2011 July | Spanked, Not Silenced

Archive for July, 2011

e[lust] #28

Posted by Pandora on July 30th, 2011

Photo courtesy of Delilah

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #29 (Which will be in September, taking a short summer break)? Start with the rules and subscribe to the RSS feed and Twitter for updates and submission reminders.

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

What makes me a woman? - It’s a stumper, this question. There must be something that makes me a woman. Something more than how I am perceived by others as I walk down the street. But what is the answer?

Baggage: An Inventory – Everyone brings bags with them. My goal is to carry my own bags. I’ll let people help me shed them, but I will never let them carry them. Those bags are my own to, well, own.

There’s pain and then there’s pain (and then there’s pain) -Part of what I crave in the second type of pain is the selfish sadism of the partner who continues despite my pleas. He does it because it arouses him, and he does it because I’ll endure it for him.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

What Is Gender? – Playing with dolls and preferring the color pink doesn’t make you a girl anymore than chewing on a bone makes you my dog.

~ e[lust] Editress: Dangerous Lilly ~

Sex Toys: Single or Partnered, there is no shame in owning them – There’s no fucking shame in owning your sexuality, in taking control of your own damn orgasm. Can you PREFER human contact and partnered sex to sex toys? Sure. You can prefer whatever the fuck you want. But don’t insinuate to me that owning a lot of sex toys is somehow bad or shameful.

Read more »

Posted in Blogging

Tags: e[lust]

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Kinky with housemates

Posted by Pandora on July 29th, 2011

It’s a problem familiar to many of us. How to indulge in sexy kinky shenanigans when you have housemates, without either dying of embarrassment or making them die of embarrassment, lose their sleep, or make bumping into them in the kitchen even more awkward than usual?

I’m currently living in my fourth house share since leaving university, and I seem to have got on fairly well in that time. I’ve always been pretty blazé about my sexuality, though, so if you are more inclined to crippling self-consciousness about all things sex or kink-related, my perspective may not be very useful. Still, I’ve had enough experience juggling play partners and housemates to be able to offer some basic advice. (This guide omits Method 0: Don’t give a fuck.)

Method 1: Have kinky housemates

This is the obvious first step to make everything easier. You don’t have to be play partners with your housemates, or even like them very much, for it to come in useful that they are also kinky (although obviously living with people you don’t get on with has other disadvantages). You don’t have to meet people through the BDSM/spanking scene, either – most of my housemates have been drawn from the pool of random alt/goth/hippy/raver types I meet in person, and the nerdy/academic/gamer types I know online, and a surprisingly high proportion of them have been kinky in one way or another. You don’t have to have the same kinks – if they have adventurous sexual tastes themselves, they are likely to be more tolerant of yours.

There are advantages other than not having to worry about being overheard when you play. For instance, when your housemate gets a DIY-handy friend around to climb into the attic and put a hard point in his ceiling, you can ask if he can put one in yours while he’s at it.

The flipside is that your work or film night might well be interrupted by noises from next door, and if your housemate is a screamer or likes to play hard/rough games, you can find yourself sitting on your hands to force yourself not to go and check if they’re okay. (Don’t go and check if they’re okay. Not unless you know they’re meeting someone new and have asked you to keep an ear out. A “Have fun last night?” at breakfast will tell you all you need to know.)

For that matter, if you know you’re going to be engaging in a violent, loud or edgy scene, check in with your housemates in advance and let them know what’s going to be happening. It’ll save on undue worry – and give them a chance to make other arrangements if they’d planned to have a friend over for a quiet night watching TV.

Of course, having kinky housemates can have unforeseen consequences. My first kinky houseshare was with S, a close friend who shared many of my lovers, and another mutual friend, M, who was single. It had its funny side: M would answer the door to a caller and ask which bedroom Sir or Madam wished to be directed to. But M’s bedroom was between our two, and the poor thing did suffer for it. One evening I had a date with S’s long term top, and S was taking the opportunity for a playdate with someone new. As my date and I started playing, we began to hear telltale smacking sounds wafting in through the open window. Clearly S was having just as much fun as we were. It was when my date realised that he was inadvertently hitting me in time with the rhythmic noises from down the corridor that we both had to stop because we were laughing too hard to carry on. He had to put some music on before we could keep going. And all this time poor M was in bed between the two rooms, hemmed in between two competing rhythms.

If for whatever reason you can’t arrange to live with people who are accepting of your kinky practices, then the only advice I can give is what I did when I was still living with my parents. Play while they’re out, play in the attic or at the other end of the house, play while they’re having noisy sex and are likely to be distracted, use quiet implements, bite a pillow, visit your play partner’s house at every opportunity, and move into a kink-tolerant houseshare as soon as you can.

Method 2: Music

Music is the friend of anyone trying to get some action when their housemates are in. Unfortunately, music which is loud enough to disguise the sounds you’re making may not be the most condusive music for love. Electronic/industrial is good, something with lots of bass. I’ve played more scenes than I can count to VNV Nation and Apoptygma Berzerk, but these may not be your idea of moodsetting. Something like Apocalyptica strikes a good balance between “atmospheric” and “protective wall of noise”.

The top may well find themselves accidentally playing in time with the beat, but I promise you that this is less distracting than realising you’re accidentally playing in time with your housemate.

Method 3: Live with a partner
(this method overlaps with Kinky While Poly)

If you live with your primary partner but play with others, then in theory things should be even simpler than sharing with housemates, right? After all, your partner and you are open about your play with other people, you’re already engaged in each other’s intimate lives, you’re already used to negotiating scenes and schedules, and talking about your sex plans doesn’t involve any awkward invasion of privacy.

