the warning

I love this set with Kami Robertson at Bars and Stripes. She plays a reporter who has infiltrated the prison, and tries to tell the outside world of the atrocities going on within its walls. Of course she's caught. And of course she's punished. The best kind of punishment, in my opinion, where the valiant young woman is unjustly targeted for trying to do the right thing.









Kami looks beautiful as always, but it's the implicit violence in these images that makes my breath catch in my throat. The take-down is something you see more in bondage porn than spanking, but I love it. And Kami's slight figure enhances the impression of vulnerabilty. I couldn't do a series like this unless I found some massive tops to contrast with my height.

The last picture is my favourite. The sense of movement and tension in the body language is amazing. I don't need to see the actual spanking, really: it's is secondary to the act of being caught, outnumbered and immobilised, stripped of your dignity by unstoppable figures.

(Photos via The Spanking Spot)

Wheatley Manor

I've just found out about an exciting thing. Northern Spanking are releasing their first feature-length film. The stars, of course, are the four best spanking actresses (in my opinion) in the UK: Amelia-Jane Rutherford, Niki Flynn, Leia Ann Woods, and Amy Hunter. And the inestimable Stephen Lewis, although from the look of the promo pics the girls hardly need his help. The title? Wheatley Manor.



I wasn't involved in this project, but I've seen the teaser site Northern Spanking have put online. And I'm excited. Aren't you excited?



Paul, Lucy and the girls will be at the Shadow Lane Spanking Convention on Friday 6th March, to answer your questions and whet your appetites (and hopefully sell some DVDs). I can't justify the trip this year, but I hope some of you can make it to Las Vegas and tell me all about it.

In the meantime, I'm awaiting this DVD release with baited breath. I don't buy many, but this will definitely be one of the honoured few.

on not being a moth

Talking about model names, Ludwig has asked me about mine:

Speaking of surnames: the inspiration for "Pandora" seems fairly obvious, but where did "Blake" came from? I've been meaning to ask this for some time. Or is it a secret? My theory is that, since you are an artist, the surname might come from English poet and painter William Blake (1757-1827). I'd love to see if it is correct...

I'll start with the Pandora, which is, indeed, obvious. The first human woman, a "beautiful evil" concocted by Zeus to torment the race of men, who releases forbidden gifts into the world. However problematic I might find the gender theory of these myths, they're certainly powerful.

I knew from the start I wanted a mythical name, preferably from the Classical corpus. Most of them sound pretty obscure these days, and I wanted a name which is still used today. My shortlist boiled down to Diana, Selene, Penelope, Maia and Pandora, and after some thought I chose the latter. (Although when Spanking Online wanted me to use a different name for my first shoot with them, I went with Penelope.)

Coming up with the dreadful "Pandora's Bot" pun definitely sealed the decision. It took me a while to get there, though. When I started modelling, I was mostly doing art nude or glamour photoshoots, and I didn't know what direction my career would go in. I knew I was interested in erotic photography but I'd been modelling for a year before I did my first spanking shoot. When I chose the name, I was considering the possibility that I might choose to do hardcore porn work. In which case "Pandora's box" would have been an even more obvious terrible pun. ;)

In the event, I quickly worked out that wasn't my thing, and that spanking definitely was. If I'd known from the start I was going to be a spanking model I'd have picked something more "normal", a name that could as easily sound like a girl in your class as a porn model. But when I started out, I didn't know what direction I would go in.

Once I'd picked "Pandora", I needed a surname that fitted. I knew I wanted something very traditionally English, to balance out the Greek first name. Lots of characters from Regency and Victorian novels were considered and rejected. I remember a conversation with D. where I was going through English place names,and at one point he burst out "I am NEVER spanking someone called PANDORA PADDINGTON!" After that I stuck to shorter names.

Ludwig will be gratified to know that his guess about my eventual choice was spot on. I've always admired the Romantic movement, and was very into William Blake's work as a teenager. I love his art, his poetry and especially his illustrated books - and with well-known titles like Songs of Innocence and Experience and The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, how could I resist?

It wasn't until after I'd chosen my name, done a few spanking shoots, created my website and started a blog that I realised the other meaning of the name. In the early days, I checked my Google rankings and discovered the Pandora Pinemoth, whose scientific name is Coloradia Pandora (Blake) - Blake being the entymologist who classified it in 1863.

Sheer coincidence. But pleasing, nonetheless.

Mr M

Continuing the theme of hot male spankers, I've recently noticed a cute top working for Real Spankings, known as Mr M¹. Apparently he's been shooting with them a while, but he first came to my attention the other week in an update from Spanking Bailey. He's youthful, good looking, and he has long hair, which goes a long way in my book.



Plus, he seems to be absolutely expert with a belt. I suspect Bailey wasn't impressed that his left wrist was the injured one when they filmed this set:







The good news is that appears in a whole load of free galleries from Real Spankings. (I know. I looked.) The bad news, inevitably, is that most of them focus on the spankee, so I haven't been able to ogle as much as I'd like. But I've seen enough to know that he's a commanding, accurate top who plays hard. Hard enough that resulting paddle burn is uncomfortable to look at. Which is, you know. Hot. :)

I waded through a tonne of photos showing his hand and the back of his head to find these shots, so I hope you like them:





The first photo is fromthis free spanking gallery, and the second two are from this one. Enjoy :)

1. No full name, sadly.² Although I suppose I can't really complain about that until I've persuaded D. to give me a a decent pseudonym to use for him ;)

2. I was wrong about this. Thanks to Ludwig, I am now up to speed: his full name is Michael Masterson, and he co-founded and co-runs Real Spankings. Apparently I've been surfing the internet with my eyes closed.

hot male spankers: Mario

I like men.

