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magic padded pants!

Posted at 16:04 on 2 Nov 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Thanks to a friend this morning for calling my attention to this amazing fashion product:

Edit: The link I originally posted is no longer active, but these pants are still for sale from a variety of online stores. The original text from the website I linked to first is worth preserving, though:


Now you can look sexy by wearing the MAGIC PADDED PANTS! These Push Up Pants gives your bottom a big lift. Foam padding in the pants gives a firm and beautifully rounded bottom.

Try...and feel your buts!

Attention! The Padded Pants have a small fitting.

Of course, if you were trying to get away with wearing a pair under your clothes to lessen the impact of a punishment, you'd have to be careful. You'd probably be caught out during a hand spanking, for example. You might get away with it during a strapping or caning, but only if you were absolutely, 100% certain that you wouldn't have to remove your underwear at any stage during the punishment.

Imagine the consequences of a disciplinarian discovering that they had just administered a punishment over sneakily-padded underwear. Especially if they only found out because the miscreant in question earned themselves extra strokes on the bare by being rude or disobedient during the alloted strokes over underwear...

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Tags: Fantasies, funny


The Captain

Posted at 16:18 on 4 Nov 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Jacqueline Applebee just pointed me at this filthy, kinky, hot-as-hell music video to Biffy Clyro's song 'The Captain':

(I've always liked "my Captain" as a mode of address to a Dom. But then, I'm a little bit obsessed with a model of D/s based on the relationship of an officer to their squire or batman.)

This presses SO many of my buttons. Floggings, fencing, military uniforms, cannon, cages, blood, sweat, tears, tied-up topless men with tattoos and eyeliner. Mmmmm. Now I just need to find a suitable location, and persuade Jimmy Holloway to star in an uncensored, welts-and-all version ...

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Tags: music

1 comment


Posted at 16:21 on 4 Nov 2009 by Pandora / Blake

I had an intense experience while Tom and I were on holiday. It was the first night, and the mood was celebratory: I made lasagne, we got out the musical instruments and had a bit of a jam, drank some wine. The whole holiday stretched gloriously ahead of us. After the stress of getting there, we were just starting to relax.

I'd been keen to play for days, so I didn't take much encouragement when Tom pulled a chair into the centre of the lounge and drew me over his lap. You may be surprised to learn how rarely I get to do this in our personal play. Chairs, you see, are a ubiquitous feature of spanking films: but at home, we play in crammed London bedrooms or nowhere at all. My flat is too small for chairs, and all the chairs in his house are shared with housemates. I'm far more used to playing on and around a bed than in a living room with proper chairs.

But there's something lovely about going over the knee when they're sitting on a proper hard straightbacked chair. Being slightly further away from the floor, being able to stretch out your legs properly, the infantilising feeling of not being able to see what's happening, your weight pressing your palms into the carpet. The headrush of keeping your head down, combining with the pain.

The spanking was slow and extended and lovely. I'm afraid I can't remember any of the details: he started with his hands, my bottom was swiftly bared and despite the sharpness of the smacks I was delighted, compliant, his willing accomplice in turning my bottom a bright shade of red. I think he used a hairbrush on me, and maybe a tawse, but I'm not sure. I yelped and whimpered, of course, because I like yelping and whimpering, but I wasn't really complaining. I remember feeling giddy, turned on, and utterly safe in his hands.

The best moment by far, though, was afterwards. I got to my feet, flushed and off-balance. I was led over to the corner by the door, shuffling with my jeans and knickers around my ankles. Tom told me to put my hands on my head, and wait there for him.

As he closed the door behind him I was immediately suffused with a sensation of peace and wellbeing. I focussed meditatively on the wall in front of me, aware of my breath, mind deliciously empty. As my thoughts started to return the first one was how awesome it was to carve out space in the day to just be. To not be rushing from one thing to the next, not be driving myself to achieve more, not be worrying or planning or analysing. Just being. I know how to meditate but I only do it just before sleep, or sometimes when I'm doing some kind of private ritual. I should do it every day, really, but it's so much less interesting than all the creative crazy stuff I fill my live with.