The first and most important thing you need to manage this method is separate bedrooms. This is useful for poly – it’s crucial for kinky poly. Ideally, each have your own bedroom and divide your couple time evenly between the two, rather than there being, say, a joint bedroom but one of you has a bed in their office, or a bedroom and a boxroom. This means that you have your own space to invite new partners into, which is properly equipped, imbued with your presence and not a temporary crashpad. It also means that your primary has their own space they can retire to while you have your fun, without either of you feeling either kicked out, or like you’re kicking the other out.

Things that come in useful: music (as above); the ability for your partner to watch films or TV in their room; earplugs. The gel type that are marketed to swimmers are particularly good, and in fact have done wonders for my insomnia. Consider buying your primary/housemate some, possibly accompanied by a bashful notecard.

The rules here are pretty similar to those regarding normal poly, and basically boil down to Don’t Be A Dick. Give your primary notice of your date so they can make alternative plans if they want. If you want to throw over plans with your primary to see someone else, don’t assume it’ll be okay – ask really nicely and be prepared to take no for an answer. If your room is next to the bathroom, don’t engage in noisy play while they’re in the bath. (This also applies to housemates – sound travels surprisingly well through water pipes.) Put a dressing gown on if you need to go to the toilet, and have one for your date to wear too. Keep tissues and wet wipes in your bedroom so you don’t need to sidle down the hallway before you can clean up any fluids. Above all…

Method 4: Be considerate

This applies equally whether you are living with strangers, friends or partners, although arguably in the case of the latter you have more to lose. Jealousy and insecurity are more likely to crop up with partners, but they’re far from uncommon among friends. If your friend has just been dumped, or wants kinky action they aren’t getting, or fancies the pants off your date, be considerate and be discreet. Talk to them about it and make it clear you don’t want to make them uncomfortable. Make it up to them in other ways – offer to cook them dinner the night before, maybe. Their sexual dissatisfaction isn’t your responsibility, but if they’re lonely, you can try and be a good friend. If your kinky life is a sore point with your housemate, make sure you and your date don’t annoy them in other ways, by leaving the milk out of the fridge, not doing the washing up or using the last of the loo-roll – it’ll only add insult to injury.

Even if you have the most secure, sexually satisfied housemates on the planet, a little thoughtfulness still goes a long way. Don’t play loud scenes while they’re entertaining guests, while they’re on the phone to their mum, working late or cramming for an exam. Keep your scene space to the bedroom – don’t take your bottom through the lounge on a collar and lead while they’re watching TV. If you want to play in a communal room of the house, ask your housemates in advance, arrange for them to stay in their room or go out, and give them a clear end-time when you’ll be done by.

With a partner, even a partner who is 100% actively okay with you playing with others, consideration still doesn’t go amiss. In my experience, jealousy rears its head when one partner is feeling neglected, left out or hard done by. If the partner you live with has expressed an interest in a certain type of play – for example, they really want to act out a rape scene with you, try a particular toy or set up a discipline arrangement – but you aren’t sure about it or simply haven’t got around to it yet, don’t conspicuously engage in that thing with another partner when your primary’s around. Nothing’s going to come of that but hurt feelings. Equally, if you and your primary haven’t had the opportunity for much time together lately, try to make time before you invite a lover around and spend the weekend humping like rabbits. If you and your primary have just spent a night re-affirming your intimacy, they are much less likely to feel left out or envious about you seeing someone else.

All of these things apply to poly just as much as kink, but kink can be loud and conspicuous, and arouse very strong feelings in others, so more care is required. Even the most perverse and depraved of us have nights when we just want a bit of peace and quiet. In general, I would advise you to talk to your housemates about your plans, give them fair warning of anything unusual, and take their feelings into account. If you find your kink life is massively hindered by doing this over a period of weeks or months, then it may be time to find new housemates.

So how about you? What techniques have you successfully used to engage in kinky play without inconveniencing the people you live with?

(Images from ‘Girl Next Door’ by Northern Spanking, starring Clover Rock, Nimue Allen and Stephen Lewis.)

Posted in Clover Rock, Nimue, Northern Spanking, Play, Stephen Lewis

Tags: making a scene, other pictures

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Why the “Horrible Bosses” adverts make me jaw-grindingly angry

Posted by Pandora on July 26th, 2011

I’ve seen these adverts on the Tube recently (or very similar ones: the London version has the word “nympho” instead of “maneater”.) They’re for a film which will be showing soon in the UK, and the marketing campaign is aggressive. I’m even seeing promoted tweets about it turn up in my Twitter feed. So far, every ad I’ve seen has made me angry. My anger is half at the film itself (which is perhaps not fair to judge before I’ve watched it), and half at the way it’s being marketed.

Perhaps ranting about sexism in Hollywood is shooting at fish in a barrel. It is so endemic in the industry that scripts which don’t follow the trend are rejected or edited based on questionable assumptions about what the “audience” wants. These biased, self-justifying expectations remind me of the trend in heterosexual porn not to focus on male bodies or personalities, or male/male eroticism. The “audience” doesn’t want to see it. But if only low-budget, indie productions are taking the risk, how can we make a fair assessment? At the grassroots level, most people you meet aren’t particularly bothered one way or the other. They accept whatever they are brought up to expect. If we make more options available, the next generation of viewers will probably accept that diversity. And that will have a knock-on effect on cultural expectations which can only be positive.

Which is why I feel it’s important to call sexist films and marketing out where we see it. They are everywhere, they are normalised, and people tune them out. Which means they tune sexism out in real life, too. In order to promote a more equal and fair society, we need to get used to noticing it when we see it.

So why are the Horrible Bosses adverts so egregious? Well, off the top of my head…

1. ‘Sex-crazed nympho’? This is still a valid category? I thought it went out of date with, you know, the advent of modern psychology and ‘hysteria’ as a common medical diagnosis. Female sexuality has historically been pathologised and punished. Women considered overly sexually active were institutionalised and tortured. These days, sexually active women are rarely presented as positive role-models. Double standards abound when comparing attitudes towards sexually active men and sexually active women. It is not considered acceptable for women to be sexually forward, sexually dominant or promiscuous. Using this stereotype as the base for a “horrible boss” monsters active female sexuality, presenting it as abnormal, unpleasant and dangerous.