I mean, I like girls as well - I like girls a lot - but my two primary partners are both male. When I'm watching spanking porn, if I'm identifying with the victim rather than watching voyeuristically, usually I prefer M/f to F/f. Perhaps it's because I like watching a genuine erotic charge between spanker and spankee, and however often porn includes girls kissing for the cameras, real sexual chemistry is sadly less common in F/f than M/f.¹

Of course, I also like to see a non-consensual sexual charge, where the spanker's lechery is unreciprocated by a creeped-out and reluctant victim. (It's not easy to find decent porn with this dynamic where I can assure myself that the model wasn't creeped-out and reluctant, but that's why spankee-led sites which emphasise the models' desires and models' voices are so brilliant.) And a lot of the time, I have to tap into that non-consent kink even if I'm not sure the site's values are completely ethical, because if I'm not at all attracted to a male spanker, it's the only way I can connect to a sexual charge from them.

The problem is - and, well, there's no way of saying this that doesn't sound rude, but it's true - there are far fewer hot male spankers in the industry than there are hot female spankers. I would go as far as to say that all female spankers are hot;² far fewer of the men press my buttons. Part of this problem is the anonymity of male models: without a name, a face, a personality, a voice, it's hard to connect with a disembodied spanking arm. It's not all that bad - at their best, male spankers are authoritative, powerful, capable and convincing tops.³ Which is great, and if they're too old for me to fancy them then they're still perfect for those Headmaster fantasies. But I like my spankings sexy, and maybe it makes me shallow or picky, but I just can't get that sexual charge if the male spanker isn't cute.

In real life, I like my men to be energetic. I like lean, slinky men with cheekbones and hipbones as sharp as their wit. I like handsome, kind bears who can soothe me with their arms and with their voice, handle me as gently as if I were a little girl. Above all I like physically powerful, dynamic, expressive men. Older than me, but still youthful and vigorous. In real life, I'm not interested in the Dirty Old Man character that has been a staple of spanking porn since the Blushes era.⁴

I can discuss trends in spanking models till my cheeks are pink, but your patience is about to be rewarded. This is all by way of introduction to some kinky pictures that pressed my hot buttons.

This update is from Spanked Call Girls. Apparently the spanker is Rosario Stone's real-life husband, which is a quick way of upping the sexual chemistry in a scene. He's called Mario, and I have to admit it's nice to see a male spanker with an actual name. Mario Stone is good-looking, he's got a focus and intensity in his expressions which I love, and he's got the body language absolutely nailed. Something about the shoulders. That sense of determination and strength. Yum. :)







And there's a free gallery here. Don't say I'm not good to you.

In fact, a quick nose has revealed that this beautiful couple switches, and they've done at least one F/m scene for Clare Spanks Men. Wow! Now that's hot. :)

Of course Mario's not the only fit bloke in the spanking industry, but I've gone on long enough, so I'll save the rest for another day.

1. Audrey and Abigail's domestic discipline site Spank That Brat are an obvious exception to both generalisations, and I commend them for it.

2. All females in the industry are hot. Conforming to conventional beauty standards is a pre-requisite for this job, which is one of the reasons I am drawn to the work of fat models, models of colour, genderqueer models, models with stretchmarks and big noses. They're bucking the trend, and that takes courage. (Anyway, I belong to at least the last two camps.) Porn is great because so much of it is home-grown, and real bodies and real faces are in my opinion much hotter than the sanctioned, identical bodies and faces re-used over and over by Hollywood and big television.

3. At their worst, they're unpaid spankophile amateurs with no acting experience. Or the producer and his brother. Or Cameraman 2. I don't want to insult any of the male tops reading this, but I don't mean you - I'm sure you can all think of studios who prioritise convenience/cheapness over quality in their choice of male models.

4. I was about to say "and before", but now I come to think of it, all the vintage M/f spanking photos I can think of off-hand have vigorous, handsome male tops, however off-putting their mustaches and muttonchops seem to the modern eye. Did the "lecherous fuddy-duddy" trend in male tops start with the 70s, or is it older than that?

the whipping machine

The first few clips from the Spanking Server shoot are online! I haven't seen the movies yet - rather than giving us temporary memberships to the sites, they're sending us all the content on DVD once they've finished editing, so I'll watch them when that arrives. But the preview photos look pretty good...

This was the first clip we filmed, a bare-bottom whipping from the dreaded spanking machine. Neither of us knew what to expect, or how hard it would be. We knew the canings would be severe, but how bad would the clips be? We had a whole day of them to get through before making the longer film on the second day.

Unfortunately for us, the spanking machine clips are all about the suspense. I went first, and was positioned on an uncomfortable spanking bench the wrong height for my hips. I waited there while the machine was tested, making the most awful sounds. I flinched as it whipped the air for the test shots. Not having any way of knowing what to expect, the anticipation was definitely the worst part.