Tom came back in and snapped a couple of photos, then settled in with a book. My arms were aching but I knew he'd leave it just longer than was comfortable, then check in on me.

Normally the waiting elements of service and submission drive me nuts. Waiting to be called, waiting in the kitchen after you've served the guests. I'm not very patient and I hate feeling like time is being wasted. But after I've been spanked, it's easier to find that zen space where the stillness itself seems valuable. Rather than trying to carve out a time on my own to meditate, maybe it would work better for me to get soundly spanked and put in the corner on a regular basis. Tom would certainly enjoy it :)

Of course, shortly after this all my physical fatigue caught up with me. All of a sudden my chronic back pain started yelling at me for keeping my shoulders in the unnatural position, and I started to shake. I endured it for another minute or so before admitting that I was struggling, and asking for a break.

Tom came over and gave me a hug and I squeezed my face against his chest, overwhelmed with emotion. Suddenly a part of me resented having to carry on standing there while I was in pain. It was mixed up: I was simultaneously upset that he hadn't been telepathic, and with myself for not being able to put up with it longer. But I had a little cry and a long cuddle, and after the brief feelings of disappointment faded, the peacefulness I'd enjoyed beforehand was still there.

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Tags: dominance and submission, kink, learning curves, Photos


Pretty Distraction

Posted at 21:44 on 9 Nov 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Things I love about being a spanking model number #20581: browsing porn websites and stumbling across a photoset starring two of my play partners which I didn't even know existed. Yay!

Thomas is making an important business call, but Zoe can't seem to leave him alone, teasing him mercilessly in her deliciously sexy underwear. Having probably lost the contract, as well as his temper, Thomas exacts his revenge on poor Zoe's tender bottom.

It seems that Zoe has not quite grasped the seriousness of what she's caused, so Thomas grasps first his trusty strap and then his cane. Zoe certainly grasps the stinging punishment applied to her bared bottom by the furious Thomas.

But she knows his temper will abate, as will the pain in her bottom ... and now he's off the damned phone, there are much more interesting things to do with the afternoon!

This must have happened at the only NSI shoot Tom and I have gone to together, the same day The Australian Governess was filmed. Tom wasn't very well that day, so we didn't do much together - and now I look back, I seem to remember hearing something about a photoset while I was filming Hide and Seek with Faith Andrews - but I'd forgotten all about it until I saw the photos. Which is kind of lucky, because I generally find it much easier to get turned on by porn if I wasn't present during shooting, and this set is awesome. If you like sexy sort-of-consensual adult D/s and think Tom and Zoe are both really hot. Which I obviously do.

In this set I love Zoe's curves, stockinged feet and white neck ribbon; I love Tom's hands and the muscles in his neck. I love being able to look at familiar bodies in a new light. I love the unusual compositions and the beautiful lighting of the mirror shots. I love their facial expressions and the dynamic energy between the two of them. In fact I love everything about it except the fact that I'd be able to tell Tom was ill even if I hadn't known it, which is a shame. But I know full well that he's perfectly capable of being deliciously scary and authoritative even when he feels rubbish, so that doesn't stop it being hot.

Also, and this is probably kind of pathetic but anyway, Tom and I wear matching commitment rings, and while I'm used to seeing mine in shoots (when I can keep it on) I'm less used to seeing Tom's, and when I first noticed it in these pics I got a little exciting feeling. It's hard to describe, but some of you will know what I mean: that delight in watching your partner play with someone else which is half unselfish pleasure in their pleasure, and half pride that they're yours. Or in this case, that I'm his.

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Tags: Northern Spanking, other pictures, Thomas Cameron, Zoe Montana


scene, interrupted

Posted at 12:19 on 12 Nov 2009 by Pandora / Blake

D and I had finished work last night and just ordered pizza to reward ourselves. I headed upstairs to fetch my fantasy novel so I had something to read while we waited for it to arrive. I exclaimed as I entered my bedroom: D had picked up all my kinky shoes from their heap on the floor, and arranged them in a neat row on top of my wardrobe. He called back up to me: "while you're up there, you can choose a pair for later."