Its assumed abnormality and ridiculousness is also demonstrated by the fact that this is a comedy. Women who actively enjoy and seek sex are HILARIOUS. Can you imagine a comedy which hangs on the image of a promiscuous straight man? No, because there’s nothing unusual or strange about it. The comedy arises from the “weirdness”, from the fact that this is not a behaviour which is normalised or accepted.

2. Okay, so sexual abuse is funny now, too? I mean, the above point notwithstanding, this isn’t a film about a woman going out and getting some hot consensual action, it’s about a boss persistently sexually abusing and assaulting their employee to the point of rape. LMAO! Wow, I can’t think of anything funnier than having to go into work every day knowing your boss will grope you, sexually humiliate you, touch you inappropriately, constantly make sexually invasive comments, lock you in with them, expose themselves to you, and violate your physical boundaries long after you have told them “no”. Funny funny funny!

Let’s imagine that the genders are reversed. This wouldn’t be a comedy. It would be a dark, distressing, violent story about someone trapped in a situation of ongoing abuse and seeking revenge.

3. It’s not like the awfulness of Aniston’s character’s behaviour isn’t acknowledged by the script. But in just the same way that mainstream discussions of sexual and abuse and domestic violence often invisible the experiences of male victims, in the same way that news media handle incidences of sexual abuse or rape by a female against a male very differently than when the perpetrator is male, representations of female sexual abusers in entertainment rarely take the idea seriously. Casting Jennifer Aniston, an actor who has made a career out of playing non-threatening, funny, sexually appealing characters, is perhaps the biggest clue here. The response isn’t meant to be “Fuck, that’s absolutely horrible, I can’t imagine how distressing that must be”, but “Phwoar! I wouldn’t mind some of that!”

Just as the female boss’s abusive behaviour is not taken seriously, neither is the victim’s suffering. His constant unhappy faces and scrambling out of the way are framed as just as much a source of comedy as his boss’s pushy “seductions”. You’re meant to laugh at his misery and helplessness, because male victims of sexual abuse are funny. After all, it’s not like he’s really being mistreated, is it? I mean, who wouldn’t want to be locked in an office with Jennifer Aniston dressed like that? “Sexy lady boss” is an old a trope in porn as “sexy lady teacher”. Not quite as old as “sexy schoolgirl” or “sexy secretary”, perhaps, but still two of the original models for female tops or strong female characters in porn. The film is intended to amuse and titillate, because sexual abuse of men by women is still treated as amusing and titillating.

As TV Tropes puts it,

Rape Is OK When Its Female On Male: It’s hard to say what the film’s position on this is—Julia’s actions are clearly portrayed as bad, but they’re also Played for Laughs, and nobody takes Dale’s situation seriously.

The general audience’s position on this seems to be a firm Rape Is Awesome When It’s Jennifer Aniston.

4. Contrary to the impression given by the above adverts, the film is actually a story about three horrible bosses. Two of them are male – one a power-hungry psychopath, the other a racist, incompetent tool. If you google, you see plenty of posters giving each of the three storylines equal space. And yet, none of those posters seem to have been used in the UK campaign. I hadn’t even realised that the film had three storylines until I started googling for the picture at the top of this post. None of the other two storylines appear in the above video trailer. Why?

Because the sexual assault/rape storyline is the sexiest, with a sexy lady, and as everyone knows, sex sells, regardless of whether it’s consensual.

Posted in Female gaze, Gender politics, Politics

Tags: consent, films and TV, other pictures, rant

12 Comments »

A good cry

Posted by Pandora on July 25th, 2011

I’ve been working a lot on my site the last couple of weeks, and it’s been a stressful time. Not preparing content; preparing content is an energising, happy-making experience. Instead I’ve been wrangling with the realities of finance, logistics, web development; contingency trees collapsing my timescales into unrealistically short deadlines. D, who is handling the site back-end for me, is only available to work on the project until mid September. I can’t apply for a CCbill account – which we need before we can get to grips with the billing integration – until my site is ready to launch. Ergo, my site needs to be ready to launch by September. Never mind the complexities of finding the money to pay his mortgage while I’m taking him away from other paying work.

The feeling of urgency when I think about this project has been increasing by the month. Every time I contemplate how much work there is still to do it feels like a hand is squeezing my heart. Not panic: merely a sense of overwhelming certainty that this is what I need to be working on, not anyone else’s website, not any client projects, this, now. My breath catches and my pulse quickens as every cell in my body urges me to drop everything and work on this, now, go go go. I have been patiently squeezing work on it into my evenings and weekends for too long. I know with every part of me that right now, this is where my time and energy should go.

Of course, I still have clients. I still need to pay my bills. I can just about find enough to finance the shoots already booked and D’s time; until one of my funding options come through, I still need to work for free. Much as I would like to, I can’t turn my back on my other commitments. But the collapsing timescales have left me little choice over the next four weeks.

During this process, I have been as tense as perhaps I’ve ever been. It’s a new, unfamiliar sort of tension. Not helpless anxiety, feeling out of control; nor a sense of being overwhelmed, of being unable to cope. It’s the muscular, jaw-clenched tension of being completely in control, of carrying all the weight oneself. I can manage. I can do it. It will happen. But the burden of responsibility is so heavy that my shoulders are shaking under it. Carrying this is occupying every part of my attention; I can’t think or talk about anything else. I’m absolutely determined not to drop it, but sweat is starting to drip down my back and my legs are beginning to tremble.

When I asked Tom for a stress-relief spanking, I wasn’t sure how I’d react. Would I crumble under the pain? Would I be able to submit? He was gentle with me, rubbing my back as I lay over his knee. The spanks he gave were firm, regular, reassuring.

