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while I was away

Posted at 20:26 on 1 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Well, I'm back. A day later than expected, thanks to last-minute car failure that resulted in a seriously frustrating 24 hours at the mercy of the AA, but home. I collapsed straight into bed when we staggered in last night and I've been in the office all day today.

So I don't have any kinky news for you. But the world, when I returned to it from the isolated depths of rural England, had plenty of news for me. In the Guardian on the train home I read that Darryn Walker, the blogger who was prosecuted for obscenity after writing a fantasy about abducting, raping and murdering girls band Girls Aloud, has been acquitted. A win for free speech, whatever your opinion about Mr Walker's taste or lack of respect for his fantasy objects. If the prosecution had been successful this would have been the first obscenity conviction of a textual crime, and I'm pleased that the precedent hasn't been set.

The bad political news is that Night Jack, the anonymous Police Constable who won the Orwell Prize for his blog about the police force, has been outed by the Times. Not the first, although political bloggers tend to get less publicity than sexual ones, but policing has been rife with scandal over the last few months, so the story is big. I didn't always agree with Night Jack but I supported his right to privacy, and I think his exposure is a sad, shameful and unnecessary thing. My day job isn't anywhere near as sensitive and interesting as his, but I've already come to terms with the possibility of being outed one day to loved ones who would be hurt by the revelation. I would rather break the news to them myself, and there's a tightening in me at every public humiliation which brings that inevitability closer.


The kink world has been busy in my absence, too. You've probably already seen them, but since I got back online I've been hungrily devouring Adele Haze's and Ludwig's accounts of their latest shoot with Lupus Pictures.

Adele has excelled herself in a series of wry, beautifully described posts, starting with a selection of The Annotated Lupus Tweets, which she follows up with a gorgeous post about Remembering the Pain, and an indulgent look at the Lupus Marks in Development, a narrative I never tire of seeing recorded in pictures. Ludwig, meanwhile, tells of unexpected Czech lines, false moustaches and caning positions. Definitely a film to look out for.

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Tags: Adele Haze, in the news, Ludwig, Lupus Spanking, Politics


kinks I still don't have

Posted at 14:01 on 7 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

I'm still recovering from my working holiday: building things out of wood in the outdoors for a week was rejuvenating for the soul, but tiring for the body. And the frantic admin involved in organising it all beforehand took its toll. I've been in the office a lot since I got back. Last night after work I was in bed by 7pm, and stayed there until nearly midday. It was awesome, and I got to enjoy that emotionally vivid type of dream peculiar to lie-ins, after you've already been woken once by the dawn (or, in my case, cat).

My dreams this morning involved:

  • Twisted fairytale adventures in medieval castles, involving lots of hiding and chasing down spiral staircases.

  • Sorting through boxes and boxes of old junk in one of the houses I used to live in (this is a recurring dream; I've moved house a lot). This time the junk included hundreds and hundreds of felt tip pens, and in my dream-wisdom I decided to test all of them to see if they worked.

  • Discovering the collection of long knives and swords I'd hoarded during my adolescent sword fetish, and getting excited at the memory of penetrating myself with them.

  • Cleaning all the blades, most of which were rusty, although they had beautiful decorations and velvet and leather sheaths. Then getting out a pack of condoms and intimately re-familiarising myself with them one by one.

Spiral towers, pens, and swords: Freud would have a field day. In actual fact I didn't have a teenage sword-fucking fetish, nor did I collect blades (although an ex-boyfriend did). Both are pure invention on the part of my subconscious, which has always been good at creating false memories to back up the random situations it puts me in.

I'm pleased that my dream-self is responsible about hygiene, although how the condoms didn't split on the sharp points I have no idea. It was a hot dream, in the way that random things can become erotic in dreams simply because your brain decides they are. However, now I'm awake I have no more desire to insert sharp metal things into myself than I did before I went to sleep. Sorry to disappoint, subconscious. You are still more perverted than me.

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Tags: Fantasies, funny, those crazy kinksters

1 comment

101 uses for a flogger

Posted at 10:45 on 8 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Well, two, anyway.

A few nights ago D. and I were in bed, settling down to sleep. The lights were off, the windows open to try and get some through breeze; it's been baking in London since I got back. Once side effect of this is insects.

The first thing I know about the fly is D. jumping up and swatting irritably around his head, but by then it's flown off. He settles back down, grumbling about the uselessness of my cat, who is curled up on my feet and totally uninterested in hunting flies. After a few more minutes of buzzing and taunting on the part of the fly, D. loses patience. He turns the light on and looks around for it. It's up near the ceiling, too far to reach with a book, and I don't have a fly swat.

Naturally, D. grabs the nearest likely object to hand: Tom's brown leather martinet, left crumpled on the floor at the bottom of my bed after our scene with Caroline. (Yes, I need to tidy my room.) He starts lashing the flogger at the fly with a practised right arm, while I wake up enough to collapse in giggles. After a couple of strokes he hits his mark, and the fly plummets lifeless onto his pillow. The hapless creature is deposited outside, while I crack jokes about his irrepressible domliness. Secretly, I can't help feeling slightly jealous of the fly.

D. and I again, a couple of nights later. We're at his place this time, nearing the end of a long weekend of sun, friends, and re-acquainting ourselves with each other's bodies. I'm feeling recharged and horny after my week in the sun, and can't seem to get enough of him.

