on-the-spot decision to shut up and let him make my fantasy come true. I take his hand.

Standing in the bedroom, I'm shy and uncertain. He whistles to himself as he rummages in the toybox, taking things out, considering them and tossing some of them onto the bed. Wooden oval paddle. Belt. "Just in case I get bored." Length of rope. Meanwhile I take my skirt off. He tells me to leave my top and knickers on.

Over his knee I go. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the mirrors: I'm lying across his lap with the rest of my weight on the bed. He asks me to put my hands behind my back, checks I'm comfortable, and ties my wrists together with the rope. He reaches up and tucks my hair out of my face, treating me to one of his most charming smiles in the mirror. My heart flutters.

Hand spanks first. Solid, stinging, satisfying. Every time we make eye contact in the mirror, sparks fly. When he reaches for the paddle and rests it against my bottom, it feels so cool against my hot cheeks, and I'm conscious that my face, pressed into the pillows, is hot to match.

He starts to use the paddle, proper hard stinging spanks, exactly what I was craving, making me jump and wriggle over his lap. I'm owwing and laughing and loving him, but it hurts. I'm watching my face and bottom turn pinker in the mirror; the former is pleasing and the latter embarrassing. He finds his rhythm and for a while I'm in my happy place. The paddle hurts a lot, but this is my fantasy and every whack makes me more turned on.

After a while he puts the paddle down and uses his hand, the difference in sensation enlivening the sting in my bottom. Does that mean he's bored? Well, maybe not, but he does have the belt in his hand, and he's doubling it up twice to make it easier to aim. The twice-doubled belt is only a few inches long and each stroke is a tiny heavy punch of sensation, none of that licking warmth I usually associate with the belt. I submit to it willingly. Any impact is good with me right now.

I'm red and sore and wriggling when he stops. He helps me up, and there's an ungainly struggle until I'm kneeling next to him on the bed, still bound, tousled and pink-faced and horny. He arranges me facedown on the bed. More spanking! ... But no, he's unzipping, for a quick, rough and dirty fuck which I really, at that point, am not at all minded to complain about.

It was one of the most indulgently instant-gratification scenes I'd ever enjoyed, and it was supremely satisfying. Afterwards I felt very loved, very happy, and very much as if I'd earned my badge.

Kinky Merit Badges

2010-11-05T15:38:00.006Z

Some friends of mine have recently launched an awesome new concept: kinky merit badges. I'm sure they're not the first to think of the idea, but as far as I know they're the first to actually implement it. Their initial range features 20 beautifully designed, embroidered cloth badges with gold trim to be earned or bestowed for excellence in the field.

Simple concept, but I'm really proud of where they've taken it. The badges are of as high a quality as any official scouting or guiding badge - gorgeous colours, pleasing to hold. The designs are brilliant - all designed to be as flexible and egalitarian as possible, with a range of skin tones, and without any gender prejudice. The Cross-dressing badge in particular is a work of genius, and could just as easily depict a man dressed as a woman or vice versa. Not an easy feat - I'm impressed. The only gender-specific badges are Deep Throat (in which the deep-throater could be male or female, but the recipient definitely has a cock), Shibari (in which the bondage bunny is obviously female-bodied) and Voyeurism (in which the voyeur is unspecified, but they're watching a heterosexual couple).

Not all of the initial range are ones I would be interested in owning, but well over half of them are. I was in the middle of trying to decide whether I should buy any of them to award to my Dom/mes, when my friends at Pernicious Deeds pre-empted me. They gave a full set of badges to D gratis, as a thankyou for his involvement in helping them set up the business, and suggested he award them to me one by one, and they thought I might like to blog each badge as I earned it. This way I get all the badges I'm interested in, some hot scenes and some material for the blog, and they get some publicity - which I would have given them anyway, but I'm not going to turn down an offer like that. :)

Because we're poly, of course, it immediately got much more complicated as D and I tried to work out which badges we were interested in earning together, which ones I might want to earn with Penny, and he and Tom colluded on which ones Tom was going to give me, bearing in mind factors like health and time constraints as well as which kinks I indulge with which partners. I still haven't negotiated any scenes with Tom or Penny, although I have ideas, and while I can guess which badges D and Tom have each claimed for themselves, I have no idea when or how I'll be asked to earn them. And none of us get the chance to play as often as we'd like, so it might take a while to work through them all. But that's no bad thing.

D has just awarded me the first Kinky Merit Badge of my collection. You can probably guess which one. But you'll have to wait until the next post to hear about how I earned it...

The law and policy of sex work: I

2010-11-03T14:45:00.002Z

The mainstream debate about sex work legislation seems to have hotted up lately, and strangely, what I've seen hasn't made me as frustrated and angry as it usually does. I'm not saying that the legislature will do anything sensible in Britain any time soon, but I've seen some encouraging signs that the decriminalisation argument is gradually growing wings.

Firstly, I was startled by these tube adverts the other week, from the Economist:

"Typical," I thought. "Why are these 'controversial' issues always framed in such a way that it affirms right-wing ideals? It claims to be provoking debate but in the meantime, there are big ads everywhere saying prostitution is a crime, not a business - surely that's got to have an effect on people."

It wasn't until I went back through the same station on my way home that I noticed the advert next to it for the first time:

So much for leaping to conclusions! That's nowhere near as bad as I feared - both arguments laid out in a reasonably balanced way. I mean, it's simplistic and they aren't the arguments I'd necessarily have chosen, but as a debate it's certainly presented more neutrally than I at first assumed.

For reference, here are my answers to the points on the "crime, not a business" ad:

1. It exploits vulnerable people, so society should not condone it.

'Prostitution' doesn't exploit anyone, just as or 'nursing' or 'data entry' or any other profession doesn't exploit anyone. People exploit people - and by definition, exploitation is done by people with power to people they have power over. People are are intrinsically no more likely to exploit vulnerable people in the sex industries than in any other industry. Arguably vulnerable people are more likely to end up in sex work than other lines of work, but one of the things that enables exploitation is the fact that sex work is criminalised. If sex workers enjoyed the same legal protections as other workers, they would be at far less risk of exploitation.