I found myself staying quieter than usual. It was as if I didn’t want to communicate any vulnerability. As the sting increased, I gritted my teeth and had to force myself to breathe. I wasn’t fighting the pain, but I wasn’t relinquishing control, either. I lay there absolutely still, exhaling and inhaling in measured breaths, maintaining a carefully relaxed and limp position over his knee. It was as if I sat on the other side of my desk accepting each smack with a courteous nod, filing it away for future use. I had asked for this, I knew I needed it, but I wasn’t about to break.

When the spanks started coming really hard, my breathing became a little more ragged and I wondered if I would cry. But then it ended, and as we hugged I realised that I was much more relaxed, and I hadn’t thought about work for a whole fifteen minutes. As heat radiated out from my bottom into the rest of my body I felt that pleasant glow and the beginnings of a happy buzz. That evening, I was more functional and sociable than I’d been in days.

The next day Tom and I got together to deal with any discipline arising from my weekly exercise schedule. The decision to hand over maintenance of my exercise regime to Tom had clearly paid off: I had missed only 2 items from my weekly goals, one of which was a late report. It was the best I’d done in quite some time, and our mood as I lay down over pillows for twelve whacks with the brush was very positive. Not a punishment; merely a gentle, necessary reminder to accompany deserved praise. I took them almost silently, acknowledging the pain but not succumbing to it.

Afterwards we were both keen to continue to play. Still feeling somewhat fragile, I asked if I could go over his knee. I wanted the physical intimacy, the reassuring closeness of being supported and held. Again, I wasn’t sure in what way my tension would manifest. Would it spill over into anger, making me reject the pain? Would I react badly if things went in a direction I didn’t expect?

As the spanking started I realised I was reacting in a very similar way to the previous night. I breathed evenly through the pain, accepting it, waiting for more. It occurred to me that my quietness might give the impression that I wasn’t enjoying it, but deep inside I nurtured a suspicion that I needed him to go hard. Still, I couldn’t quite let go of my pride enough to give the encouraging murmurs and whimpers which normally signal to a top that I want more. Instead I rested a palm against the bare skin of his thigh, under my ribs. His hand on the back of my neck steadied me securely, and I returned the gesture with a reassuring pressure of my fingers. Too withdrawn for words, I managed to unbend enough to signal my assent non-verbally, squeezing his thigh and, occasionally, with the slightest appreciative wiggle of my hips.

He got the message. My quietness was not the disengaged, uncertain silence of someone who wasn’t into what was happening. It was the quietness of someone too strung out to play games; of someone willingly waiting to be pushed.

This time the pace of the spanking stepped up more briskly. The weight of his hand knocked the breath out of me; then a yelp. Sting layered upon sting to create a growing burn. Finally, I found myself unbending. My muscles loosened as impact shook my body. I pressed my face into the pillows and surrendered.

By the end, I was crying out. But it wasn’t until he stopped, his hand affectionately caressing my inflamed skin, that the tears came. Where pain had released my emotional grip, tenderness pushed me over the edge. I curled in his lap like a small thing and wrapped my arms around his neck and cried. He held me fiercely, understanding without explanation what was taking place, and before long I was laughing through my tears. It was laughter at how ridiculous my stress had been, how ridiculous my preferred mode of relaxation. But it was also the laughter of delight, at having found this perfect solution to grown-up woes, and at having a partner who knew what I needed.

Posted in D/S, Play, Real life punishment, Thomas Cameron

Tags: hand spanking, other pictures, otk spanking

8 Comments »

How to go swimming when you’re marked

Posted by Pandora on July 20th, 2011

Tom took over responsibility for keeping track of my exercise routine the same week we went on holiday with Zille and Duncan. I didn’t realise the potential clash until I was waiting for the bus on my way to the pool that Friday, and suddenly remembered that my arse and thighs were black and blue.

Shit! I couldn’t believe this hadn’t come up before, but I guess I don’t mark easily these days, and the times I have must have been weeks I didn’t manage to go swimming. I knew from catching sight of myself in the mirror that morning that underwear didn’t cover these bruises, and neither would my swimming costume.

I considered my options.

1. Give up and go home.

Not really my style; also I’d already missed out on gym trips while on holiday, and today was my only chance to make good.

2. Try to find somewhere that would sell me some men’s swimming trunks, and wear those over my costume.

Tricky. Time-consuming. Possibly expensive. Also would result in me looking daft and attracting attention, which wasn’t really what I wanted. Besides, I’d heard horror stories of female friends who tried to swim in trunks being turned away from pools overly keen on enforcing gendered swimwear conventions. Could I risk it?

3. Brazen it out.

Perhaps I could ignore any worried looks and whispered remarks, and return any awkward questions with a withering glance and a “none of your business”?

4. Consult Twitter.

I opted for the latter. Halfway through composing a “help!” tweet, another possibility occurred to me:

5. Wrap towel around waist, over swimming costume, before leaving changing cubicle. Walk to pool thus protected. At poolside, whip off towel and dash into the water in one lightning move, and hope and pray that once I’m submerged no-one looks too closely.

It turned out I wasn’t the first person to attempt this method, and after some reassurance from the hivemind I decided to risk it.

As far as I can tell, it worked fine. The entire time I was swimming I felt ever so self-conscious and convinced that everyone else was staring at me, but I was probably imagining it. And whether due to nervous energy or simply feeling refreshed after my holiday, I managed more lengths in my hour than usual, so that was a bonus.

When I was done, I climbed out of the pool and whisked the towel back off the hook and around my waist as quickly as possible, careful not to meet anyone’s eye. I didn’t get any comments, so I think I got away with it. The only downside was that by the time I’d showered (back decidedly to the wall!) and got back to the privacy of the cubicle, my towel was already wet through, which made drying a little awkward. Still, it’s a small price to pay for having this much fun.