We've been up all night partying, and are both tired, but for me the tiredness is overwhelmed by sexual hunger. He's still feeling worn out, but I tell him he doesn't need to move much. He lies facedown on the bed while I lick him all over, and then lick him in some very specific places which swiftly wake him up. Before I know it I'm on my back, clutching the head bars of his bed with both hands, and he's kneeling over me with his 'horsehair' rubber flogger, grinning. This is a sensation-play toy rather than a particularly hard one, and I can't take my eyes off him as he takes his time shaking it out, teasing out the tangles with his fingers.

He whips my breasts with it, alternating each stroke with caresses that sensitise my nipples, and make the next hurt more than I expect. It hurts just enough to make me desperate for more, but not enough to make me afraid.

Later I'm kneeling up on the bed, legs spread wide and my hands clasped behind my back. He looks me in the eyes as he lifts my chin with one hand and slaps my breasts with the other. The slaps are hard, hard enough to shock me. I can feel the weight of my breasts, despite their smallness, as they bounce under the smacks. Between slaps he leans forward to kiss me; hot, teasing, melt-in-the-mouth kisses. Neither of us is particularly patient, and before much longer we're fucking as hard as we can, flushed and panting and me screaming loud enough to seriously annoy his neighbours. This is why I never believe him when he tells me he's too tired.

Last night, I found myself replaying the scene as I pleasured myself. I don't regret the passion that led us onto other things so fast, but pure sex is never enough to stimulate my imagination when I'm on my own: my masturbatory fantasies are far rougher and nastier than the things I usually get up to. I pictured myself tied down on my back, hands together and feet forced apart. A blindfold tied tightly over my eyes, heightening my sense of touch and making me more aware of my vulnerably open mouth. He's playing that stinging rubber flogger up and down my body, not discriminating as to where: the stinging lashes falling on breasts, nipples, tummy, ribs, hipbones, thighs. I'm twisting under the strokes, the tender flesh of my belly and sides unused to the impact, trying in vain to escape the stinging whip, but my moans belie my movements and every stroke just makes me wetter...

That's as far as the fantasy got, I'm afraid. Curse my short attention span.

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Tags: corrupting the innocent, D, dominance and submission, Fantasies, flogger, kink, Photos


rumbled on tumblr

Posted at 16:41 on 9 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

The eagle eyes of Roland Hulme recently alerted me to two instances of copyright theft on tumblr. I've never used this site before, and it took me a little while to work out the interface (what do you mean, you can't leave comments on blog posts?!). Still, I eventually managed to trace the images back to their original poster, "bendoverloverboy".

Let's compare this image with the original, shall we? Notice anything different? How about this tumblr pic, compared to this photo hosted on my website?

Not only has he reposted images from my website without credit or attribution, he carefully took the time to trim my watermark off both images, rendering them anonymous before he re-uploaded them. The mirror image is actually © the photographer, Jay Oak, meaning his copyright has also been infringed.

Bend over indeed, lover boy. While I thrash you with the Big Stick of Netiquette. Not only is this damn rude, it's also illegal, and contrary to tumblr's Content Policy.

I've notified tumblr, but haven't been able to contact the thief himself, as he doesn't list his email and the site doesn't allow comments on blogposts. (Since writing this post, tumblr have removed the offending posts: kudos to them for the swift response time.)

The original image Roland pointed me at was 22 "reblogs" down the chain, and while I was puzzling over how to trace it back to its source, I very nearly decided not to bother. After all, I'm not making money off these images. But I persisted; it's a point of principle, especially when I'm not the only person whose copyrighted material is being stolen. By the time I'd written an email to the support team reporting the infringement, I'd worked up a nice head of steam, and felt thoroughly justified.

It made me wonder, though. Realistically, when is it worth pursuing this sort of theft? Is there a difference between images you have to pay for, and content which is released free of charge? If an image is published in the public domain, is it fair game? Or is reposting things only acceptable as long as you don't alter the original image, or post a credit linking the copyright holder? I'd be really interested to know your thoughts.

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Tags: making a scene, Photos, rant

1 comment

the psychology of domination

Posted at 15:46 on 10 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

From this month's issue of Filthy Gorgeous Things, which is promisingly entitled Force, and focusses on BDSM, rough sex, dirty girls and iron cocks - and, as ever, beautiful writing, photography, art and design. Go, admire, allow yourself to be teased until you're hot and bothered and ready to surrender.

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Tags: fetish art, other pictures


"I'm Fiona Locke, and so's my wife!"

Posted at 19:16 on 13 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

The reason I've never written a review of Fiona Locke's "definitive CP novel" Over the Knee is an interesting story.

When I was at uni, we had a "family" system for first years, where an older student doing the same subject would be picked to be your mentor. My uni "mum" and I couldn't really have been better matched: at the first family dinner in Freshers' Week, we clocked each other's dyed black hair, heavy eyeliner, and scarred forearms with a mutual understanding. She stayed on to do a Masters, and throughout my three undergraduate years we'd often be found sitting on the steps in halls, smoking Marlborough Lights (no, I don't any more), bitching and bonding. We kept bumping into each other on random online communities, we had very similar problems with food and our bodies at the time, and all sorts of other things in common.

When we were students, she wasn't into spanking. I talked about my kink and she listened, and occasionally made wistful comments about how maybe she was kinky after all, but then she remembered that she was really happy with her vanilla fiancé, so that was that.