2. If sex has a price, it loses its value.

Again, I can only unravel this one by looking at other lines of work. If a teacher is paid to teach, does that mean that the time and energy they put into bringing up their own children is worthless? If a cleaner is paid to clean, does that mean that it's worthless if they voluntarily do some housework for their partner? Of course not. The existence of sex work does not suddenly make all sex innately transactional. It can still be given for free, and is worth just as much as it always was to the person I'm sharing it with. If I have sex at work, it doesn't devalue the sex I have in my leisure time, just as being paid to appear in spanking films doesn't devalue the play I enjoy in private.

In addition, it's arguable that most sex is transactional, but in a less explicitly negotiated way - people have sex in exchange for all sorts of things, be it nice dinners, intimacy, someone to talk to or anything else. There's nothing wrong with that; a healthy human is inevitably selfish in many ways and most people make choices on the basis of what will benefit them. Arguably, a sex worker is more ethical than, say, a person who puts out in order to manipulate someone into doing something they want, because the transaction is explicitly negotiated and consensual. (This obviously only applies to consensual sex work, but forcing someone to have sex against their will is called rape, and there's already a law against that which has nothing to do with sex work legislation.)

3. If Britain legalised brothels, it would become a centre for seedy sex tourism. London can do without its own version of Amsterdam's red light district.

This is transparent NIMBYism (Not In My Back Yard). London is already a global centre for sex tourism, it's just mostly underground rather than officially sanctioned. This means that the workers enjoy far less protection and security. People who argue for criminalisation are essentially saying that they would rather enjoy a surface a veneer of 'morality' than make sex workers safe. No person with a shred of compassion should give this argument any credence.

I think the arguments given for 'prostitution as a business' are reasonably sound, if again inevitably simplistic. The only comment I would make is about the first one:

1. People should be allowed to buy or sell whatever they like, including their own bodies.

This stems from the association of liberatarian attitudes to decriminalisation of prostitution with libertarian attitudes to the decriminalisation of drugs. While many people, including myself, support both measures, I don't think you have to accept the latter to accept the former, and entangling them like this helps neither debate.

Mostly, though, this is simply an inaccurate description of prostitution. Sex work is not selling your body - it is hiring it out, for a pre-agreed time period and under strict terms and conditions. Selling your body would mean voluntarily selling yourself into slavery, and as far as I know no-one does that - even BDSM practitioners who enter slavery usually have time periods and terms written into their contracts. Selling someone else into slavery is a wholly different thing, and is a revolting human rights violation regardless of whether they are subsequently used as sex slaves or any other type of slave labourer. So "selling yourself" is, in fact, impossible. If we want this to be a rational debate, let's stop using language which is distracting and inaccurate.

--

In my next post in this mini-series, I'll talk a little more about the libertarian contribution to the debate, with reference to the most recent meeting of the Westminster Sceptics.

Spanked in Uniform - the Blog

2010-11-02T18:40:00.005Z

My storyline in Spanked in Uniform's very own St Catherine's Private School for Girls was based on a true story from my first year at university. I wasn't really acting on my kink then, or I'd probably have asked a play partner to punish me for it at the time. There were quite a few unfortunate student incidents in my manic, drunken, unstable first year which slipped similarly under the net, but that's okay - it's nice to have a stock of true stories I can raid for films, and these days I have no doubt I can find someone happy to belatedly deal with past misdemeanours.

In real life, it happened like this. I had a personal blog which was public on the internet. I was 18, and hadn't yet heard of things like online privacy, but in many ways that blog was my lifeline. I wrote about mental health stuff and relationship stuff and a lot about my university, including character studies of all my most interesting lecturers.

Which would have been fine, if I hadn't stupidly used their real names. Cue me being summoned to the faculty office one morning, completely ignorant that I'd done anything wrong, and being informed by one of the lecturers that they'd found my blog by googling their own name, and weren't at all impressed by the tone of my remarks. Added to that, I'd managed to out one of my favourite tutors, who was gay, but who hadn't actually said so publically online - until I went and put my foot in it, that is. Oops.

I was hugely embarrassed, very apologetic, and immediately went off and locked the whole blog to prevent future instances of stupidity. I felt a bit better when I realised that a handful of other students had been called into the office for very similar chats, but the humiliation still stayed with me for months.

The St Catherine's version of this incident is similar but not identical. Schoolgirl Pandora has a personal blog online which she thinks no-one at her school knows about. One day, after her classmate Leia-Ann was publically punished and her bare bottom displayed in assembly, Pandora writes about how embarrassing it was for everyone to watch, and how the Headmaster is an old pervert. During a lesson the next day she's called to the Head's office. He's annoyed, but not overly angry - more concerned for her safety in writing about personal subjects on the internet. He gives her a sound over the knee spanking for her carelessness and the personal insult, and instructs her to remove all references to the school from her blog, or else she'll have to delete it entirely.

Off she trots to her dorm, where she sulkily removes all the offensive material from her blog. She neglects, however, to take down a post in which she posted photos of her and her friends out on the town one night, in which they are all scantily clad and somewhat the worse for a drink or three. Back to the Head's office she goes! Her argument: but they weren't at school, so why does he care? His argument: the photos bring the school into disrepute, and make young Pandora and her friends vulnerable to online predators. Even worse, they shouldn't have been out drinking in any case!

Needless to say, she has to bend over for a painful dose of the wooden ruler - and thoroughly deserved, in my opinion. After a sound whacking she's sent to the corner to reflect on her behaviour.

I learned my lesson about online privacy some time ago. Hopefully, my schoolgirl counterpart has learned hers, too :)

Check out the video and more stills at Spanked in Uniform.

Calligraphy, cross-dressing and correction

2010-11-01T22:07:00.001Z

Here's a treat to kick off November. This "fragment" by Casey Morgan, Georgie/George may be a tantalisingly short story, but it has everything. Country houses, public schoolboys, simmering bisexual tension, private tutors, unruly young aristocrats, calligraphy lessons, girls dressed as boys...