Posted in Photos, Play

Tags: corrupting the innocent, learning curves, other pictures

12 Comments »

Weekend hyperkinks #2

Posted by Pandora on July 17th, 2011

Welcome to this week’s only-slightly-late edition of weekend hyperkinks, in which I give you the best kink, porn and politics links that cropped up on blogs and twitter this week. There’s been a lot of good stuff lately, so I’m going to divide it up.

Theres a reason why sensual is in the word consensual

Kink

This one is just as much about politics, but it’s important, so I’m going to put it first. Kitty Stryker has done some excellent blogging this week on the ways in which the BDSM scene is inclined to turn a blind eye to incidences of abuse and sexual assault. Start with her article I never called it rape: addressing abuse in BDSM communities, then read Saturday’s follow-up, I wish I could safeword rape culture.
“Every time we DON’T hold people accountable, and every time someone says my article is proof that I obviously was an attention whore who was turned on by being forced to do things to men I didn’t want to do, or that it’s my own fault for not knowing better, and that this sort of writing is a disservice to the kink community, we are proving the radfems, the government and the police right.”
Paul at North Gare has a thought-provoking analysis on the consequences of male spankers from the pre-internet generation (a category in which he includes himself) joining the kinky community – and coming to terms with their own sexuality – late in life, in Men of an uncertain age.
“Crucially, not only were idiosyncratic BDSM desires not explored and understood, but the basic social grammar of relationship management wasn’t learned by direct experience. [...] Being male and middle-aged was/is no particular disadvantage, since father figures are highly sought after — ironically for the experience that many such men conspicuously lack.”
MayMay’s post Young people into BDSM are not exceptional was published in 2008, but the comment thread has recently been kick-started by a post from a 16-year-old who feels “wrong and weird” for having kinky fantasies. People immediately wrote affirming and helpful replies, including some useful resources for young people interested in BDSM. The discussion is worth reading.
I really enjoyed this article by Rachel Kramer Bussel: Penis Gagging, BDSM, and Rape Fantasy: The Truth About Kinky Sexting. “The point of fantasies is that they come from somewhere that isn’t always logical or rational. Some people might be inclined to investigate where their fantasies come from, what they ‘mean,’ but I tend to think of them like art, where there are multiple interpretations, where the point is to make us feel something stemming from somewhere beyond our brain.”
Not Just Bitchy eloquently argues against the ubiquitous uniform and attitude expected of dominant women in the industry and community: “This image of female domination actively turns women away from the idea of kink because so very few women can actually relate to it.”
Finally, I’ve read dozens of blogposts over the years on masochism, submission and pain, but I think this one has just become the comprehensive primer. One Sub’s Mission identifies three types of pain: bad pain, good pain (oh god yes) and good pain (oh god no), and as a summary it’s spot on. I particularly enjoyed this quote: “He is not simply ignoring my tears and my pain – he is drinking them in. They make his cock hard.”

Porn

Anti-porn has bad science! The Register dismantles the myth that porn-viewing leads to rape, and here’s an article on why Naomi Wolf’s ‘porn addiction’ argument misuses dopamine. “Both males and females find porn generally enhances their sex lives, it does not effect emotional closeness and it is not linked to risky sexual behaviours.”
You’ve heard about forthcoming .xxx domain for adult sites, yes? Violet Blue tells us why the TLD really isn’t selling itself.
And some personal news. Last week I submitted my story for the Spanking Writers Charity Spanking Anthology, a new collection of CP-themed short fiction by bloggers for a good cause. It was my first ever proper actual short story and I had an absolute ball writing it. I’ve loved the sneak previews I’ve had of Zille and Penny‘s pieces, and I can’t wait to read the rest of them. I’m particularly looking forward to seeing what Casey and Graham come up with.

Politics

Confused by the concept of “privilege”? Not sure how to explain it to people who don’t get it? You will find this article helpful. “Having privilege is like having big feet. No one hates you for having big feet! They just want you to remember to be careful where you walk.”
Finally, a couple of tidbits relating to sex worker rights. Laura Agustin has an article on why anti-trafficking agencies ignore the fact that the sex workers they “rescue” are often resistant: “US policy, which threatens countries with losing aid if they don’t do enough to stop trafficking, promotes ham-fisted policing … women don’t want to be rescued like this”.
And this is my favourite: The Can Do Bar: a sex-worker co-operative in Chiang Mai, Thailand. “The bar complies with all Thai Labour laws, including paying workers at or above minimum wage, enforcing a maximum eight hour shift and providing one day off a week and paid holidays, providing overtime, not withholding wages for any reason, encouraging staff to join unions, providing sick leave, and settling disputes in Labour Court.” Awe. Some.

Posted in Gender politics, Kink activism, Sex worker rights

Tags: hyperkinks, meta-analysis

4 Comments »

Caning, energy and romance

Posted by Pandora on July 16th, 2011

Tom and I recently enjoyed a much-needed short break with kinky friends Zille and Duncan in their secret northern hideaway. We were only there for three full days, nowhere near enough time to do half the things we would have wanted. But amid all the hillwalking, visits, daytrips and usual holidayish things, we did find time for one evening of deviance.

Neither Tom nor I are minded to play with people we don’t share some connection with. The first time we met Zille and Duncan, we sensed the potential for more; but that Wednesday in particular had been one of those perfect days. Since hiking up onto the Fells that afternoon, sharing that exhilarated, almost spiritual appreciation for the beautiful landscape around us, talking all the way up and all the way down, it was as if the game had been raised. I don’t know about you, but few things put me into the mood for erotic adventures more than energetic outings in the glorious outdoors.