Well, I knew what that meant.

Grinning all over my face, I skipped back down the stairs a couple of steps. "Or ... I could put them on now? We probably have time to kill while we wait for food to turn up."

He raised an eyebrow at my impatience, then remembered that I prefer not to play immediately after eating, and gestured I should go ahead. "Why don't you put your leather thigh-high boots on? I've laid them out with the others."

I didn't need asking twice. I dashed back upstairs, had a sudden thought, and started scrabbling around in my wardrobe for the lacy fetish dress I bought at BoundCon. I wanted to surprise him, but it took me a while to find it: I was only just reaching for the boots when I heard his tread on the stairs. He flicked his eyes over me, taking in the black scraps of lace barely covering my breasts and hips. "Pretty." I looked up at him, cheeks already slightly flushed with anticipation. He was topless - my heaters were working for once and the flat was warm. But he'd pulled on the black Italian leather gloves I bought him a couple of Christmasses ago.

My heart started beating faster at the sight. I love, love, love being topped by someone wearing leather gloves: the warm sleekness of the leather on my skin contrasts with the sense of authority and distance commanded by someone covering their hands. Black leather gloves carry associations of booted officers undertaking secret interrogations: svelte European men wearing them to drive beautiful vintage cars. Soft leather gloves on a man can be like heeled shoes: sharp, fashionable, sexy, and ever-so-slightly androgynous. At a party last Saturday I found myself flirting outrageously with an old friend who'd accessorised his dapper suit with a pair of leather gloves, even though our friendship is definitely platonic. I look at them and imagine cool, smooth hands closing around my throat, idly caressing my skin. I shivered.

He reached out and stroked my neck as he slipped past me, and lounged against the wall by the bed, watching me zip the leather boots snugly over my thighs. I couldn't take my eyes off him; I felt giddy with excitement. "That looks kind of strange," I laughed, "the gloves and no sleeves. Like wearing socks and nothing else." I meant to be affectionate rather than insolent, but his expression of detached amusement didn't alter.

I was still trembling with anticipation when we heard a knock on the door. We hadn't even touched yet. "I think that's our dinner," D said.

"Oh, man!" I couldn't believe it. I was laughing even through my disappointment as he sprinted downstairs and pulled his shoes on. I stayed where I was while he hunted for keys and opened the door, aware of the slipperiness in my cunt, aware I was wearing only thigh-high boots and a few scraps of black lace. I shook my head and started getting changed into something more comfortable.

I joined him downstairs. "I can't believe that timing."

"Yup," he said, piling pizza boxes in front of me, "that's it. Chance gone. The moment is lost forever."

I couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not.

(to be continued...)

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Tags: D, dominance and submission, Fantasies, funny, kink

1 comment

worth the wait

Posted at 01:35 on 14 Nov 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Later that evening we were lying in bed, noses in our respective books. I still couldn't work out if he'd been serious with his comment earlier about the moment being lost. I didn't want to pressure him, but I did want to know.

Eventually I plucked up my courage. "Unless I'm likely to be molested any time soon, I'm going to duck out for a smoke." (I don't smoke much, except at bedtime. D. doesn't smoke at all.)

"Go ahead," he replied, without looking up from his book. I swallowed my disappointment and pulled some warm clothes on to step outside. By the time I'd come back in, removed my warm layers, washed my face, brushed my teeth and come back upstairs, I was ready for sleep. I got undressed and slipped into bed beside D, who was still reading.

Before I could get comfortable he patted the bed by his hip. "Arse here," he said lightly. I looked at him. He was still avoiding my gaze, but there was a teasing warmth in his expression. He patted the bed again. "And face that way."

I was bewildered. I honestly hadn't expected this. My heart was drumming as I obeyed, kneeling where he indicated and stretching my arms out in front of me in the position I knew he liked. "A little further forward," he suggested, cupping my hips in his warm hands and shifting me forward a few inches.