“She can’t write?”

“Not that one can decipher.”

Delahay’s face assumed the expression of a professional who knew his work: “In short, she is intelligent but undisciplined.”

“Quite.”

Delahay’s gaze drifted to the fire. “It does sound a desperate case,” he said. “Unfortunately, I am a tutor of boys.”

One thing I love about this story is that although it has all the tension of an unequal power dynamic, the relationship - and therefore the punishment - is made explicitly consensual. It's hard to get that right, particularly when the story isn't about an adult erotic relationship.

It's a spanking story, so of course it also contains some corporal punishment. But I loved the restraint with which it was described. The hottest images of all are evoked rather than shown in the ending, which arrives far too soon, but some of the turns of phrase along the way push my buttons as unerringly as if it had been written for me.

“Sorry!”

“Pardon?”

“I said sorry!” she bellowed, wriggling uselessly.

“Perhaps I’ll be able to hear you once you demonstrate proficiency with our first lesson,” he said, concentrating now on the tops of her thighs. She struggled—with his arm and with her pride. It carried on painfully, until she lost to the former and defeated the latter.

“Sorry, sir!”

Click here to read the full story. And thankyou Casey for such a deliciously hot read!

Halloween Switchery

2010-10-31T17:46:00.000Z

I'd hoped to have more time to blog this week, but it's all go in my offline world. I've just met Catherine Thomas for the first time, which was a treat, and there's been lots of Halloween-related foolery. We donned witches' hats for a party last night (hardly counts as a proper costume - goth plus a pointy hat, basically) and there's another tonight, which I'm considering going to as Eve.

In the meantime, there's not been much time for kink, although you'd be surprised at how masochistic it is to spend three hours scooping the flesh out of pumpkins to carve - my poor bruised and blistered hand is only just recovering. Lucky I'm not a spanker, really.

So I'll leave you with another audio snippet which I recorded a couple of weeks ago, and have been saving up for the appropriate day. Like the last poem, this is by my correspondent Jim, and has me taking a rather toppier role...

Switchery (1:30)
(Click to play or download)

(Thanks to RohrstockPalast for the photo!)

SpankingCast Episode 10: “Adventures at a spanking shoot”

2010-10-29T07:47:00.000+01:00

Work this week is ridiculous, but thanks to the Spanking Writers' podcast, I managed to sneak in a kinky moment yesterday with their latest episode. Haron (AKA Adele Haze) was talking about the shoot we did on Monday, and I was pleased to hear that she had all good things to say about it. We approve of happy models.

If you want to hear some sexy descriptions of some of the things we got up to, and a sneak preview of three of the scenarios, check it out:

SpankingCast Episode 10: "Adventures at a spanking shoot"

Pipedreams and priorities

2010-10-26T18:00:00.010+01:00

I realised a few weeks ago that even if I spent a day a week working on my spanking site, I wouldn't have a chance of launching it by Christmas. Now it's nearly the end of October, and I wouldn't be able to manage it even if I could find two days a week. Which I can't; I'm gradually catching up on my perennial work backlog (generated by an inability to say no to things, too many partners forming tempting startups which of course I want to help out with, and a bizarre insistence on working to make pipedream projects happen rather than simply relegating them to the "some day" pile) but my to do list still has a depressing number of things on it which have a higher priority than my fairtrade kinky porn project.

When I realised that 2010, like 2009, was going to end with this site still in its long gestation, I felt very down in the dumps about it. I cursed myself for my inability to focus, for not working hard enough to get everything else done (although I know this is bollocks really), for making poor decisions in giving my time this year to other people's projects and causes. But I'm not very suited to regret. By the time I'd slept on it, I was feeling a lot more zen about my choices this year. My baby spanking site may not be born yet, but I haven't been wasting my time. And although I'm always frustrated by not being able to make as much progress as I'd like with any one project, I'd rather lead a rich and varied life than spend all my time on one thing.

It's okay, anyway; people rarely have money to spend just after Christmas. A March launch date makes more economic sense in some ways. It certainly doesn't mean I'm a failure. (I won't be surprised if the March date falls by the wayside as well, but giving myself deadlines is one of the ways I prioritise between all the tempting conflicting demands on my time. And the nice thing about setting deadlines for yourself is that it's alright if they slip; as long as the deadline spurs you to focus, it's served its purpose.)

When I was still aiming for a Christmas launch, I'd pledged to myself that I wasn't allowed to spend any more time shooting (the fun sociable part) until I'd caught up on editing, admin, site design and development (the time-consuming solitary parts). It's not like I don't enjoy these things, but somehow I found myself producing another shoot before I'd made much more in the way of progress with the rest of it. It was easy to find excuses - oh, well, this venue is probably available for a limited time only, and I should make the most of it while I have access to it; I need some better promotional images in order to do the web design - but the truth is that shooting is exciting and exhilirating and involves having kinky fun with lovely people, and all the rest of it involves long hours I have to spend at my desk.

I'd like to say that the stills shoot yesterday was definitely DEFINITELY the last shoot I'm producing until all the rest of the work is done, and I am going to spend my time working on the site and editing the backlog rather than planning more exciting future shoots. But I know that's not true. I'm already planning another video shoot in December. Guiltily. But I shall assuage my conscience by doing lots of editing AS WELL. Then the next shoot clearly won't be procrastination on the other work, but a reward to myself for making progress.

--

But you guys don't want to hear all about my prioritising troubles, you want to hear about the shoot yesterday. I'm getting the pics back from the photographer in a couple of weeks, so I'll leave proper scene descriptions til I have some images to illustrate them with. In the meantime:

- I'm getting better at this. Quite a lot of planning went into this one, although the callsheet still only went out on Saturday night (but everyone had had advance notice of the costume they needed to bring, so that wasn't the end of the world). I feel like every shoot I produce goes more smoothly. There was almost no stress or faff on the day. We kept to schedule and got through five different set-ups in under eight hours, with time for lunch and tidying (not bad when we had to dress each set individually for a different historical period and flavour). I'd written an additional scene to be fitted in before lunch if we could, but by late morning we were running slightly behind, so I cut it, which meant we started the afternoon ahead of schedule. We actually finished the day half an hour earlier than I'd planned, which made me wonder if I shouldn't have left the extra scene in after all - but having more time is no bad thing, and that scene will work just as well on a future video shoot.