I think I knew all along that Zille and I would need to kick things off. It’s difficult for male tops: not wanting to seem overbearing or too full on, not wanting to intrude on the other’s territory. Besides, there had been that recent comment conversation wherein Zille invited (nay, begged!) me to spank her as hard, as fast and as long as I could. Despite that, for reasons of experience or confidence or I don’t know what, it was me that ended up over Zille’s lap first.

There’s a mode, and I think it’s the perfect warm-up mode, where you just feel delighted to be there. For me, it tends to manifest in flirtatious wriggles and giggles, small moans and cheeky glances. Zille can spank hard enough – harder than I can – but she didn’t spank me too hard (even during the infamous double-palm-drum!); it was the perfect appetiser, leaving me wanting more.

I honestly couldn’t decide whether I wanted to stay over her lap or swap places, but I couldn’t deny my pleasure at seeing her lovely form laid out for me. In terms of pain, she took everything I had to give. I didn’t have the strength to push her, so I made do with sneaky tricks: alternating between spanks and light caresses; pulling the skin at the base of her bottom tight for mean little smacks. Her flirtation took on a tone challenging enough that at one point (I can’t remember what she’d said to goad me) I grabbed her around the waist and laid into her as hard as I could, but even then her giggles gave the clear impression that this lady’s taste for receiving went far deeper than my ability to give.

It was a bit embarrassing doing this, for the first time, in front of Tom; I quickly began to feel as if I should hand the reins over to him, who I knew would have much more of an impact. (“You seem to be doing fine from where I’m sitting,” he said the first time I offered, prompting a particular glow of affirmation unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.) When I did invite him to take over, I eagerly arranged myself on the sofa beside Zille. I didn’t pay much attention to the smacks I received, however. All of my focus was on him and her. I remember being enthralled by watching him slow everything down, dealing her these mammoth, unreal smacks that connected with her bottom so hard I wondered that their flesh didn’t fuse together, and watching Zille’s quietly blissed out face as she just absorbed them and arched her back for more.

I went over Duncan’s knee for a lovely spanking which left me purring, and although I was half-watching the play unfold between Tom and Zille I was so distracted I honestly couldn’t tell you what they were doing. I do remember deciding that clearly what needed to happen next was double canings. I hadn’t quite planned for Zille to go first, but after a brief negotiation between Tom and Duncan as to who went on the backhand side, there I was, holding her hands as she knelt on the armchair and bent over the back.

Zille takes a caning like I dream of taking them. She surrenders unquestioningly, her mouth forming eloquent Os, each impact sending waves through her body. I occupied that delicious contradictory space of stroking her hair, comforting her, murmuring in her ear all the things I’d want to hear (good girl, that’s it, yes, brave brave girl, well done, well done) at the same time as glancing at Tom and Duncan with hunger in my eyes, egging them on, silently urging them to hit her harder, harder. She clutched at me and gasped and moaned, and the energy crackling between us was sizzling with power.

By the time I took her place I was already high. Tom’s eyes were galaxies of meaning, Duncan was a solid rock to my right, but as I leaned forward and offered my bottom to their canes Zille occuped all of my attention. As they laid stroke upon stroke, her eyes never left mine. I felt like everything in me poured out through my gaze, my hands, into her and back again: wide-eyed, sweat beading on our brows, as she hushed and soothed and encouraged me. Every stroke reverberated through both of us, and the fire in her eyes intensified everything, lifted me above it. Tom was caning me hard now, really hard, perhaps as hard as I’ve ever been caned; and my consciousness floated in the sparkling pools of Zille’s eyes; and the sensation of the thick cane imprinting itself on my buttock seemed soft, faraway. I could feel rattan meeting the depths of the muscles there, but the connection seemed no more forceful than the gentle pressing of a finger. And all the time there was Zille’s face, Zille’s hands, Zille’s eyes, projecting empathy and compassion and love and strength, buoying me up, keeping me in flight.

I have never been as high as I was that moment. It was better than acid, better than Ecstacy. I think, halfway through that caning, I told Zille I loved her, and in that instant my love for her filled the world. I don’t think I would have declared anything so dramatic (certainly not so soon) if not in the strange flights of that journey. But one of the reasons I flew that high was that I knew she’d understand.

The next day, the black and blue stripes adorning my bottom were a testament to how far we’d travelled. I had not let Tom take me so far for some time, and the after-effects were delicious, a slow, sizzling erotic joy and intimacy.

Zille and I took great delight in massaging lotion into each other’s bruises, admiring them like trophies. And Tom, every time I hugged him, squeezed them with a wicked grin.

Posted in D/S, Featured, Photos, Play, Thomas Cameron, Zille Defeu

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The evolution of punishment: II

Posted by Pandora on July 12th, 2011

A week yesterday, D and I rearranged our domestic discipline deal – in which he helps me keep track of my health goals – to include Tom.

There were several reasons. Tom was initially who I went to about keeping tabs on my alcohol intake, last year, but he was too busy and not well enough to take on the extra responsibility. Although I see D every couple of weeks, we often don’t find the time or inclination to set up a punishment scene; time is short, we both usually have work and social commitments while we’re together, and our first priority in any private time is making enthusiastic love and gazing romantically into each others eyes. Perverse, I know.

The last time D and I cleared the tally was back in April, and I’ve been increasingly busy since then. Things slipped – specifically my exercise regime. Although last week’s holiday has left me refreshed enough to pick things back up again, I’m owed a serious session when we next find the chance. It was D who initially suggested passing some of the responsibility over to Tom, who lives with me and is able to keep more regular track of things. And Tom’s health has improved this year: he now feels ready to take it on.

The way we’ve worked it out is that Tom has taken over the tracking of my exercise goals (both working out and my physiotherapy stretches), which are also the things I’ve primarily been struggling with. This feels appropriate because he has worked as a personal trainer in the past, and he and I have got a lot out of him teaching me squash. D doesn’t drink, and so has a different perspective on my intake which I’m finding useful; it makes sense to keep that with him. Tom and I have a weekly Wednesday night date, so (health permitting) the punishments are unlikely to get more than week in arrears.