She got back in touch a few months ago, and we met up for drinks. Both of us had fallen out of touch with most of our other acquaintances from uni, but we quickly realised that the other was what I think of as a real person: a kindred spirit, someone who gets it. I'm not just talking about spanking; we'd both turned into sexually adventurous, politically minded, independent women with very similar tastes. Except that she was still with her vanilla fiancé, so she hadn't yet had much experience of kink. She was interested enough, however, that I sent her away with my copies of Over the Knee, Dances with Werewolves and Sex in Uniform (which includes a delicious naval cross-dressed caning story by Fiona Locke), hoping that they would awaken her inner kinkster.

I had difficulty getting in touch with her for the next few months. After a while I stopped sending her emails, and figured she'd get back to me when she was ready. Eventually I got a text from her. Long story. Am moving to the States with my new Dom. Probably won't be able to take you up on that offer of drinks. Are you surprised?!

I wasn't. Not at all. But she still has my damn books.


There has been some speculation this week on the "true identity" of Ms Locke. It was all started when Emma-Jane vehemently denied that it was her, and set everyone to wondering. Zille Defeu sums up the available information, causing wild guesses that Fiona is Caroline Grey (she denies it), Peter Markworthy of English Vice (so does he) and Rosaleen Young. After all, what spanko conversation would be complete without mention of the International Bottom of Mystery?

Ludwig joined the fray with a flattering, but entirely inaccurate, theory that I'm Fiona Locke, which of course means now I have to post and deny it. Prefectdt offered the hilariously credible idea that it must be one of my Doms; I was tempted to play along and claim that yes, Tom is the true Fiona Locke, but when I asked him he didn't seem as amused by the idea as I was. In any case, while he is certainly more inclined to novel-writing than me, I can't see him ever publishing under a female persona.

Amy Hunter, observant wench that she is, has pointed out that I'm named on English Vice as a "friend" of Angie and Peter. Peter himself tells us that he wrote that paragraph, and he certainly isn't Fiona Locke.

Logically, the existence of Peter tells us certain things. Tempting as the arguments are for a male Fiona, if the "Angie" of English Vice is male, who is "Peter"? A gay partner? An invented character, mischeivously participating in the conversation on Zille's blog (in which case he's lying; he is Fiona Locke)? At this point the subterfuge becomes far too complex for me to wrap my head around, so for the moment I'm going to abandon that idea, although if you want to try and work it out, by all means feel free.

Obviously if I did know Angie's real identity, and was her friend, I wouldn't publish it here, when she's clearly not ready to share her secrets. But I'm amused that everyone's so quick to jump to the conclusion that the name-check on their website means I'm privy to their every secret. Is it so implausible that I only know Angie and Peter online? There are plenty of friends in this scene I haven't met in person yet: most of you lot, for a start.

Even if I don't know who they are (and if I did, I wouldn't tell you), it makes sense that Angie and Peter are the pseudonyms of a spanko couple we know under other names. After all, Angie writes about being active on spanking forums, and they still update their website occasionally, if less often than they used to: but they almost never post on blogs or forums, which seems strange for web-savvy, social people. Is English Vice the only place they talk about kink online? Or are they doing so elsewhere, under different names?

My personal favourite candidate is, and always has been, Haron of the Spanking Writers. Haron is a talented writer, an intelligent and very kinky woman, with many of the same tastes and fantasies as Angie. She clearly has a wealth of personal experience to draw from, and she's more careful about sharing information about herself online than some - perhaps to protect her nom de plume. We know she's a keen writer, quite possibly published; she wrote for Lowewood throughout its lifespan, and talks on her blog about writing erotic fiction.

We have never seen a picture of Haron or her partner Abel and so it's perfectly plausible they are the couple posing on the covers of Fiona's books, and for the photos on English Vice. They are English, and can you think of a better inspiration for the Professor character than Abel? I haven't yet read On the Bare, but a few scenes from Over the Knee are strangely similar to those in The Spanking Writers: like Angie, school roleplay and motivational spankings helped Haron while she was writing her thesis; and, like Angie, she was given a celebratory caning to mark its finish.

Of course, I've met Haron, so I know (and so do several of you!) whether or not she does in fact resemble Angie's photos on English Vice. But ... even then, that wouldn't necessarily prove it either way: Fiona could always have got a friend to model for her. After all, in Over the Knee englishvice.net already exists when Angie discovers it, run by another kinky couple with a penchant for outdoor punishments. Perhaps Angie identifying herself with Fiona is a sneaky piece of misdirection, to help keep her friend's identity safe?

It's all far too complicated. Fiona clearly doesn't want to be identified - yet. But I don't think she'd mind some idle speculation. As for whether she is really Haron - you'll have to ask her yourself :)

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Tags: books, Fiona Locke, making a scene, those crazy kinksters

1 comment

tweets of spanking

Posted at 12:32 on 15 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

I've just discovered TwitterFox, a FireFox addon that allows you to use twitter through multiple identities. The reason I haven't had a kinky twitter account until now is that I already run a public vanilla twitter, and I didn't want to be endlessly logging in and out. TwitterFox has solved that problem with its nifty drop-down menu to select between accounts, and very happy about it I am too. I've spent the morning naughtily designing a layout for my twitter page rather than doing the work I was meant to be doing. The work I'm meant to be doing at the moment is for a new business D and I are starting, so I'm shooting myself in the foot really. And quite possibly earning myself a spanking when I see him tonight. But look! Isn't it pretty?