- This was stills only, and so very much in my comfort zone as an artist - although it was, bizarrely, the first stills-only shoot I've produced/directed. Strange to realise that. I hadn't directed other models before, but I've been directed a lot and had a very clear vision about what I wanted, so it came quite naturally. Tom directed part of one scene and most of another, since he knows much more about either 19th century ceremonial magic or fencing choreography than I do.

- I found it much easier to bottom while directing stills than I have to bottom while directing video. Because I was directing, I found the pain much harder to take than when I'm simply modelling, and can immerse myself more fully, but because it was stills, there was much more opportunity to react out of character if a stroke was too painful, or to pause to collect myself. If I reacted to a hard stroke with, say, an annoyed yell rather than a submissive whimper, it didn't ruin the dynamic of the scene, because the camera didn't record it. And I could ask Tom to pause between strokes of the strap to give my bottom a rub without having to call "cut". Because of the increased opportunities for out of character conversation between shots, modelling for stills is much more compatible with directing than modelling for video.

- Daniel R was amazing to work with, and totally unflappable despite not having shot spanking material before. He got what I was trying to do, he was professional, efficient, calm, and amazingly good at lighting - the darker atmospheric scenes with candlelight came out so much better than I'd hoped, and I know how hard that is. I was really happy with the shots I saw on his computer screen, and can't wait to see the finished results. Thanks so much to him and his partner for all their hard work yesterday. I was able to hand the lighting tech completely over to them, and it made my job so much easier.

- It is such a privilege to be able to work with close friends. I knew what all my models were capable of, I trusted them, I didn't have to worry about them, I didn't have to feel guilty for spending valuable social time working, because I knew I'd see lots of them anyway - it was just really emotionally easy. Plus they all share my vision, and so I can trust them creatively to strive for the same aims as me. Working with new people is wonderful, but it's different, and it's definitely more effort. This felt very natural and straightforward, and this week I really needed that.

Because we were doing stills only, I took the opportunity to do some scenes which would be difficult to shoot on video. The aforementioned fencing choreography, for instance; or the Magician's Apprentice scene I shot with Adele, Tom and Jimmy, which included a special effect which would be beyond my skills on video, but which was easy to produce in stills. I was also able to persuade Tom and Jimmy to do some M/m work, which made Adele and I very happy, but which I don't think they'd be comfortable doing on video. Having done the stills versions successfully, though, I now think that the other three out of yesterday's five scenes would be doable on video, so it's possible we'll revisit those at some point.

I've decided that I'll let myself blog about specific scenarios in detail when (and only when) I've got each one ready to publish, in the hopes that this will motivate me to get the post-production done promptly. For now, I'll just post this photo I took on my cameraphone between takes, of Adele and Jimmy being very sweet as the magician's apprentice and his new girlfriend (who is, unbeknownst to him, also the magician's apprentice-to-be):

Love our Lurkers V

2010-10-21T16:34:00.003+01:00

It's that time of year again - the spankosphere's annual Love our Lurkers day, organised by the inimitable Bonnie of My Bottom Smarts. Today is the day when we invite you to say hello, especially if you haven't commented before.

I've had a great response to this on previous years, and I think it's a tradition that's well worth keeping. Like all bloggers, I'm motivated to keep writing by the amazing responses and feedback I get. If I didn't get any comments, I'd have given up long ago. Through keeping this blog I've made some brilliant friends - and been continually surprised by the empathy and thoughtfulness of the responses I get. I started this blog as a professional spanking model, thinking that people wouldn't bother reading unless I kept it light, fluffy and sexy. Since then I've poured more and more of myself into this virtual space, and every time I peel back a new layer and reveal a new idea or feeling, I'm anxious about how it's going to go down. Surely my readers, I think, aren't interested in political rants or introspection about my body issues, or all the other decidedly unsexy things I post from time to time? And every time, I'm bowled over by the warmth, generosity and intelligence of my responses. You guys are awesome. I'm honoured to have so engaging and interesting an audience for my thoughts.

Even so, perhaps political debate or analysis about the nuts and bolts of kink isn't your thing. Perhaps you enjoy reading but don't feel you have much of interest to contribute. Well, you don't have to have anything unique or exciting to say today: I just want to know you're out there. Sometimes leaving the first comment can be a huge hurdle - hopefully, doing so on a day when everyone else is doing the same thing might make be a bit easier.

While I'm here, I just want to say a special thankyou to all the new commenters who have delurked over the last year, without having been prompted. It's been really great chatting to you, and every comment I get brightens my day a little. Thankyou for reading, thankyou for being interested, and I hope we have many great conversations to come. :)

If you haven't said hello yet, please do consider leaving a reply to this post - as brief as you like. If you want a topic to discuss, let me know if there's anything you'd like to see more or less of on this blog. Any preferences or opinions, ways it could be bettered or improved? If you haven't commented before, was there a reason or are you just not in the habit? You don't have to identify yourself - but I'd love to know you're there.

Bear Ass

2010-10-20T22:20:00.002+01:00

I've written before about the real ale pump labels by ex-spanking model and erotic artist Lynn Paula Russell. Her recent work is well worth a look - I love the nature-based erotic pieces she's been producing lately:

But apparently, Ms Russell isn't the only kinky artist commissioned to create a beer pump label. Check out this naughty design from Beartown Brewery:

(Mine isn't bare at the moment though - it's far too cold. Brr! Maybe if it was covered in a lovely thick coating of warm bear fur...)