Amy had it even worse, watching me take my strokes as she waited her turn, and then having to endure the whole suspense ritual all over again. She looked really good, though. The machine uses rubber singletails, which sting like anything but leave beautiful clear marks.

My next taste of the whipping machine was a breast punishment. I love breast punishment. Love it rather too much to do it professionally, a lot of the time, unless I'm working with people who don't mind turning a blind eye while I squirm. I'm not sure the Spanking Server crew were wholly comfortable with how much I enjoyed this. It was humiliating, but also really hot.

Their photographer takes stills during the filming of the clips, with a clever gadget that stops the flash being intrusive. So all the grimaces of pain are genuine, real-time reactions.

We filmed this back whipping clip early next morning, before moving onto the longer film. I hadn't slept well, I was exhausted from the day before, and I felt extremely vulnerable as I was led up to the whipping post. That gritty, fragile confusion you get from nerves and not enough sleep.

I may have writhed my way gleefully through my breast whipping the day before, but back whipping is a colder, sharper pain, and there was nothing erotic about this. I pressed my face to the rough wood and flinched my way through the strokes. The first two made me shriek so loudly that they took the machine down to a lower setting. I am a wimp. But I was glad they'd taken pity on me, because all my attention was focussed on the judicial punishments scheduled for later that day, and I just wanted the clips to be over with as soon as possible. At least my reactions were realistic - prisoners aren't meant to enjoy their punishments, after all.

I hid in the back room and sipped diet coke while Amy took the stage. I was moody and nervous, I felt bad about not braving out the back whipping, and wasn't really in the mood to watch. Which is a shame, because her outfit was adorable. And she took her whipping much better than me.

lost in translation

I spent yesterday transcribing the Pain4Fem Strict Prison film Amy and I shot in January. One of their crew speaks English, and translates their films into German for the subtitles, but he had difficulty understanding some of our phrases. Maybe they were slang. Could I help?

Watching the opening scene, I quickly realised that there was nothing wrong with their translator's colloquial English. A lot of what I was saying was pretty much unintelligible. My character was irritable and impulsive, and my lines were either muttered under my breath or came out in a big rush. The acoustics of the prison set were ringing and echoey, and I had to listen to some lines three or four times to work them out.

I was pretty upset, and disappointed. Amy is brilliant, a model of clarity and professionalism. But me? I race, trip, stumble over my lines and half of them are lost. The dialogue was improvised, as usual, so it wasn't a question of remembering a script. I must have spent three times as long working out what to say next as I did actually delivering it. I would have been better off not trying to be clever, even speaking in clichés, if it meant I could be understood.

I'm also a little bewildered. I know I speak too fast in real life, but on film? This is an amateur mistake. I've been improvising dialogue on camera for nearly three years and this hasn't been a problem - certainly not to this extent - in any of my previous films. Although, you know, feel free to tell me otherwise, I know I'm behind on watching them.

The only explanation I can come up with is nerves.

We filmed most of this in one take, and I was not in a state of centred, zen calm. I was nervous about getting through a plot I didn't feel prepared for. I felt self-conscious about my character being the centre of attention when Amy was so much more confident an actress. I'd wimped out two strokes into the back-whipping clip we'd filmed first thing that morning, and they'd had to change the whipping machine to the next spring down. That had unsettled me. And there was a much more severe back whipping still to come. And the judicial caning, which I felt totally unprepared for. I felt sick with nerves and I fluffed my lines and now EVERYTHING IS RUINED and it is ALL MY FAULT. :(

I'm hoping that either Pain4fem will agree to my suggestion to include the option of English subtitles as well as German, or that actually the problem isn't as bad as I think and I'm just being paranoid and self-deprecating. However, just in case, I want to note for the record that I've got an English transcription of the film, so, er, feel free to ask me to send you a copy if it proves necessary.

Incidentally, I still haven't seen any of juicy middle bits of the film, containing the medical scene, the back whipping and both the canings. They weren't included in the clips I was sent, presumably because they don't contain as much dialogue as the scenes before and after. I suspect it's just as well I haven't seen the punishments yet, or I'd probably be whinging about those.

the mystery implement

Tuesday's post has got me in the mood for some genuine Victoriana. I've had a couple of comments and emails from those of you who like watching a girl hold open her own split bloomers in preparation for a punishment, and I couldn't agree more. But how about the bloomers being held apart by someone else?



How hot is that? The poor girl is helpless and outnumbered, held in place by one tormentor while the other one lays into her exposed bottom. I particularly like the way the spankee's head is hanging in embarrassment and shame. I tend to hide my own face when I'm being punished, and during a shoot photographers usually prefer you to keep your head up so they can get facial reaction shots. But whenever I do see an image with a girl in that pose - shoulders bunched, head tucked away - there seems something very natural and vulnerable about it.

I don't know what this girl's done to deserve her whipping, but the outfits and body language are so good I don't really care. But - what's she being whipped with? The photographer was so busy trying to fit three dynamic poses into their composition that they have cropped the implement out of the frame. It could be anything. A hazel switch? A riding crop? A wet haddock? Who can tell?

the box of hate

D. sent me this Perry Bible Fellowship strip a while ago. Isn't it adorable? :)

parlourmaid punishments

Historical chambermaid is one of my very favourite submissive roles. I don't roleplay in private very much, but an overwhelming majority of private scenes have been based around this scenario. When I was younger and Tom and I had a more holistic D/s relationship (which was easier when I was his teenage lover, rather than the partner and equal I am now), we spent a few whole weekends in role, with me collared and subject to the formal manners he had trained me in. At the time, I described my role as "a cross between a maid, chef, valet, nurse and apprentice". But the uniform I primarily wore at home was that of a maid, and I'm wearing it again in my latest film with Northern Spanking.