While adding the twitter feed to my blog sidebar, I took the opportunity to spruce up the blog design a bit. This means that all my carefully-resized images will be totally swamped by my new wide post layout on all but the tiniest screen resolutions, but no matter. Here's a nice wide screenshot to celebrate having a bit more space.

The new blog title has been simmering for a while. I'm not going to change the url of my blog, but I was never happy with "Pandora's Blog" as a name, and I think the new one expresses the right balance between submission and feminism. This blog is about kink, sex, politics and the porn industry; and however spanked and sorry I may be, no-one will ever stop me thinking and talking and speaking out on issues I care about. Neither of my Doms would ever dream of wanting to, which is one of the reasons we chose each other.

So, come and find me on twitter! And now I really should get on with some work.

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Tags: admin, making a scene, Photos


the Vilena pose

Posted at 17:06 on 16 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Do any of you read Questionable Content? It's one of my favourite webcomics, and I've been following it for years. It's not normally renowned for its kinky potential, apart from some of the strips featuring queer librarian Tai (on whom I have a massive crush). Imagine my surprise when D. linked me to this drawing by QC artist Jeph Jacques:

Apparently, this was created in response to a Russian photo meme started by a girl called Vilena, who became popular overnight after posting a similar image on a social networking site. Some say the appeal is in the enormous size of her bottom compared to her face; others because of the look in her eyes. Or perhaps because it's a perfect position for a spanking?

Either way, hundreds of Russian women immediately started posting photos of themselves in the same position. I've not really seen it spread to the UK or America, though, apart from that single reference in J. Jacques' livejournal. I've certainly never seen anything referencing it in the spankosphere.

Time to remedy that, wouldn't you say?

It's actually surprisingly difficult. Does anyone else want to play? I bet you're all much more bendy than me.

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Tags: corrupting the innocent, funny, other pictures, Photos

1 comment

mirror image

Posted at 12:15 on 17 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

I just about met my deadline on Wednesday, and emailled it to D. (we're working together on this project) moments before racing out of the house. I paused just long enough to get his message asking me to bring my lacy dress and some high heels. The dress was bought at BoundCon; I don't have a picture of me wearing it yet, but will probably be taking it to my next shoot with Lady Sonia at the end of July, so I'll be able to show you after that. It's more hole than dress: black crocheted lace, with a tiny skirt barely skimming decency at the front and showing more of my bottom than it covers. The first time I tried it on to show D. I was instantly pounced and molested, which I thought was pretty good going.

I arrived at his; we talked about work a bit (he was happy with what I'd done; I'd had to race to finish it after spending the morning on more frivolous things) and then had dinner with his housemate. By the time we went to bed I'd drunk quite a lot of wine. I borrowed his camera to take the Vilena-style photos, and he grinned at me from the doorway, making helpful suggestions as I wiggled and occasionally fell flat on my face. "Arch your back more! Bring your knees as close to your boobs as possible! Lift your face higher! Now lift your arse higher!" (YES YES I AM IN FACT TRYING. Cheers for that useful advice, sir.)

So then I'm naked on his bed, a bit worn out and giggling after my exertions, and while I was innocently flopped on my front he proceeded to kneel on the back of my legs, reaching over the side of the bed and bringing out his biggest cane. It's long and thick and only bamboo, not particularly dense or heavy, but he enjoys how melodramatic it looks.

"Is this because I didn't do your work this morning?" I asked, flushing.

"Yes. That's exactly what it's about." I felt the tip of the cane trail lightly up the backs of my thighs, skimming the curve of my bottom. I swallowed, enjoying his dominance, and whimpered plaintively. My recalcitrance didn't impress him. He paused, lifting the cane away. "Of course, I could always not beat you?"

"I don't mind you beating me," I whispered hastily, "as long as you're not actually cross with me."

More feather-soft caress of bamboo. He followed it with his body, his hips pressing gently against me and his lips touching the back of my neck. "I'm not cross with you," he murmured, "but I am going to beat you. Because I like watching you wriggle. And because you're a naughty wench."

He spanked me first, harder than he normally does. He hadn't risen to my play-complaints, so I didn't indulge in them: instead, I responded with fervent enjoyment. I'd been thinking about this scene all day. I'd hoped for it, hinted at it. I hadn't been sure if he'd initiate it, and now he had I didn't want to put him off by pretending I wasn't into it. There's a time and place for resistance play, but as far as he was concerned, this clearly wasn't it.

By the time he started caning me the atmosphere was intensely sensual: strange for a punishment caning, especially one I knew I deserved. Usually punishments for real misdemeanours aren't fun for me at all. But my procrastination had been unprofessional - I knew that - and he hadn't had a go at me about it when I admitted I hadn't started work yet, so I'd guilted myself about it instead. But I'd also worked extra hard to make up, finished the job, and produced something he was happy with, so no harm was done. This was a deserved punishment, one I'd anticipated and needed, but there was no need to "teach me a lesson" - the lesson had already been learned. Partly it was just an excuse; partly it was cleansing my remaining guilt; and partly it was straightforwardly, without viciousness, reinforcing my existing awareness that I really shouldn't be doing that sort of thing until I've finished my other work.