Asking for the cane

2010-10-19T00:04:00.001+01:00

Saturday: I'm looking through an audio story a reader has sent me, so I can give them a quote for recording it. It's rather good. A first person narrative describing the protagonist's first memories and experiences of corporal punishment. It's restrained, believable; no florid, extended descriptions of unrealistically severe discipline. Instead, it describes all the context and relationships, anticipation, build-up and aftermath surrounding a few tiny events - each episode only involving one or two whacks - so trivial in the course of things, but to the protagonist (and the author ... and me) glowing with deep personal significance. The caning sequence in particular is so well-evoked that I find myself responding as I read it. This appeals to my tastes, alright. After I've replied to the email I have to nip off to bed for a few minutes to indulge the fantasy now crowding my head.

Later that night: Tom emerges from his room, over-worked and exhausted-looking. We collide over the kettle and I give him a hug. He's sleepy and bearlike, nuzzling and pawing affectionately as if I'd disturbed his hibernation. I hug him back tightly. "Do you know what I've been thinking about all day?" I murmur into his hair.

"Mmmm?"

"Being caned by you."

"Mm." He kisses me. "I'm getting there, slowly. It won't be too much longer now. I do have a bit more energy these days than I did."

"I know, I know, it wasn't a demand. I just wanted to let you know you were in my thoughts."

His health this summer has taught me a bit about patience, although it's still hardly my strong point. But I find it helpful to check in with him, to reassure each other we are still interested, still think of each other in kinky terms, even if playing isn't currently on the cards. It's positive reinforcement, and it helped keep me going during the months when even a spanking was too much to ask. I thought that getting a quick bottom rub in bed as he told me I was spankable would have made me acutely aware of what I was missing, but even that level of interaction eased the ache a little. Sometimes, when you really miss it, the tiniest spark of kinky interest can be enough.

--

Sunday: We're spending a lazy evening together, recovering from another mad, full working week. Lots of snuggling. It's good. I'm really not expecting anything, and so the surprise is all the nicer when I discover that he's feeling playful. I sit astride his lap in my pyjamas, cradled in his arms as we kiss; my top is pulled up, exposing my breasts to his big, rough hands.

Once over his lap I'm relieved when the spanking is slow, giving me time to unwrap the caning fantasy from the day before, hold it gently in my mind. I remember how much the idea of those few, harsh strokes turned me on, and the firm spanks warming my rear become easier to take. I breathe deeply and let the sensations wash over me.

It's a perfect nice spanking - right up until the end, when he makes me squirm and beg with a series of very slow, very hard smacks that crash into my arse so hard I can't think. When he finally stops I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself. But he makes it up to me: a lovely, light switching which lights up my tail and re-ignites my interest. When he lays down a few harder, stinging strokes with the whippy little switch the bite of them is a tantalising foretaste of the deeper sensation I've been craving.

Next, a satisfyingly solid, slow twelve with the leather paddle which I don't have to count - bliss. When he stops I crane back over my shoulder to see what he'll pick up next, willing it to be the cane. I'm eager and thoroughly warmed up. I earn myself a sharp glance for peeking, but to my delight we're on the same page. He's picked up one of the shorter, denser straight handled canes, medium thickness. He asks me to count.

"How many am I going to get, sir?" I venture.

"I haven't decided yet."

The first six whet my appetite. The next six fulfil it. Thirteen to eighteen, therefore, are a challenge, and I'm proud when I get through them. Each stroke is getting harder. Nineteen to twenty-four are hard, self-indulgently miserable, making me arch my back and half-jump up as I struggle to process the pain, count the heartbeats until I manage to bite out my thankyou.

Afterwards he's all warmth and praise. I'm not able to speak yet. I curl on my side in the crook of his arm, and he holds me close as I re-surface.

I don't get what I ask for every time, but when I do, I appreciate it all the more.

Power exchange, discipline and feedback loops

2010-10-15T17:58:00.004+01:00

I really enjoyed this discussion on the Punishment Book earlier this week, in which Iris and Chris discussed what tops get out of a DD dynamic. It covered a number of fascinating points and I can recommend reading the whole post, but here are the bits that particularly interested me:

Iris: I'm a bit wary of setting up the punishment dynamic with [M] sometimes because I don't want to drain him too much. With you I get the sense that it feeds you in some way, perhaps in the same way it feeds me: not an entirely pleasant way, but a satisfying way.

Chris: I’d be lying if I didn’t say a part of me was a bit excited by the fact that you are in trouble. I have a hard time admitting that ... maybe that's why I've always been so adamant about not "enjoying" punishments. But, there is a part of me, like you say, which does feed off of that dynamic. I think we're both on the same page there. We don't like the actual event… but we both like the situation and what it represents. For me, as I’ve said before, it's largely the trust. We share something very close and special in that punishment context, and I feel very close and focused on you before, during and after a punishment.

Iris: So can I be so bold as to ask what you do get out of TTWD? For me it creates stability and security, it re-equilibrates me when I’m off kilter, and mostly, it makes me feel deeply loved. But what about you?

Chris: Good – and tough – question. Obviously, there are different things I get out of it in different settings and with different people, so I'll limit it to the punishment aspect with you. I think the biggest thing I get out of it is knowing that you trust me enough to let me punish you when you need it. I know you don’t enjoy the spanking and hairbrushing itself, and the fact that you do trust me to do it anyway is something I cherish. It does definitely create a closeness, intimacy and yes, love that doesn’t necessarily manifest in other ways. Beyond that, even during a punishment I enjoy the physical aspects of spanking and your reactions. Those reactions are very different from a fun spanking, but they feed the punishment fantasy as well without being "fake".

Lots of food for thought! I'm always impressed by how thoughtful and emotionally articulate so many kinksters are about their sexuality. I know it's not something perverts have a monopoly on, but I think power exchange tends to stimulate this sort of analysis and discussion in a way that I find really affirming.

I added a few thoughts in a comment:

I suspect this is one of those questions that's really hard to answer because for most people, it's all one great big feedy feedback loop. The bottom gets certain things out of it (Iris' explanation is spot on - stability, security, feeling loved and looked after, catharsis, re-achieving equilibrium and the feeling of "starting again") and, because the top cares about the bottom, those are all things the top gets out of it as well - the joy of knowing they are having this effect.