This is the film I wrote about in December, discussing the hazards of improvised dialogue. At this point I'll let you in on a secret: these days, I very rarely watch my own films. When I first started working I watched them obsessively. At first, I watched them for kicks, but quickly realised that however hot the memory of shooting was, it's impossible to get off on porn starring oneself unless you're much more narcissistic than I am. I can't help casting a critical eye over my appearance, my acting, my lines, my posture, and it's too distracting to get fully immersed in the scene. Once I'd worked this out, I watched my own films with a notepad open, trying to work out what I could do better and learn from my mistakes. These days, I don't really have time.

But I wanted to watch this one, because the scenario is a favourite of mine, and because half of the film stars Niki Flynn looking ever so vulnerable, and I have no problems at all finding her films exciting. So I can wholeheartedly recommend this one. I've seen it and everything. And I even liked the bits with me in, which is surely a testament to Lucy McLean's skill as a film-maker.



Fun facts about this film:

1. My favourite line is Michael Stamp's: "I am the Master, and you are the wench!"


2. The reason my character is really bad at making beds is that, erm, I'm really bad at making beds. Seriously. I couldn't even lift that mattress, and I was so flustered and nervous that getting the wrinkles out just seemed impossible, so I didn't try. I guess Mr Stamp must have his own reasons for keeping me on ...


3. That hairbrush hurt. This was the last clip of the day, so we didn't have to worry about saving my bottom. Lucy warned me that it was evil, and she was right: it left a beautiful big bruise on my right cheek, which I fancy you can see coming up during this spanking. Anyway, don't let my stoicism fool you. (Maids are stoic, right? They're used to being beaten, and no-one likes the help to make a fuss.) It really hurt. You can tell by the way I start holding my feet protectively in front of my bum after a stroke. That's my wordless signal for "ARGH HANGONHANGONHANGON GIVE ME A SECOND OW OW OW OW OWW OW."


4. Even so, I knew he was going to do a flurry of fast swats right at the end, and I admit I was a teensy bit disappointed, when it came, that it didn't last longer. Yes, I know, I'm hopeless.


5. However! This carpet beater hurt more than other carpet beaters I have known, as well. Fewer strands, I guess, and more widely spaced making each impact slightly more cane-like. Stingy. Pretty marks, too.


6. Being beaten through bloomers is one of my favourite things in all the world. The sense of exposure and objectification, the only part of the body revealed being the part marked out for punishment. The contrast is delicious, especially if the rest of one's dress is formal and conservative. The way the fabric flatteringly frames the ass. The convenience aspect, not having to dress and undress, just bend over and go. Yum, yum, yum.

If, like me, you can't get enough of unfortunate maids in bloomers being punished by exacting (or vindictive) employers, then take a look at the photos Niki has posted of her half of the film, including a free preview clip and Lucy looking terrifying and utterly gorgeous in a turqoise ballgown. And if, like me, that still isn't enough, you'll just have to visit Northern Spanking and watch it yourself :)

two PSAs

A couple of quick blogkeeping announcements:

1. I host my website and email on Tom's server, and it went offline unexpectedly on Saturday. He's not very well at the moment, so I didn't want to pester him about fixing it. D. helped me transfer my email to his server, and it was up and running again almost instantly. If you emailled me on Friday or Saturday and haven't got a reply, it might be worth re-sending your mail just in case.

In the meantime, don't be surprised if images don't work on this blog. I've uploaded photos from the last few entries to a mirror, so it should only be older entries that are affected. As soon as Tom's regained access to his server, I'll be transferring my website and all my images to D.'s server, as I think it's a better option, but that'll have to wait until Tom's recovered.

2. I'd just about got used to the fact that blogspot was going around slapping ugly, annoying "Content Warning" pages on blogs which contained adult content (which is, er, all of us? But some of us have managed to slip through the net so far...). However, for the last week or so attempts to click through from this annoying page to the actual blog have been met by failure. The Content Warning page simply reloads time after time, as if mocking me. So I'm sorry if I'm not leaving comments on your posts. I shall continue to try, whilst smiting my keyboard in despair, and planning to migrate to Wordpress.

snow day

It started snowing over the weekend, and by the time I woke up this morning the branches outside my window were piled with deep, precarious white heaps. London isn't used to snow. Never mind that the UK is well known for Weather, we don't have the infrastructure to deal with it. Halfway through my first cup of tea this morning, I was informed by the Internet that almost the entire public transport network had been closed down, and nearly everyone I knew was staying home from work to drink hot chocolate and play in the snow.

Unfortunately for me, I had a shoot booked with a new photographer at the camera club where I occasionally do model residences. I checked the travel news forlornly: all the tube lines were shut except the one I needed to get to the studio. And the photographer was texting me and raring to go. No snow day for me.

By 11am, I'd showered and shaved and packed, and was just putting the finishing touches to my makeup when my phone beeped. The photographer couldn't get through to the camera club; they were almost certainly shut down for the day. Did I want to head to a park closer to home and take snow pictures?