Anyway, it was delicious, not brutally hard but stinging and satisfying, with a few strokes landing right on my crease. I hung onto the headbars of his bed, trying to keep quiet for the sake of his housemates, hissing through my teeth and flinging my head back as the harder strokes broke through my self-control.

When he stopped I knelt up, and my eyes widened at the iron hardness of his erection. For someone who claims not to be a spanko, he'd certainly enjoyed that.

"Put your pretty things on," he told me, smiling. I couldn't take my eyes off his cock. I leant forward to give it a quick kiss on my way off the bed, but he pushed my face away with his hand, still grinning. "Not until you're dressed, wench. We get distractedly too easily. Scoot."

I grinned back, and obediently tied the skimpy lace around my neck and hips. I'd forgotten to bring heels, but by that point he was too turned on to bother punishing me again, and I can't say I minded.

Of course, what better position to fuck me in than facing the mirror, head up and arse in the air? I watched my own face as he entered me, cheeks flushed and pupils the size of the moon; I watched his pecs flexing as he moved, his lean shoulders and sharp cheekbones; I watched looking at my body in the mirror, looking at my face, looking down at his cock sliding into me. I looked right back at him until I couldn't keep my eyes open or my head up any more, and then I buried my face in the mattress and cried out, no longer thinking or caring about what I looked like.

Perfect for more than just spanking, indeed.

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Tags: D, dominance and submission, kink, Real life punishment

1 comment

torn jeans

Posted at 16:34 on 22 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

For the last couple of days I've been wearing a kneelength wrap-around skirt over my jeans, and not just because I like the iridescent blue colour. Its primary purpose is to hide the enormous hole in the seat of my jeans. I have sewn up this hole a couple of times, but either my stitching isn't good enough or the fabric is weak, because both times it ripped open again the first time I bent down. (Once was at work, squatting to get something out of the stationery cupboard: I had to tie my pashmina around my waist as a makeshift sarong, and very embarrassing it was too.)

If I was organised, I would get a patch and mend the jeans properly. In the meantime, they're okay for working from home, and skirts over trousers are still in style, right?

I can't remember what flippant comment I made yesterday that provoked D., but when he grabbed me by the arm and pulled my skirt up, he was presented with a glimpse of my knickers through the torn fabric of my jeans. Of course, he had to try... I have to admit that I didn't really feel the spank, but maybe he wasn't trying hard enough. Or perhaps I was just giggling too much.

Thinking about it, it would be quite hard to seriously spank someone with your hand, unless the hole was really big: it's the edges of the hand that cause the sting, and if those land on denim then the palm won't make much of a smack through the hole. But I can see it being quite easy to make someone seriously uncomfortable with a small round-headed hairbrush or bathbrush. Of course, you'd have to have holes on both sides, to keep things balanced...

I'm imagining a strict guardian, appalled at his ward's lack of propriety when he sees her wearing fashionably ripped jeans, flashing her underwear and a glimpse of naked bottom to all and sundry. If she was sufficiently insolent, he might lose his temper and tear her a matching hole on the other side so he could deal with her properly.

Or an erotic bedroom scene, maybe, with the girl tied down so she can barely wiggle as her partner slices through her skintight jeans with scissors? He would start lower down, on the backs of her calves or knees, pricking the fabric with the tips of the blades and sliding the cold metal against her flesh. Maybe he would work slowly up the back of her legs, snipping and snipping, thoroughly destroying the garment and leaving tantalising glimpses of bare flesh for him to kiss and lightly tease with the cold steel. By the time he reached her bottom she would be desperate for more. And after he'd cut away twin circles in the seat of her jeans and applied his belt to her exposed cheeks until the skin showing through the patches was hot and glowing, he could cut along the seam and expose her for a different sort of attention.

Mmmm. I'm seeing Tom this evening. I think I might I keep this outfit on, and see if it gives him any ideas...

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Tags: D, dominance and submission, Fantasies, Photos


The subtle approach

Posted at 17:46 on 23 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

I ended up having to work late last night, so we passed the evening companionably, Tom with his book and me swearing at my computer and occasionally asking his advice. He was pretty tired, and didn't even notice my ripped jeans until I absent-mindedly jammed my phone into the back pocket while my hands were full, exposing the tear. "Ah," he said, "that's why you're wearing that skirt." And that was it.

By the time we went to bed I wasn't sure if he was in the mood for anything more energetic. I tried dropping a couple of hints, but didn't get much feedback. When he came upstairs he found me lying facedown on the bed, hogging his pillow; but apart from giving my bottom a friendly squeeze, I wasn't getting the attention I'd hoped.

I'd recently bought him a new, smooth-faced wooden ruler, to match the one I'd had a couple of years ago which ended up finding a permanent home in D's toybox. It's a beautiful little implement, the unmarked wood polished to a satiny finish, perfect for switching between the constrasting sensations of gliding caress and stinging smack. They're only 99p at a local old-fashioned stationery shop, and I picked up a couple more last time I was in the area. I was determined to play with my new toy.

I decided that this called for stronger tactics. I needed to charge my phone, so I plugged it into the socket on Tom's side of the bed, leaning across him. I let myself settle over his lap, nonchalantly fussing with my phone for a minute. Sure enough, his hand drifted to my bottom. "Hello," he said, deep-voiced, finally beginning to sense my mood.