My feelings are complex, as you’d imagine. I’m delighted to be able to bring this lovely new dynamic into our relationship, and I hope it will bring us closer. I know that he values this sort of responsibility very highly. It makes sense to share this not only with both of my partners, but with someone who is physically present in my life on a daily basis. In fact that’s already working well: Tom’s been actively encouraging me to find time for my physio exercises, and I’ve done them more often since the handover. If nothing else, that alone makes the change worthwhile.

On the other hand, I’m slightly sad that something will be lost from the connection between D and I. He and I have both found this process very rewarding – more than we expected. It has evolved very naturally and I think we’re closer for it. But I can’t help being aware that since we started this whole thing, I’ve succeeded at keeping my drinking within the limits we chose. Which is good news, of course… but it does mean that in practice, D’s continuing role is not likely to result in much punishment.

We’re both keen to try and maintain the dynamic somehow or other. Perhaps there will be other things I become accountable to him for. Otherwise, we are both invested in continuing to play scenes just for fun which build on this intensity, and talking about various things we’d like to do. Then there’s the fact that neither D or Tom is specifically responsible for dealing with any punishments for late reports. I’m copying them both in on the same daily email, so I think those will simply be dealt with by whoever gets round to it first. And besides (just plucking ideas out of the air here, not dropping hints at all…) it’s not impossible that both of them might decide to get together for a simultaneous session. If my D feels the need, I’m sure he can find a way.

–

I haven’t written about all of the scenes D and I played as part of this arrangement. They are worth remembering. One of the most remarkable aspects of this whole process was how varied the punishments were, emotionally, even if the format and implement were very consistent.

There was the evening where he startled me on his bed, and fell on me with a mock roar, pinning my wrists. I giggled and decided to risk his surprise by fighting back. Not my normal style, but he barely missed a beat. “Hah. Struggling it is, then,” he grinned, and the ensuing tussle was vigorous enough to leave me breathless, giddy, still giggling, facedown and helpless against the onslaught of the brush. It was a valiant effort, though. I’d have got away if I hadn’t been laughing so much.

Other times I would stay as quiet as I could. I wouldn’t necessarily be in the mood to take a lot of pain, but he’d be so gentle and supportive that I couldn’t pretend this wasn’t all for my sake. Subdued, I’d try to accept the inevitable without too much drama. We’d get through it briskly, with minimal fuss. Afterwards I’d reach for a cuddle and the touch of his skin would be like an electric jolt. With a shock, I’d realise that I was soaking wet.

The most memorable time, however, was the scene which started with me taking the bathbrush in my new Japanese style school uniform, and moved on to a delightful semi-roleplay involving spanking, molestation, and anal rape. My schoolgirl was definitely horny and enthusiastic, but neither of us were physically suited to anal play – she due to inexperience, me due to certain embarrassing medical issues. She didn’t want it. I desperately wanted D to take what he wanted whether I was ready or not. I wanted to be pushed; I want to surrender to my tears while he continued to hurt me. It was very, very intense, and I’m not even sure I was still horny by the end of it. I was completely broken down, and just wanted to be held. But it was extremely satisfying, and definitely hot in retrospect.

–

Yesterday, I ordered another one of these to give to Tom. (I did consider seeing if I could have got away with presenting him with a stuffed toy instead, but I’m not sure it would have been in my best interest.) Tomorrow evening I believe I will be accounting for everything that’s come up since the handover. I’m nervous in a number of ways. Will Tom be harder on me than D? Will I be able to accept the inevitable differences, trust in him enough to let him do it his own way? Will it work between us? If it does, will it leave D feeling left out?

Our priority is helping me meet my goals, not in finding excuses for punishment, so if all goes to plan in the long term my concerns will be moot. In the meantime, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of things to report – starting with tomorrow night.

Posted in D, D/S, Play, Real life punishment, Thomas Cameron

Tags: bath brush, other pictures

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The power of a collar

Posted by Pandora on July 10th, 2011

Overall, I am quite content with there being more of me these days. Birthday money from my parents has allowed me to update my wardrobe with some fetching and comfortable summer clothes (including a new black pair of short shorts which do wonders for my confidence) and my lovers certainly don’t seem to mind – if anything, quite the opposite – which is really all that matters. However, I have my moments.

One such was on Friday morning, after getting back from a wonderful few days away with Zille Defeu and her husband Duncan (on which more later).

D, as I may have mentioned before, has an installation of wall mirrors beside his bed. He likes to watch. Normally I like to be watched, and dressing up for him takes on an extra thrill when I’m reflected in the gaze of his mirrors as well as his eyes. This time, however, I didn’t want to look at me and him together. Every time I caught a glimpse of us together I felt huge, ungainly, in a suit of skin that was just too big for me. I tried to focus on him, but as soon as I acknowledged my insecurity to myself I succumbed to vulnerability, and ended up crying on his shoulder.

I felt stupid. Sure, when I was 18 (and skinny, incidentally, as I realise now) I used to obsess, tediously, about my negative body image. These days my liberation from the paranoid obsession is delightful. I wasn’t proud of having slipped. “I’m sorry,” I said, brushing away my tears, “this isn’t really very grown up of me.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed me, trying to reassure me with cuddles. I appreciated his goodwill, but I felt like I was stuck in a pit I’d dug myself. I didn’t know how to climb out.

He got up, leaving me sniffling on the bed, trying to pull myself together. He went to a drawer and returned holding my collar.