Plus, there's the sexual stimulation of watching yourself enact a scenario you find hot - even if that's happening in another room of your head, and the self in your body is feeling remorse and sorrow and upset. This is shared by both of you, and it loops because you're each aware, even as you're immersed in this genuinely emotionally distressing experience, that the other finds the idea of this sort of thing hot, and perhaps that when they look back on it the memory will carry some sexual excitement.

Then there's what the top gets out of it - I love Chris's explanation here. Love, care, pleasure in the bottom's trust, pleasure at being able to help them - and perhaps pleasure in the experience of being granted this authority or power over them, as well as in the trust that implies. The bottom gets to enjoy the fact that their top is enjoying all these things, as well as enjoying his or her own experience.

I think this is one of the reasons many of us find power exchange play more electric and stimulating than sex in which each parter's experience is emotionally equivalent. It creates this delightful moebius strip of emotional response where the difference and imbalance in each person's response feeds back into the other's, and you both get to share in each other's experience.

Following on from the concept of feedback loops, I found myself nodding at Iris' initial statements about not wanting to be a burden on her partner M. I can very much identify with not wanting to impose activities on a top which they don't get anything out of. This is a consideration in all my relationships and liaisons. At the most casual level, I'm reluctant to engage in spanking play with someone who is only doing it for my sake. If my top doesn't get that fundamental jolt of excitement which all spankos will recognise, then even if they enjoy giving me pleasure, my own pleasure isn't enough for me to really relax and enjoy the experience. I need to trust that this is something my partner wants to do for their own sake as well as mine.

Domestic discipline is even more complicated than that because of the amount of commitment it represents. I don't mean the longevity of a relationship, I mean the time investment that is involved in conducting a discipline relationship responsibly. Rules and sanctions need to be negotiated consensually, and they need to be followed up consistently. If a bottom lets their top down by breaking a rule, I think the top lets them down even more by responding inconsistently. The punishment should be as negotiated, and delivered relatively promptly. As a bottom, there are few things worse than breaking a rule and then not knowing whether you're in trouble or not - or finding out that the top isn't in the mood, or is too busy, to respond, and feeling neglected as a result.

This is why my DD relationship with Tom is still on hold. He knows his own limits. He knows that in his current state of health he couldn't make a commitment to respond promptly and appropriately to my breaking any agreement we might make; as such, he doesn't want to enter one until he can. He feeds off the energy and trust of a DD power exchange, just as I do, but what's worth adding here is that neither of us only feed off that energy. We also put energy into it. Having done so, we both get more out than we started with, but in order for the power exchange to work we both need to have some energy (or power) to invest into it in the first place.

Like the feedback loop arising from a discipline relationship, I think this principle is true of normal sex as well, particularly with new partners - I get energy out of it, but I need a certain amount of energy to start with for it to be workable. But in both cases, I think the imbalance of power in a Dom/sub relationship enhances the phenomenon. Both the bandwidth of the feedback loop, and the amount of energy each partner needs to put in to get things going, are increased by the different roles, responsibilities and risks involved in power exchange.

What do you think? Does this tally with your experience?

Towards Forgiveness

2010-10-11T18:02:00.000+01:00

The last spanking audio piece I posted seemed pretty popular, so here's another one for you. This is for my writerly correspondent Jim, who is also the author of the poetry I'm reading. I'm very grateful to him not only for the excellent verses, but for his generosity in letting me share the file with you.

I really enjoyed this poem - I hope you do, too.

Towards Forgiveness (1:59)
(Click to play or download)

Fetish clubbing in London

2010-10-07T14:08:00.004+01:00

A couple of people have asked me for recommendations of fetish clubs lately. I'm also looking for a new club that suits all my requirements, and have just spent an hour or so looking through listings of active clubs to see what might fit.

I didn't think my requirements were that picky, but I can't seem to find anywhere that ticks all the boxes. I'm looking for a club which:

- Has a strict fetish dresscode. I don't mean that spending lots of money is mandatory, but I go to fetish clubs as a voyeur/exhibitionist as well as a player, and I like to feel that the other attendees are as keen to express themselves creatively in their outfit as I am. If everyone has put lots of effort and imagination into looking interesting and sexy, it makes for a better atmosphere and a more exhilirating, otherworldly experience.

- Permits sex. Kink and sex are almost indistinguishable for me. I very very rarely play with people I'm not interested in fucking (roleplay and performing in films/photoshoots are the exception here) and the type of play I enjoy at clubs is intrinsically sexual. Moreover, a lot of my D/s experience is explicitly sexual, and I like being able to explore and enjoy that when I'm at a club rather than having to suppress half my kinky sexuality; it feels artificial and kind of prudish.

Other boxes it would be good to tick include: stylish, glossy venue; culture of good etiquette; no "wanky men"; good dance music (by which I don't mean electro or funky house - I like to dance to hard house, happy hardcore, trance and psytrance, drum and bass).

So what are the options if you're going out in London? I'll start with listing the clubs I've actually been to:

Torture Garden
The biggest, glossiest, most expensive fetish club in the UK. I've been to this more than any other. It's not a play club so much as a voyeur's club. People go to look and be looked at, and the outfits are amazing. But they always overfill venues and sell too many tickets; it's overcrowded, takes ages to move between rooms, and is full of people who are there to stare and aren't scene kinksters who understand the etiquette. I've never gone to a TG and not been groped by a stranger, normally in the press of bodies as you're trying to move between rooms. The overcrowding also makes it almost impossible to play - there isn't space in the dungeon to swing an implement, even if you can manage to get to a piece of furniture, and there are usually a frustrating number of people sitting on fetish furniture rather than using it. I've had some fantastic sex in various rooms of the club, but the couples room is often overcrowded. Still, the performances are worth watching, and it was my club of choice while it still played decent dance music. Unfortunately the music policy changing to favour dirty electro has tipped the balance, and these days I have less patience for the crowds, the wanky men, the pushy drunks, and the people who have no concept of scene etiquette.