I bent my head round and grinned at him. "Hello, sir. Would you like me to turn around?" I was lying across his left knee, facing away from him: the wrong way for a right-handed spanking.

"Yes," he said, and now there was definitely a smile in his voice. "You can take your jeans off, as well."

"You don't like my jeans?" I pouted, disappointed to have my fantasies dismissed so easily.

"They're very nice, but at this stage they're largely pointless. Come along."

And that was that. I lay over his knee in my knickers for a stinging warmup spanking, the stiff tips of his fingers making me squeak as if his hand had somehow metamorphosed into a tawse. My responses were plaintive: I'd wanted to play, but it was a while since I'd experienced Tom's distinctively heavy hand, and I'd forgotten how hard he spanks. But he didn't rush me, and when I was glowing and breathless I was arranged neatly in the center of the bed, and instructed to fetch my new toy.

The rulering that followed demonstrated how much the top behind the implement makes a difference. In D's hand, this ruler is a sensual, delicate tease of a toy, making me gasp and wiggle and want more. Even when he plies it harder, the mood is so unmistakably erotic that translates straight to pleasure. In Tom's hand, the strokes took on a stiffness that made me yelp. The lighter strokes stung, but the harder ones bit deep into the crease of my bottom, like being hit by a very small wooden hammer. When he started plying it faster I couldn't keep still at all. My enjoyment was the indirect enjoyment of a spanking that really hurts rather than one that straightforwardly feels yummy. I tried to keep obedient, but each fresh bite made me jump.

When he finished, I found myself looking up at him. "Could you carry on please, sir?" I asked in a small voice. I wanted to reach that place where I was accepting the pain, where I could relax into it. "Maybe a bit slower?"

And what do you know? He obliged me. Not immediately, of course. The first thing he did was lay on a fresh volley of smart, swift little flicks, peppering my bottom with stinging pain. I accepted them as gracefully as I could: I knew why he was making the point.

But then he did slow down, and the moment the pace shifted it was like a light flicked on inside me. Now I was warmed up, those biting strokes with the follow-through set a spark to the deep tissues of my arse. Between strokes he stopped to caress my heated flesh, and as my moans became throatier and the strokes became harder, his caresses became more intimate.

The night ended up being everything I'd hoped for. I'm not usually so direct as to lie uninvited across someone's knee, or explicitly ask for what I want in the middle of a scene, but this time I'm glad I did. I guess sometimes the subtle approach just isn't quite enough.

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Tags: hand spanking, kink, otk spanking, ruler, Thomas Cameron



Posted at 18:40 on 24 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Tags: other pictures

1 comment

gaming industry in sexism shocker

Posted at 15:01 on 26 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

The weekend just gone was San Diego Comic Con, the annual international gathering for geeks and gamers. EA Games ran a competition to promote their new game, Dante's Inferno; I found out about this courtesy of top geeky news site Ars Technica.

So EA Games had a booth at Comic Con launching the game. The booth was staffed by "booth babes" (what's wrong with "model")? EA Games distributed flyers to Con attendees explaining the rules: to win, you have to "commit an act of lust" with any of the "booth babes" at the Con (i.e. not just the ones staffing the EA Games stall). You take a photo of this "act of lust" and send it in. The "best" photo wins "dinner and a sinful night with two hot babes". The same babes who were staffing the stall? Well, presumably, unless EA Games are stupid enough to offer other companies' models as a prize, as well as bait.

Got that? EA Games are offering the female models in their employ as a sexual prize, with which they reward the sexual harassment (and potentially assault) of not only their own models, but any other unlucky women happening to be staffing booths at the same con. Not only was the most "sinful" photo likely to be rewarded, encouraging contestants to up the ante without reference to the feelings of the anonymous "babe", but each contestant was encouraged to enter as many times as possible.

I've been a "booth babe" (let's leave aside the demeaning qualities of that term for the moment, shall we) - most recently at BoundCon. It's a slightly different job from studio modelling. It's hard work; you're basically a sales rep, in role 24/7 for a whole weekend. Whether you're at the booth or wandering around, you represent your stall and are a portable advertisement. You can't do anything without people gathering to stare and point cameras. You can't go to the toilet without people stopping you to take photos and ask questions, some more polite than others. It's a lot of fun, but being "on" for a whole weekend without a break is demanding, exhausting work, and by the second day you are desperate for some privacy and some comfy, casual clothes.

Modelling does not equal prostitution. I have this argument in endless emails with guys who don't get it - I'm a model and an actress. You hire me to pose and act. Sometimes, posing and acting involves physically interacting with other models and actors. That's cool - they're professionals, and I wouldn't agree to work with them if I didn't trust them, or they didn't have a pile of trustworthy references.

If you hire me, you do not buy the right to touch me. You do not buy the right for your friend to touch me. You do not buy the right to give me to a room full of drunk people and invite them to touch me.

I already have problems with enforcing this boundary. A lot of people still seem to think that "model" is a euphemistic way of saying "call girl". As if the fact that I'm comfortable revealing my body means that I have no right to define my own boundaries; as if looking was the same as touching.

Thanks very fucking much, EA Games. Not only did you sign up your models to a weekend of harassment by leering guys pawing at them and competing for who can create the most "sinful" photo, but you signed every other model at ComicCon up to the same fate. That must put you in a hell of an interesting legal position. Not only that, but by encouraging attendees to objectify and paw your models, you increased the chances that the female attendees of BoundCon would be the victims of harassment.