Anyone who's worked with me on location knows how much I like frolicking outdoors. I texted back an enthusiastic yes, and started re-packing, flinging delicate lingerie out of my bag and throwing in warm jumpers and long, gauzy white skirts. I wore hold-up stockings under my jeans to save time getting changed later, pulled on thick socks and stompy boots, filled a thermos with tea, and headed out.

The park was much busier than either of us had expected, and the snow was still coming down thick and fast. As we trudged uphill on packed, slippery snow, snowflakes clustered on my hair, scarf, nose and eyelashes. By the time we found a secluded spot beneath the trees, my nose was running and the tips of my fingers were numb.

We stayed out for a couple of hours, taking vanilla shots under the trees. As soon as I took my coat off fresh falling snow formed an instant layer on my bare skin. The cold made me irritable, and I kept enforcing breaks on the poor patient photographer, while I stamped my feet and huddled in my damp scarf and gloves, sipping hot tea from my thermos. I had a collection of elegant dresses which I wanted to get some shots of in the snow, but he was more interested in my short skirts, and in any case it was almost impossible to find somewhere to change out of sight of all the kids running riot on their unexpected day off school. Normally I'd want to join them, but I was so cold I just wanted to be indoors with a dry blanket and hot drink. Preferably one containing brandy.

We managed to get through a few outfit changes, in fits and starts, and found somewhere secluded enough to do some figure shots. We'd been out in the snow for nearly two hours, tramping around the park trying to find good locations, and I was frozen to the bone. Common sense warred with my desire to get at least one nude shot before we called it a day. I found a corner out of the wind to undress, and dashed out into the icy blizzard. We took photos at maximum efficiency for a couple of minutes before I had to hurry out of the wind and get dressed.

All this time the photographer wasn't wearing gloves, and claimed not to be feeling the cold. (I was tempted to suggest that maybe we should swap places, but I don't think that would have gone down too well.) Lesson learned: I may be able to take a reasonably hard caning, but when it comes to cold I am a complete wuss.

I have a new-found respect for models who shoot in the snow. I had my work cut out trying to stop myself from squinting against the snow glare, and no face powder in the world could stop my nose from gradually going red. Any model who attempts bondage or spanking in the snow is far, far braver - and more photogenic - than I.



(Thanks go to Spanking Pixie and Amelia Jane Rutherford for the photos.)

I can't move

I don't try to make a clear distinction between porn and art. When an image turns me on, is it because of the ideas it expresses or the way it expresses them? Sometimes I find myself aroused by a photo that I find aesthetically tasteless. Sometimes I'm mesmerised by the technical quality of an image, find myself gazing and gazing even though the scene it depicts isn't one I'd normally appreciate. Sometimes images tell a story, and it doesn't matter what the story's about or how good the photography is, it's the look in the model's eyes, the emotional hook of the hinted narrative that reels me in. Sometimes an image is just beautiful, so beautiful you leave the tab open and just keep on coming back to drink it in.

I recently found a secret stash of images exactly like this. I Can't Move is a preview for a new site of vintage bondage furniture, kinky photography, filthy stories and home movies.



Beautiful girls in dirty basements. Tied to chairs. Torn dresses. Sprawled on the floor, with smudges and bruises scuffing their perfect skin. Bound, blindfolded, shackled, chained. Knickers ripped off and pooled around dirty ankles. Hair pulled, tousled, wrenched. Breasts and throats roughly handled. A rich diversity of beauty, celebrating dark and pale, voluptuous and slender.



This is dirty sex at its best, homebuilt furniture perfectly setting off the grungy aesthetic. The decor is bare stone walls, ratty carpets, wrought iron flaking with rust. Some of the photos create glowing tableaux, posed beauties with the silhouettes of shackled Victorian maidens. Others pop with dynamic tension, expressing in a single still the violent energy of forced sex.

The site design is perhaps not the most accessible, but the presentation of the images is richly evocative, reminiscent of polaroids and nineties grunge. I hope the site owner doesn't mind my cutting these shots out to show you.

And the lighting, the compositions. The colours.



"I am inspired by the world of erotic pulp fiction. Naked damsels in distress and kinky sex stories populated the covers and pages of these early magazines. I put down my camera and picked up my hand tools in an effort to create my idea of vintage bondage furniture.

"I am using the 1930s as the inspiration for both the materials used to construct the pieces as well as the visual presentation through my photography. I am limiting myself to materials that would have been available to the builder of the furniture in the 30s. By doing so the pieces take on a feel of what I call improvisational bondage, more organic and singular than most bondage furniture I have seen."

I just love that the site owner is more interested in the furniture than the girls. :)

Sugasm #157

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #158? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
A 2009 Wish For Smut Writers
“Sex bloggers are on the cusp of what I see as being a new kind of sexual revolution.”

Q&A with Domina Doll
“I enjoy teaching others how to explore that aspect of themselves.”

Overtaken
“He kissed the side of my neck, sweeping my long hair out of the way, working his mouth across the side of my neck to press little bites along my collarbone.”