Club Subversion
I'm very fond of Subversion even though it doesn't permit sex. Mostly this is because of the atmosphere: it's extremely relaxed and friendly. Everyone there is a real person, there to play and participate, and I've always found it a great place to make new kinky friends. It's well-equipped and the standard of play is high, people dress up and I very rarely have any trouble with people breaching etiquette. I've never danced there, but it's more of a social experience for me anyway. I do get frustrated by not being able to conclude sexy scenes in the way that feels most natural, though. I don't intend to stop going to Subversion, but I want to find a more pro-sex club to complement it.

Club Antichrist
Antichrist is a good laugh - it's half goth/industrial dance club, and half fetish club. As such, it can be a bit weird if you've spent time on the London goth scene bumping into acquaintances you aren't used to seeing (and may not want to see) in a kinky context. The dresscode is pretty broad - goth jeans and trainers are permitted - but most people make an effort. Sex is permitted, but most people don't. The play area is quite small, and the feeling that half the people are there for the music rather than the play can make you feel a bit self-conscious.

This morning, D and I have been looking through clubs we haven't been to in search of one that appeals. Here's what we've made of the choices so far:

Festival of Sins
This is hosting an event this Saturday, which is what put it into mind. It looks interesting, but we were put off by the small play area and description of the dungeon:

"Rather than a traditional dungeon, we have the Tales of Sin. In the middle of the Tales of Sins room, there is a sinful play area equipped with luscious dungeon equipment. This is surrounded by intimate booths themed around each of the deadly sins. You can explore these delightfully ever-changing corners of fantasy to create your own tale of sin."

I don't know about you, but I imagine those booths as full throughout the night with drinkers, and nowhere left to play. They don't permit sex, either, and the music policy seems to be similar to TG's.

Club Decadence
Penny went to this recently, which was what put it in mind; she spoke highly of the erotic shows and performances. It has a couples room and dresscode. There isn't much info about the music (although it does seem to lean towards funky electro), but it might be worth a try at some point.

Club Hades
People describe Hades as a serious play club. The emphasis is on play and more play, with a very free dress code and less in the way of decor and dancefloor than other clubs. Etiquette is strictly enforced, including silence if you're watching scenes in the edge play room. This is a club I would go to with Tom, I think, or someone who would be interested in going out just to play rather than as part of a bigger clubbing experience. They don't permit sex, though, so maybe not.

Club Rub
Club Rub initially looks very promising - the Lightbox is an extremely shiny venue, the dresscode seems similarly glossy, and I've heard good things about it. Unfortunately, it disappoints on music ("sexy house", which has never ever described anything I could actually enjoy dancing to) and on prudishness (their NO SEX rule is very strongly worded). It might be worth a visit at some point, especially if they do something similar to last month's British Empire and CP theme in the future, but it looks unlikely to suit D and me.

Fetish Swingers
Hard to tell whether this could suit us or not, as the website is hopelessly out of date. The old venue included a spa and sauna, but there's no information on the site about their new venue or future events, and I don't know if it's still active.

Club Pedestal
This is heavily focussed on female domination, and as such isn't quite the right scene for me and a male dom. I might go with Penny sometime, but I'd be concerned about both of us being overwhelmed by pushy male subs.

Club Spectacular
This has a very goodlooking venue and dress code, but no information about whether sex is permitted. The website is remarkably thin on information, in fact, including about future events. I'd appreciate any info from anyone who's been to this.

The F Club
This was recommended to me by Amy Hunter and Leia Ann Woods, who have both enjoyed it. It's a membership only club which runs fetish and swingers nights. There's no clear guidance on the music policy, or whether sex is permitted at the fetish nights (although it seems likely in context). The membership fees are somewhat high - although less if you're buying as a couple, and they seem to be reduced for Fetlife/LFS/IC members, so this might be worth investigating at some point.

Kinky Salon
As recommended by Filament Magazine. This looks damn near perfect: overtly queer and trans-friendly (most fetish clubs are, but I tend like the atmosphere of the ones that make a point of it), focussed on artistic expression and creativity, fun, a bit different, with safe sex explicitly permitted and a sensible code of conduct. I don't know how much spanking or BDSM play there'd be, but it seems like it would be fun to find out. You need to introduce yourself before you can buy a ticket, and unfortunately D's last attempt to begin this process met with no reply. It seems worth pursuing, though, so I'll chase them and let you know how I get on.

This post is intended as an information resource (albeit limited!) to interested people, as well as a call for help finding something that suits me. So if you have any recommendations to make, fire away - but it would be awesome if you could also comment with your experiences of any of these clubs you've been to, to help others make an informed choice.

Anyone interested in fetish clubbing in London but who doesn't know where to start looking should sign up to the London Fetish Scene website (if you can get past the prohibitively difficult captcha!) and spent some time on the forums there. It's also a good round-up of current fetish clubs and forthcoming events.

All in a day's work

2010-10-05T15:33:00.005+01:00

Last Wednesday's shoot was a last-minute booking with a brand new spanking site, in which I was taking the place of a model who had cancelled. I wasn't miffed at being a stand-in, though; my co-model Leia-Ann Woods was in the same boat after an apparent string of cancellations, and it was great to get to work with her again, as well as Paul Kennedy and Jean Bradley. The site is still unnamed, let alone launched, so I'm not sure when the content will be going online. But the shoot was a busy one, and included a number of amusing highlights...

- For the first scene, we were asked to read a passage from Leviticus about not marking your body, and then be punished for our tattoos. Paul and I exchanged glances; I'm not keen on that sort of religious scene. "I don't have a tattoo," Leia-Ann remarked, naturally without a trace of smugness. Damn, I thought, now how I am I going to get out of this one?

Paul furrowed his brow. "I suppose ... you could be ... being initiated into some sort of cult?"

"What, like Scientology?"

We paused, briefly considering the comedic potential of the scene. I think, though, that the producer intended us to take it a bit more seriously than that. Eventually, to my relief, Paul said that he wasn't sure even we could make that convincing, and I was off the hook.