I knelt, head lifted slightly but completely unable to see what he was doing. My arse was tilted back at a steep angle, back arched, hips pointed so that my bum was more or less in line with my feet. I felt crazily vulnerable. In this position the skin on my bottom felt stretched taut. I heard the tiny, soft sounds of the belt being drawn from the loops of his jeans, the wide, polished leather belt I'd noticed him wearing earlier, too new to have curled yet at the edges. I was breathing fast, shallowly. I could feel my pulse in my throat.

He took his time, making me wait. I could feel him toying with the belt and I kept involuntarily flinching in anticipation of the stroke. My head was spinning - it would be cold when it came, and I was so exposed, bottom lifted like that, pushed out for him ... I must have twitched and caught my breath half a dozen times before the whipping even started. I was whimpering with fear, my self-control completely undone.

The first stroke made me yelp, but it wasn't hard, not as hard as I'd feared. Hard enough to bite, soft enough that I kept my bottom raised for the next stroke, and the next. The belt lashed the tight curve of my arse again. The strokes were harder now, and taking them without a warm up was tough. I was moving and making little sounds in the back of my throat, my hair falling in my face, but I was staying in position, grabbing handfuls of duvet and biting my lip. Nothing else existed in that moment. The belt snapped down first on one cheek and then the other; hard enough to make me buck away so that the next stroke fell as I was flat on the bed, not so hard that I couldn't force myself to push my hips back up again for the next.

D. moved closer so his thigh was pressing into my hip, holding me around the waist and pinning me against his body. I was almost over his knee, but not quite; my weight was still on my hands and knees. My shoulders twisted as he dealt me several stinging strokes, and then I felt his hands running over my blazing flesh, soothing it. Then a succession of hard spanks, but now I was sobbing with pleasure rather than fear, and I arced back to meet his hand without even thinking about it.

I felt dizzy, as if I were in freefall. I was anchored to him by the touch of our bodies, his hands on me, but we hadn't yet looked into each other's eyes, or kissed. I felt the end of the belt drawn lightly across my skin, felt his fingers pulling my cheeks apart so the leather tip could explore between them. He alternated between hard spanks and caressing me more intimately until I didn't know which I wanted more.

Later he doubled the belt in one hand as I knelt before him, shortening the length so he could whip my breasts as I took him in my mouth. The little snapping strokes on my hardened nipples sent jolts of pain and pleasure quivering through my body; I moaned around his cock.

The belt was slipped around my neck, warm leather smooth against my throat. He gathered it behind my head in one hand and pulled gently, the pressure making my heart flutter as he kissed my mouth and my breasts. Hot penny feeling pressing against my trachea, sending a pulse throbbing to all the tips of my body. He kept the belt there as he moved behind me, holding onto the ends as if they were reins, keeping my breath shortened and my head lifted as he fucked me. The tightness around my throat was enough to make me melt with lust, but not enough to stop me screaming with pleasure.

I think, although I can't remember very clearly, that I laughed as we came together, with a bubbling mixture of delight, relief, release. D has always been good at surprising me. And, although the kinky boots and lacy dress lay abandoned at the foot of my bed, that had definitely been worth the wait.

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Tags: D, dominance and submission, kink, Photos


chilly girl in snow

Posted at 18:25 on 17 Nov 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Brrrr, it's got wintry, hasn't it? Even with the famous London microclimate, it's all suddenly got into gloves and scarves territory. Not good when my shoddily-built flat has no central heating and only two inefficient electric heaters, and the downstairs one is right at the bottom of the stairs, halfway up which is an ill-fitting Victorian sash window. You can imagine how well that works. Thankfully, my crap landlord had a brief moment of uncrapness last week, and delivered two beautiful new freestanding oil-filled radiators. I've got one plugged in beside my desk, and have spent the day basically hugging it with my feet. Mmm.