Sugasm Editor
Sex Work And Honesty: When The Truth Hurts

Editor’s Choice
Dictation with Davis

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

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

at the foot of the glacier

This winter has been the coldest I can remember in the UK. (I'm too young to remember the cold snap of '86.) It's foolhardy to step outside your front door without gloves, and I've swapped the rooms of my tiny flat around so that the cold draught blowing around my ill-fitting front door only freezes me while I work, not while I try to sleep. Every night I huddle under two duvets with a hot water bottle, my cat curled up on my feet, and preferably a boyfriend to wrap me in his arms.

When Amy and I arrived in Slovakia we stared at the snow and shivered at the announcement telling us it was -4C outside. But when we returned to the UK we discovered that it had been -8 to -10 all week in London. However bare I am in my photos, most of my blogging these last few months has been done while wearing thick jumpers and fleecy toe-socks.

Even so, I've not been as cold as my friend Gentian was the November before last, when she good-naturedly agreed to bare her bottom and go over the knee for a spanking at the foot of the Athabasca Glacier in the Canadian Rockies. I was behind the camera this time, and sent the photos to my friends Angie and Peter at English Vice a few months later.



Dave at The Cherry Red Report emailled me a couple of days ago asking for the scoop on these photos, and he's just posted a feature on them; including the full story of our hike to the foot of the glacier, and how exactly I persuaded my friends to brave the biting winds so I could take spanking photos for you at several thousand feet above sea level.



I sent four photos in total to English Vice . Sadly the spanking doesn't show up very well but I wanted to stand far enough back to get a sense of the amazing location. Even in this small photoseries you can see the sudden flurries of ice and snow that obscured the camera view. I can only applaud G's bravery and guess that the wind was much more painful than J's hand! I didn't dare take any more in case she got serious frost bite.



You can read the full story over at The Cherry Red Report. Many thanks to Dave for his interest, and to English Vice for hosting the photos and providing such wonderful inspiration.

And now I'm going to bed with my cat and my hot water bottle, to dream of being spanked in the warm.

Yes we CAAN

Shamefully, I'd never been to Parliament Square before. I followed Penny's confident lead as we got the bus from Leicester Square, and dashed across the busy roads to the island in the centre, which as far as I could tell has no legal crossing to it. At first glance, the CAAN protest seemed to be huge - it took me a minute to figure out that most of what I was seeing was the demos against violence in Sri Lanka and Gaza, and Brian Haw's infamous seven-year peace protest against the war in Iraq. Next to the stalls and placards about human rights atrocities, our cause seemed a little petty.

But there were already a healthy crowd of kinksters, and over the next three hours the group expanded impressively. It was great to see Amy again, and various other friends in the goth/alternative scene. Once I'd arrived D. pointed out to me the gorgeous, young-looking redhead standing out from the crowd. "Can we take her home?" he quipped, slipping an arm around my waist. Spotting cute boys and girls is a favourite pastime of ours.

"Sure!" I grinned, not realising that the young lady we were so cheerfully perving over was in fact Irelynn. I didn't recognise her until she came up and introduced herself. (I think she deserves a prize for making it to the demo on her own from the other end of the country, even braving the terror of London buses in the process.) She is, of course, even lovelier in person, and an interesting internal battle between my protective instincts and wicked thoughts ensued. But I managed to behave myself, and not scare her too much. (I hope!)

There seemed to be some internal debate about whether it was better to protest in attention-grabbing outfits, or while seeming as "normal" as possible so as not to alienate passers-by, but I think it was good to have a mix. Our placards attracted quite a lot of attention. Especially mine. I had several compliments on it, mostly from people who looked blankly at me when I made a comment about lolcats, so at least I know it made sense to people who didn't get the geeky internet in-joke. :)





The placards either side of me read: "Get your filthy laws off me" and "The internet is for porn" respectively. Both of which sentiments I heartily endorse. My other favourite slogan of the day was "Make Love Not Laws" - simple but effective.

There seemed to be a healthy number of reporters present, including a camera crew, and a handful of journalists from national press to local student papers. I gave a couple of quotes, but was too shy to do a video interview. I'll be interested to see how many of the articles make it to print.

The Register published a balanced and entertaining response to the new law over the weekend, which gives the sound advice previously published by Backlash a wider audience. I was also heartened to read a couple of sympathetic articles in the Independent after the protests in December. The bill has already been passed: it's too late to change that. But the true test of legislation that's vaguely worded is legal precedent. The only hope we have now is to persuade juries and Justices that there is no correlation between looking at sadistic porn and committing abuse; that depiction harms no-one, and that a hard-line interpretation of this law constitutes an infringement of civil liberties.

In the meantime, I'm going to have a little lie-down and enjoy some of the extreme and violent images which I keep stored in my brain. Big Brother may be watching me masturbate, but the government can't do a damn thing to stop me looking at those.

the taxman cometh

I left my accounts far too late this year. They've been on my to do list for a while, but then it was Christmas and New Year and I've been away a lot in January, and suddenly my accountant was emailling me on Friday gently prompting me that she needed them by Monday if she was going to make the deadline.

I love having an accountant. It means I don't have to fret about whether I've claimed something I shouldn't have as expenses, or got something wrong. My tax return becomes someone else's responsibility, and it's worth every penny.

Of course, getting the info to my accountant in time still is my responsibility. Luckily, even then I have an option of making it someone else's problem.

I gave it to Tom.