40% of the gaming market are now female, in a world where women in technology are still massively underrepresented and the objectification of female bodies is endemic in advertising. Even in a best-case scenario where all the models hired by EA Games knew about the contest in advance, consented to it, and were able to enforce their own boundaries during the Con and had the support of EA Games in dealing with any unwanted sexual attention - even if this were also true of every other model working the Con - this is STILL unacceptable.

It sends a message that women are objects to compete with, and prizes to be won. It sends a message that EA Games considers the only audience worth having to be heterosexual males - you know, the male "YOU" in the flyer. Female gamers and queer male gamers don't exist in the misogynistic world of EA Games. Women only exist in the gaming industry to be the scantily-clad sprites on console packaging, the hyper-sexed female characters in the games themselves, or the generic, permanently available "booth babes" who exist only to help male gamers get their rocks off.

Sexual harassment is already a huge problem at Cons - look at the experiences of women at last years' Comic Con, or the Open Source Boob Project at ConFusion. This contest was launched into a culture that is already, famously, not female-friendly. EA Games couldn't have sent a clearer message to women telling them they aren't welcome at conventions unless they're happy being treated like this.

Well, they've lost me as a customer, but since (according to them) female gamers don't exist I'm not sure this news will affect them much. What they do care about is their reputation. If any of you agree with me, you can help by spreading the word about their attitude.

The day after the contest was announced, the games team published a statement on Twitpic, bleating that the competition was "just tongue in cheek" and "it was all done in the spirit of good-natured fun". Anyone fancy a game of misogynist bingo? Not only is this statement not remotely good enough, but you only need to look at the stream of sexist bile in the comments to see why I can't see this ending well.

This contest is insulting to gamers, it's insulting to models, and it's insulting to women. This requires more than a half-hearted "clarification" on a social networking site - it requires a company policy statement apologising for the offense and damage caused by this contest, and detailling the action EA Games intend to take to avoid such overt sexism in their future marketing.

Most of EA's UK PR team are women. If you think there's something wrong here, you should write to them and say so.

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Tags: Boundcon, Gender politics, making a scene, other pictures, Politics, rant, Sex worker rights


inventory of hurts

Posted at 12:53 on 29 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

1. The non-kinky

1a) Right foot, bruised.

When I say "bruised", I mean "purple on top of foot from toes to ankle, with interesting mottled effect, and some grazing".

Okay, so, I know that cycling while drunk is bad, but at least you're only likely to put yourself at risk, right? Anyway, I was sober when I cycled to the party, and I wasn't about to randomly leave my bike there, and it was still light, so it seemed sensible to mount up and pedal home at a sober (ahem) pace. Unfortunately I was wearing my long swishy full black skirt of much fabric. Unfortunately, my skirt got caught in the gears as I was crossing a busy junction. I tugged the skirt free, but my chain came loose and I had to freewheel to the side of the road, out of the way of passing cars. I hopped off on the pavement side and leaned over the top of my bike to fix the chain. Unfortunately, my co-ordination was not as good as I thought. The bike slipped from my grasp and fell heavily towards me, landing on my foot, pedal first.

I fixed the chain, remounted, and went on my way. I was tipsy enough and in enough pain that curious pedestrians could hear me cursing "ow, ow, fucking OW" all the way home. (And Ludwig, don't get any ideas.)

It's changed a number of interesting colours over the last few days. I was worried I wouldn't be able to wear high heels for the shoot yesterday, but I managed, although once encased my right foot looked as if it belonged only on the most specialised websites. The tight lacings of my six-inch stilettos left a very interesting criss-cross pattern over the bruising. Pictures to follow for the morbidly curious.

1b) Right leg, bitten.

Something has really got it in for my right side. One enormous mosquito bite on the back of my thigh, one right on the crease at the back of my knee, which is all red and swollen and puffy. And itchy as hell. I have applied antisan and aloe with desperate regularity, and I'm preparing myself to photoshop them out of yesterday's pics, but really: itching is not sexy and I would like it to stop now please.

2. The kinky

2a) Neck, sore.

Being tied up and bent backwards over a glass table to be tormented and have your ballgown slowly and teasingly cut away with scissors? Hot. Hot hot hot. So hot I didn't notice the pain in my neck until this morning, when I woke up and discovered the muscles at the back are swollen and tender and there's an agonising point of bruise right in the indentation where my neck meets the back of my skull. My head was hanging off the edge of the table, you see, and not only did I have to support my own weight while looking prettily frightened, but the edge of the glass table was digging into the back of my neck the whole time. It was worth it, though.

2b) Shoulders, sore.

During this process my hands were tied above my head, also hanging off the edge of the table, and the weight of my arms wholly supported on my shoulders, which are correspondingly achy this morning. Not helped by lugging home a heavy rucksack full of high heeled shoes last night. If ergonomic bondage hasn't been invented yet, someone should work on it. And publish a how-to guide.

2c) Hips, bruised.

At various stages in the proceedings I was bent facedown over the same glass table, with the hard edge pressing into my hips. I was also supporting my weight on my hipbones while bent over the arm of a sofa at one point, and I remember staying there long enough for my back to get tired. My hipbones don't bruise as much as they used to before I started bursting all the capilliaries by hula hooping, but they still complain if I'm bent over a hard surface for any length of time. The endorphines usually mask the pain at the time, but the next day is a different story.