I was particularly glad of the warmth while going through the shots from a snow photoshoot I did in February. Those of you reading back then may remember how unexpectedly difficult I found the experience. I knew I was sensitive to cold, but I'm normally willing to suppress my discomfort for the sake of getting some good shots. But not so this time.

So I'm glad, despite everything, that we got some good shots after all. Credit goes entirely to the photographer, Clive M.

The whole thing is a bit "sad girl in snow", only I don't look sad. Just cold. Still, that's somebody's kink.

Me looking slightly vulnerable and uncomfortable with goosebumps, chapped lips, pale skin and wet hair - I mean come on, who could resist? :p

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Tags: Photos


provocative protest

Posted at 13:00 on 18 Nov 2009 by Pandora / Blake

As various kinky expats will know, the Ukraine is a long way behind the UK on gender equality and women's rights. Sex tourism is a real problem, exacerbated by the country's depressed economic situation. Most sex workers are under the age of 18 or living in fear. "We can't turn any [client] away now with the crisis," said Iryna, an escort in Kiev. "Foreigners pay better. Plus you don't have to worry about losing your life. I don't know whether we should close down the sex industry. But I do know that I haven't seen any happy prostitute."

Relatedly, sexual harassment is also a problem - 70% of female students surveyed said that they had been solicited for paid sex by foreigners. In this sort of chauvinist social environment it's perhaps not surprising that a book entitled "Ladies, Back to the Harems", which asserts that women belong to the herd and should be prepared to have sex at any time, has sold over 10,000 copies.

However, some Ukrainian women are willing to fight back. The author of this offensive book got a cream pie in the face at a book reading, from a member of controversial protest group Femen. The group is politically independent, mostly consisting of female university students, with some men and high school students. They plan their campaigns online and meet in cafes to discuss their strategies. Past actions have included dressing up as syringe-wielding sexy nurses to "cure foreigners of addiction to sex-tourism", and taking to the street wearing surgical masks and bikinis to raise awareness about the Ukrainian government's exploitation of the swine flu scare in the run up to the presidential elections.

Their latest stunt is even more eye-catching.

"Activists of FEMEN, a Ukrainian women movement defending women's conditions in the society, perform during their protest action in front of Ukraine's Education Ministry in Kiev to denounce sexual harassment of students by some university professors in the country."

My feelings about this are mixed. On the one hand, I completely admire the creativity and guts of these women. They are successfully raising awareness about important social issues, and they are aware that they wouldn't get so much publicity without the sex appeal. On the other hand, is letting yourself be objectified to raise awareness about objectification really helpful? How many people walking past these protests will think "oh wow, I didn't know about that issue - that's really shocking" and how many will just think "hurr hurr, I'd do that"?

Anna Hutsol, who founded the group in 2008, is aware that their tactics are controversial. "I set up FEMEN because I realised that there was a lack of women activists in our society, Ukraine is male-oriented and women take a passive role," she says. "Here at FEMEN we have developed our own unique way of civil self-expression based on creativity, courage, humour, efficiency and shock. People wouldn't pay attention to the serious problems we tackle if it weren't for the way we dress. We are not afraid to go topless or wear bikinis if it serves a purpose." According to another activist, Femen is not a feminist organization. "I like it when a man holds the door open for me," she says, "or takes me out to dinner."

Feminist or not, they are certainly getting noticed. Their actions have a strong visual appeal and intelligent symbolism which communicates across language barriers. Even if you just take them as spanking photos, their most recent performance is unusually daring, funny and erotic. But there is undeniably more to it than that.

However pretty these images may be, I think it's a sad comment on society that the best way for women to make political points is to take their clothes off. But I cannot help but admire these young women for working the system to their advantage, on their own terms, for causes they care about - and clearly having fun while doing it. They choose their own subject matter and, presumably, only do things they're comfortable doing. I wish them all the best - and I hope this campaign is as successful as the photos are hot.

(Huge thanks to Chross for collecting these fabulous images.)

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Tags: funny, Gender politics, in the news, other pictures, otk spanking, Politics


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