Not in a "here, you do it!" way, obviously. No, I spoke to him on Thursday night and confessed that I needed to get all the work done on Friday and that my motivation level was low. Could he maybe provide some sort of incentive?

But of course. First, he said, I had to be up and at my desk by 9am, awake and showered and ready to work. He'd call at five past and check in on me; I would be due twelve cane strokes, in the first instance, if I didn't manage that.

And what do you know? I did. I then spent all morning sorting out my paperwork, and was nearly ready to start typing everything up when he checked in on me in the afternoon. By the time I stopped at midnight I'd done all the sums and just needed to compile my receipts, and I spoke to him before I went to bed. I finished them today, and would almost certainly would have spent the last two days procrastinating if I hadn't had my Dom taking an interest. I don't think I disappointed him.

He stopped in on his way to work last night to give me a hug and see how I was getting on. While he was here I remembered something.

"Close your eyes," I grinned, "and hold out your hands." (Somehow this saying has much less force when said by a sub to her Dom, but I grew up with it.)

This is what I put in his hands:



I picked it up from the pharmacy the other day. It's smaller and lighter than most of the bathbrushes I've seen, but there's a heck of a lot of sting there. As I quickly learned. Well, he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity like that, was he? It stings a LOT, particularly when used fast. I wasn't even pink afterwards, which was hard to believe given how much I'd yelped and wriggled around.

But the afterglow was just the same when I sat back down at my desk. It hadn't been a punishment. More a welcome distraction. And a reconnection, grounding me in my body, refreshing my state of mind and giving me a renewed energy to tackle the boring spreadsheets.

Tom left me with the promise that he'd call on me again on his way to work the next morning, and if I didn't get up promptly, he'd use the bathbrush again.

Needless to say, I was at my desk on time this morning. And my accounts are now done! I knew that brush was a good investment. :)

kinky slogans

I want to carry a placard at the demonstration this weekend, but I can't decide what to write on it. I'm going to need to start making it pretty soon, so I wondered if any of you lot could help me brainstorm some ideas. I started out by googling, but that was no use - I can't find a list of pro-kinky-porn slogans anywhere, which suggests to me that it's high time we came up with some.

Previous protests have seen placards saying 'No to thought crime', 'Penalise crime, not sex' and 'Depiction harms no-one'. Which are okay, I guess, but I was hoping for something a little wittier.

I'm not very good at this sort of thing, but I had a think while I was doing the washing up and came up with the following for starters:

'I <3 Extreme Porn'
'Consensual Sex is Not a Crime'
'My Thoughts Are Not Crimes'
'I <3 Consensual Violence'
'If you can't join us, please don't beat us'
'Have Autonomy, Can Consent'
'Love the Sinner, Love the Sin'
'Kinky and proud'
'If you think that's extreme, you should see some of my fantasies'
'Welcome to 1984'
'Big Brother is Watching You Masturbate'

I'm strongly tempted to use the last one because lolcats rock my world, but more ideas can't hurt. Do your worst. :)

taking action

I got back from my weekend away to discover I'd been mentioned on a mainstream political blog. No, I'm not famous yet - the blogger is my excellent friend Penny Red, and she wanted a quote from me on the violent porn legislation that comes into force on Monday. (In fact, she texted me to ask if I was available for a quick phone interview, but I was neck-deep in Shakespeare at the time and missed my chance.)

I have not, however, missed my chance to attend the demonstration at Parliament Square this Sunday, protesting the ban. The action is being organised by CAAN, the Consenting Adults Action Network. The Spanking Writers have already written this week about CAAN and the legislation; I've already discussed my own point of view at some length.

As Abel has already argued, I don't think most spankos are in danger of becoming criminals next week. Here's the relevant section again:

(6) An “extreme image” is an image which—
     (a) falls within subsection (7), and
     (b) is grossly offensive, disgusting or otherwise of an obscene character.

(7) An image falls within this subsection if it portrays, in an explicit and realistic way, any of the following—
     (a) an act which threatens a person’s life,
     (b) an act which results, or is likely to result, in serious injury to a person’s anus, breasts or genitals,
     (c) an act which involves sexual interference with a human corpse, or
     (d) a person performing an act of intercourse or oral sex with an animal (whether dead or alive).

6b is explicitly and worryingly subjective. The News of the World believes that a private judicial caning carried out by consenting adults is gross, disgusting and obscene; the Sunday Mercury thinks that filming spanking porn with consenting adults is a sex crime. (If you disagree, feel free to contact the journalist and explain why - a sample letter and his email address are available here, courtesy of SpankedHortic.) Let's hope none of their fans have jury duty coming up any time soon.

Section 7 is more precise, but significant subsets of BDSM porn are covered by the legislation. An abduction scene where the victim is threatened with a knife? Illegal. A photo of a blade lightly pressing against a throat? Illegal. Sexy shots of someone fellating a gun? Illegal. Erotic asphyxiation? Illegal.

I love non-consent games. Coercion roleplay? Sign me up. I wouldn't enact it with most people, but my fantasies overflow with forced sex, blackmail, kidnapping, restraint, slavery, objectification, threats and brutal discipline. Force me up against a wall and growl into my ear exactly why I have no choice but to submit and I'll be wet before you start. Hold a sword to my throat and I'll give up on even trying to pretend I'm not enjoying it. I get off on breath play so much it's been known to make me come on the spot. As such, I heartily support the existence of erotica depicting these acts. I don't own anywhere near as much of it as I'd like, but will defend the rights of anyone who's been lucky enough to get hold of the good stuff.