So we did a lovely little before-school spanking scene instead, in which Leia and I had done something so bad (accidentally setting fire to the local cornershop while 'testing' matches) that we were to be spanked every morning and every night for a week. Over our pyjamas, of course. In fact, out of the six clips I filmed that day half of them involved both Leia and I wearing pyjamas, so if you're a fan of jim-jams, you'll almost certainly enjoy this site.

- The second scene started out as a straightforward summoned-to-the-Headmistress's office type deal, but we quickly managed to pervert it. Of course we haven't meant to key the Head's car. We hadn't realised it was her car! After a sound spanking and dose of the wooden ruler for skiving off lessons and being in the teacher's carpark without permission, it was revealed that we were trying to get revenge on the pervy caretaker (played brilliantly by Paul K, complete with amazing roaming rural accent) who was always spilling things near the girl's changing rooms, dropping things and getting us to pick things up, looking down girls' tops... Of course the Head was shocked to hear such baseless, slanderous accusations - so what response would be more natural than to summon him to punish us himself? Ewwwww...!

- Leia cracked me up during a breakfast scene in which she tried to pick all the seeds out of a slice of multiseed bread, complaining that they looked like insects (after which I was very glad that I'd opted for cereal). Naturally, Jean was less amused than I was, but I thought it was very unfair that I should get the hairbrush as well.

- That afternoon we invented a whole new game: Spanking Twister. During the making of this film I learned that it is foolish to play Twister (spanking or otherwise) against an ex-ballet dancer.

Since I moved out of London my job has involved a lot more physical work than it used to, and I've definitely built up strength and muscle, but I seem to have lost a whole load of flexibility. My hamstrings were super-tight, and the effort of stretching into positions which were effortless to Leia but felt like bizarre contortions to me made me sweat, and then my hands slipped on the plastic sheet, and yes, you guessed it - I fell over. So I earned myself a spanking - which was fine, I was grateful to be over the knee rather than bent over on tiptoe - but in the next round, it was agreed that Leia would lose. I wondered how on earth I'd last long enough.

Thankfully, the dial was kind to me and I managed to avoid any strenuous positions before Leia gracefully (but implausibly) surrendered. I was assuming that Round 3 would go to her, but instead we decided to get the two of us into the kinkiest, spankiest (what? that's totally a word) positions possible and then fade the film out on both of us being whipped in tandem. I'm sorry to admit that after a minute or two balanced precariously on fingers and tiptoe with my arse in the air, I could feel my under-worked leg muscles started to shake. I really didn't want to ruin the film by collapsing, so I spent the last few minutes fidgeting in an attempt to make it through without breaking position. Bracing my legs, relaxing them, shifting my weight, putting more weight on my hands - nothing relieved the strain. I was struggling so much that I didn't even feel the whipping on which the film closed. In fact, I was too distracted to respond to it at all; I was entirely focussed on simply not falling over.

Everyone was very decent about it, and although it was annoying, I didn't feel anywhere near as embarrassed or humiliated as I imagined I would. I mean, I'm a model, so physical flexibility and stamina is something producers can reasonably expect. I'm not very flexible naturally, and know I need to work at it; if I've let it slip, it's absolutely fair enough that I'll get shown up at some point! Note to self: start going swimming again, and take up yoga. I've been meaning to for ages, so hopefully this will be the kick up the arse (as it were) that prompts me to finally get on it.

- I was exceedingly grateful, therefore, that the next scene took place in a hot tub. With wine. They let Leia and me have a bit of downtime, and it was lovely to lie back in the hot water with the rain falling all around us, have a chance to just unwind and chat. Of course, Paul and Jean used the time to plot a scene which would land us right in it; when the cameras started rolling and they barged in on us, we had no idea what to expect, which was a brilliant improvisation challenge! But mostly, my poor muscles were grateful for the respite. After that game of Twister, even being paddled on wet skin in the cold air was preferable.

All in all it was great fun, despite being a very long day (I left home at 7am to catch a train, and got back to London at 10pm). I particularly enjoyed working and catching up with Leia-Ann, who was an absolute star despite having a whole bunch of other stuff going on. Jim-jams, keying cars, interrogations, spankings from pervy janitors, spanking twister and illicit hot tubs - in what other job is this all in a day's work? :)

Happy bottom

2010-10-05T00:22:00.002+01:00

After a dry summer, the last week has been outrageously kinky. Last Wednesday I spent 7 hours on the set of a shoot for a brand new spanking site, during which we produced 6 films with accompanying stills and 2 separate photosets. It was intense and enjoyable and physically exhausting, and I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

On Thursday I shared a new professional kinky experience with my delightful Penny D; her first forays into such waters, and she took to them as naturally as the selkie I always suspected she was. (The Scottish kind, of course, not Cornish). Lots of energy exchanged; exhiliration; learning curves; huge amounts of job satisfaction. That, too, will have to wait until another post.

Friday night we went out to Subversion - my first outing to a fetish club on the arm of a domme rather than either of my men. An enormously different experience, and hugely enjoyable. It was a rich, varied, emotionally intense evening for a host of different reasons, and - well - you guessed it, I'll go into more detail later in the week.

I came home on Saturday to a polyamory wobble which forced a rift between Thomas and I until we talked about the problem on Sunday lunchtime. It was painful and difficult and scary, but by Sunday evening things had started to settle, and I could feel that my reaching-out to him was mutual. After the dispute was resolved we clung to each other thirstily, and the evening ended with electric, long-awaited make-up sex; sex which re-connected us not only after that fight, but re-forged another link that had been left wavering during this long summer of work and health problems and distance and stress. Every moment of physical intimacy with him is precious right now, and we clung to each other so dearly that I wasn't the only one to shed a tear at the intensity of emotion that swamped us both.

D/s play is still to come, at home, as Tom slowly regains his strength; but in London, I have my lady to share electric new experiences with, to glory in her growing power and self-confidence as my domme; I have D, with whom everything right now is comfortable and lustful and good. And I have work that taps into my kink, the deep joy that comes from creating erotic stimulation that gives joy to others.

I have been sitting on this photo since May, but today, I can finally say that it fits me right down to the ground.