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stress, and stress relief

Posted at 18:28 on 30 Sep 2008 by Pandora / Blake

Tags: Fantasies, kink, Photos

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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