As a spanking model, the kind of porn I own most of just about, assuming a sympathetic jury, slips through this new net. Half of it has me in it, which potentially provides a defense under section 66 (although it's debatable whether it's possible to consent under law to, for example, the caning I received in my recent Pain4Fem film). But even if I'm not technically going to be criminalised next week it doesn't mean there's nothing wrong. Something is very wrong.

Images of violence, actual bodily harm, threats to a person's life have been acceptable as popular entertainment for years. The only legal difference between "extreme porn" and half of Hollywood is that the former was "produced solely or principally for the purpose of sexual arousal". Owning a copy of the torture scene in Casino Royale, for instance, is not criminalised because the film as a whole is not deemed pornographic. You tell me that half the people watching that scene weren't enjoying Daniel Craig's exposed body and delicious vulnerability. And yet an identical scene produced for publication on, say, this blog would be illegal.

This photo of Chris Burden holding a knife to a reporter's throat is either journalism or performance art, and therefore legal. This image of a handcuffed Asian girl being threatened with a knife is far more ambiguous. In many ways it is less violent than the Chris Burden photo. Was it created for purposes of sexual arousal? No-one knows but the photographer. (And would he be believed in court if he denied it?)

Essentially, the content of the images is irrelevant to this legislation. The intent is the deciding factor. This legislation is so significant because it is the first instance in UK law of a thought crime.

Which is why I'll be at Parliament Square at 2pm this Sunday, defending my right to make and own porn depicting scenes I can legally and consensually enact in private. I hope I'll see some of you there.

Spanked over bruises

It turns out my Superwoman Spanking Model Healing Powers are at fighting strength. Once I saw the extent of the damage after the Pain4Fem shoot, I'd anticipated having to take 4-6 weeks off modelling work to recover. It's been less than two weeks and most of the colour has faded already. All that remains is the scabs from the couple of strokes that drew blood, which I sincerely hope aren't going to scar, and some faint brown colour on my cheeks. Not very attractive, but hopefully it'll have gone soon ;)

I managed to get two spankings while I was marked, which was extremely interesting in terms of chronicling the changes in sensitivity and sensation. We waited a few days, until the swelling had gone down a bit, and then D put me over his knee for the lightest of experimental hand-spankings. He's doesn't spank overly hard, preferring the sharp finger-tap to the high-impact smack, which I was particularly glad of this time.

He started even lighter than usual. All the sensations felt different, as if he was spanking me under water. My skin was tingly when he stroked it, but somehow less sensitive to light surface sensation. Lighter smacks were numbed by the bruising, as if the nerve endings weren't working properly. But anything hard enough to be felt at a muscular level provoked an unpleasant, throbbing ache from the deep muscle bruising. I found myself responding enthusiastically to the lighter spanks, wanting him to go harder - and then when he did, it very quickly became too much.

The changes in sensation were confusing - I found myself thinking a bit too much about how and why it felt wrong, rather than relaxing into the spanking. But I was delighted that D was interested in playing with me while I was marked, and there's nothing like feeling loved to make a spanking more enjoyable. And the dark side of my kink was getting off on the image of my poor battered bottom receiving yet more punishment; my awareness of how and why I was bruised served to complement the physical sensations and make them more interesting.

Yesterday, after Tom and I got back from our weekend away, I asked him for a spanking. He kissed me and said he thought that might be fun, and asked me to fetch his hairbrush. I think I must have looked at him as if he'd already struck me with it. It took an enormous effort of will not to complain and tell him defensively that I was already bruised - he surely knew that. I think the look in my eyes as I hesitated was clear as if I'd said something, but I kept my mouth shut and fetched the brush.

He told me to pull my jeans down, and I bent over his knee. He has a very comfortable knee. He started lightly, over my panties, trying out a variety of different types of smack on my bottom and paying particular attention to my sit spot and thighs. It felt good, much closer to the usual sting and tingle than it had a week ago. He avoided the damaged areas higher up on my ass and concentrated on the unmarked skin lower down, which made me squeal. As he slowly warmed me up he started laying on higher impact smacks, and immediately the deep bruising answered with a wince. As he upped the tempo I flailed around more than usual. He kept going just long enough for me to start sincerely begging him to stop.

I felt tearful and frightened - if his hand had been that bad, how could I possibly cope with the brush? But he'd already assessed the extent of the invisible bruising deep in the muscle, and decided of his own accord that wood wouldn't be a good idea right now. I, of course, felt pathetic and guilty about complaining as soon as I realised I was being let off. Not the ideal submissive response - having a Dom is meant to stop me feeling bad about those situations, because the decision and responsibility becomes his.

He told me that when he asked for the brush, he hadn't worked out whether or not he was going to use it - he was going to decide once he'd assessed the damage. I hadn't weaselled my way out of anything; he'd just wanted to have his options to hand.

I believed him, and after a while the guilty feelings succumbed to good sense. (The very hot sex we had after my spanking probably helped.) But a small, bratty corner of my brain think it's a mean trick to play. Threatening a girl with a wicked implement and then not making good on the threat. I'm just not entirely sure whether it's meaner because you'll frighten her for no reason, or because you'll get her hopes up.