2d) Back, aching.

Actually this is such a normal state of affairs that it probably belongs in 1; I have various back problems which tend to be exacerbated by doing anything interesting. D. has just given me his old kneeling chair, which should in theory help by creating a more ergonomic desk environment, but in the short term it's not helping my discomfort.

2e) Skin, scratched.

D. didn't intend to score me with the scissors, but I was wriggling about a certain amount, and there was a lot of cutting and slicing involved, so it was inevitable that the blades would get a little closer than he intended at some point. No skin damage, just some faint red lines. I'm treasuring them, actually.

2f) One dress, destroyed.

This counts more as "damage" than "hurt", and is still making me grin. I'm not sure what to do with the rags; I want to keep them as a memento of an exceptionally hot scene, but then I'm an incorrigible hoarder. Maybe I could safety-pin it artistically back together and wear it to the next TG...

What isn't hurting is my bottom, despite being subjected to a cold caning, the wooden ruler, quite a lot of hand-spanking, and the belt. It's not fair. When I talked about "suffering for my art" I was thinking of being pleasantly unable to sit down after a shoot, not being unable to move at all!

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Tags: D, funny, shoot writeups


work and play

Posted at 18:58 on 30 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake

D. and I have spent a lot of time together this month, working on some shared geeky projects. Among other things, he's helping me with the back-end of my embryonic spanking film site.

We've worked together before, when I did some freelance work a couple of years ago for the company he was with at the time. He was my point of contact with the company and we talked each project over on IRC. The problem with this was that we already spent every day chatting on IRC, and so we found ourselves talking about work stuff in the same state of mind as we had more personal conversations. More than once this resulted in rows caused by one or both of us getting frustrated and failing to remain professional.

I like to think I've grown up a lot since then, as a person and a businesswoman. D. and I have certainly grown stronger over this period, got more used to each other's quirks and better at communicating and diffusing conflict. This spring and summer have been particularly good for D. and I - in fact, it's been great for both my relationships, demonstrating an aspect of polyamory at its best: the positive feedback loop. The more stable and happy one relationship is, the more stable and happy I am, and the more energy and cheer and love there is splashing around the three of us in general.

One of the things that's been good for me and D. lately is working on web projects. See, I love him lots, and we've been together three and a half years now, but early on in the relationship I sometimes remarked that although we had unbelievably, incandescently good sex, but we didn't really have that much in common. Well, we must have grown together over those three and a half years, or just grown more comfortable with our differences, because these days that doesn't feel true at all. I think it's important for couples to have shared activities outside the bedroom - shared skills that you can enjoy together, whether it's playing tennis, playing games, making music or something else. Something more active than just watching a DVD together: a time when you can invest your energies together in something you both care about, share respect and trust in each other's skills, and satisfaction at what you've achieved.

For D. and I, that something seems to be making websites. We have overlapping, complementary skills, we both think the other is great at what they do, and we have lots to teach each other. And since we started working together in earnest, it has been fantastic for our sex life.

Photo courtesy of the inimitable and very fanciable Anna of nerdpr0n.com.

Coding and spanking have several things in common. They're both high-energy pursuits with intense feedback loops that yield a lot of satisfaction. Getting a computer to do what you want it to is a high that's been compared to drugs, and the programmers' euphoric state of extreme focus and determination is legendary. It's easy to forget the time and stay up all night. And, it turns out, both spanking and programming get me and D. excited.

A little while ago we spent a long weekend coding. We were both stressed, driven, jittery with caffeine; although I felt very connected to him while we were working, by the time we stopped work sometime after midnight on the Saturday night, we were clearly in no state for anything more demanding than a cuddle. I went to sleep hoping that we'd be able to be more intimate in the morning. I'd bought a pair of hot pink peeptoe stilettos that day, and I wanted to break them in in my favourite way - balanced on D.'s shoulders, toes pointing at the ceiling.

Sadly, my neighbours had other ideas: we were rudely awoken at 8am by loud Brazilian pop music blaring through an open window. Grumbling and cursing, we made tea and got up, deciding that since we were awake we may as well get on with work.

By midday, we were thoroughly absorbed in our code, and sharing that charge of electricity you get when a programming project is flowing well. My hand kept sliding onto D.'s knee, and we'd stop and kiss to celebrate fixing a bug or writing a particularly elegant line of code. I was feeling pretty damn good, and decided that hot pink peeptoe stilettoes were the perfect accessory to suit my mood.

At this point I discovered something I had never known before: wearing 4" heels at your desk does wonders for your seated posture. Suddenly my typing position was 100% ergonomic. It was a miracle!

Even more miraculous was the effect it had on D. Within five minutes I found myself upended over his lap for no good reason at all, except to enjoy the sight of me in bare legs and high heels, which is a pretty good reason really. The smacks were delivered good-naturedly, but firm enough to count, and I squeaked and giggled my way through an utterly delicious concentration break. Once my bottom had been attended to, I enthusiastically attended to D.'s pleasure, and was delighted to find myself being dragged upstairs and fucked as hard as I like it in my pretty new shoes.

I swear we wrote better code when we returned, flushed and grinning, back to our desk. I'm sure work isn't meant to be this much fun.

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Tags: corrupting the innocent, D, dominance and submission, kink


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