Tom and D bought matching collars for me back in 2007, but after an initial burst they haven’t seen much use. The heavy band of leather and suede is reassuring and sturdy, but I find it digs uncomfortably into my voicebox after extended wear, and isn’t compatible with the deep throating which is so prevalent in our play. The collars we have found most practical with our playing style are much lighter and more flexible. D used red ribbons for a while; Tom has a band of black velvet I made for us, hemmed and with press studs attached. The magic isn’t in the object itself, but in the intent. I actually rather like the trope of fashioning one-off collars out of whatever one has lying around, imbuing it with temporary symbolism in the power of the moment.

The collar D was holding this time was the heavy leather one. When I saw it in his hands it felt like my heart dissolved, and with it my tension melted out of my body. I knelt, quietly, as he fastened it around my neck. Hands at my throat, a finger traced gently along my jaw; his green eyes coming alive with the energy of the power being exchanged between us, sparkling, seeming to hold the world. Or at least, my world.

It wasn’t any power inherent in the object, left gathering dust in a drawer these last few months, which quietened me so instantly; pervaded me with a sense of calm, of self-acceptance, and enabled us to pick right back up where we’d left off with no further upset. It was all about his intent. The fact that that particular collar had sat unworn for so long, and was now being brought out as a specific compassionate gesture added to the power of it. I was struck dumb with the reality of his love for me, his wanting me to accept that love. It was a gesture of possessiveness, of ownership, and of wanting. All at once my demons shrivelled up, and I bowed my head and accepted the reality of his regard for me, and the unimportance, in that moment, of everything else.

It worked; our intimacy from then on was unimpeded by needless self-doubt. Rather than glancing anxiously at my reflection, from then on my eyes were only for him. It struck me as a powerful symbol of what this dominance and submission thing is all about. Negative body-image is a very narcissistic obsession, after all, and so it is appropriate for submission to another to be the thing that lifts one out of it. Although it was about both of us, in a way this moment we were sharing was not about me. By deflecting my attention onto him, and the currents passing between us, he was able to distract me from my disruptively inward-looking negativity.

But it’s also a lovely microcosm of the spaces in which it is appropriate for my partner to exercise authority over me. Neither of us would consider it reasonable – or wise – for him to use that power to win an argument or debate. But using it to draw me out of myself, to focus my attention on him, and to reflect good feeling back on me, on us – that works just fine.

Posted in Body positivity, D, D/S, Play

Tags: collar, meta-analysis

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Shooting with Sarah Gregory

Posted by Pandora on July 7th, 2011

Sarah Gregory spanking Pandora Blake at Sarah Gregory Spanking

I recently had the pleasure of playing host to Sarah Gregory and her real-life daddy Paul ‘Tubaman’ Rogers on their UK tour. It was great to have the opportunity to meet them, and working together was lots of fun.

I’d originally hoped for a shoot trade, but Sarah’s schedule was insane (all power to that lady – her energy puts even me to shame!) and there wasn’t time to squeeze in a second day. So it looks like I’ll need to make the trip to visit her if I want to include her in my own productions – which I might well do, as she was great fun to work with. In the meantime, expect to see me on Sarah Gregory Spanking sometime, alongside all the UK stars she shot with on her whirlwind tour – I’m particularly looking to see what she got up to with Leia Ann Woods and Amelia Jane Rutherford!

We filmed a bunch of short clips for Paul’s forthcoming Spanking 101 site, including some funny “how not to” instructional videos. On top of these there were a couple of “spanking shorts” for Paul, in which I got spanked in a ridiculously small pair of denim short shorts, made even more revealing by rips in the back. (They had Tom’s eye roving a fair bit when I bumped into him between shooting: note to self, bring those back out when I’m feeling the need for some toppy attention!) With three longer roleplay scenes for Sarah’s site thrown in, complete with stills, it was a full day.

The scenarios included an F/f college room-mates one in which Sarah takes revenge on me for plagiarising her term paper, and a fun school scene with both of us in matching English school uniforms and Paul as the teacher (who, in the story, was also Sarah’s dad, with her having travelled with him when he got the job in England… which meant her character thought she could get away with murder, and was quickly proved wrong!).

I love dressing up in the sort of actual uniform I had to wear as a kid, complete with thick woolly sweaters which are completely unsexy to everyone except spankos. (And completely the wrong clothing for a hot and muggy English summer day – we were sweating throughout, and as soon as the camera was off we stripped off as fast as we could just to cool down!) For some reason whenever I’m wearing something like this on a shoot the skirt always ends up a size too small and the jumper a size too big, which makes the whole thing feel even more incongruous. Although it does also result in the skirt being very very tight when you’re bent over a lap, so maybe it’s partly deliberate.

My favourite scene was an ingenious – and very American! – one in which I played a college student trying to get accepted into a sorority. I had to knock on a random door in my neighbourhood, and, squirming with embarrassment, ask whoever answered the door to spank me, hard, with hand and wooden paddle. Only if my bottom was deemed red enough in the ensuing photographic evidence would I be accepted, otherwise I’d have to start all over again with a different door.

It was a cool concept: totally consensual, to the extent of the bottom driving the scene and the top amiably (if appreciatively!) going along with things.

Paul played the kindly neighbour very well indeed – his gentle courtesy really added to the role. My character was dying of humiliation, but also sort of determined to only go through with it once, so even though she hated being spanked she kept asking if her bottom was red enough yet, and insisting that Paul spank her harder when she was worried that the results wouldn’t be good enough! It was a psychological angle I’d never really done before, and it was interesting to play with.

Someone had clearly been reading my recent tweets expressing my recent fixation with wooden paddles as a fantasy. This wasn’t one of the thick ones with holes in, but it still packed a hefty punch, and ten solid whacks with it (actually eleven, as my character was concerned that one wasn’t hard enough, and asked for one of them again! Madness!) were not to be sneezed at. In fact, including the other clips, I think I took a total of seventeen swats with that paddle over the course of the day. Adrenaline and the roleplay scenario made it easier to take the ten than I’d expected, although I wouldn’t want to do it every day. But I don’t think it cured me of the fantasy!