The first scene we played, we were making up for lost time. I hadn't seen Tom for three weeks, and we'd missed each other. As soon as I'd taken my coat off and had a cup of tea, by mutual consent I fell over his knee. Knee, singular. He sat on the corner of the bed and offered one of his sturdy thighs for support. The other remained crooked, at an angle, ready to move in and trap my legs between his.
It didn't need to. Throughout the considerate warmup, the gaining intensity, the testing smacks to my crease and thighs, I held still. Elbows splayed on the bed, I rested my cheek on the duvet, closed my eyes and surrendered. When the pain became too much my mouth might open, a yelp might escape it, but I did not kick.
Still, as his fingers began to tap and slap more sharply at my upper thighs, his other leg nestled closer, intimately. Not pinning me down: only whispering the threat of it.
As you were so tolerant of my last spanked men picture post, I'm going to indulge myself and do another one. I like looking at boys' bottoms and I don't see many of them on the usual round of spanking blogs. Who knows, maybe we can start a trend.
Mmmm, dramatic cane welts.
Mike may have skipped class, but he still has my sympathy: bathbrushes are EVIL. Especially when wielded by daddy. (Reluctant Young Men)
Consent is complicated, and playing with non-consent can be really difficult to do in a way that feels reassuring and secure for all concerned. This short film, found via Kitty Stryker, offers an awesome introduction to the complexities of non-consent play:
The "obvious answer" to the problem posed by this film is to use a safeword, but safewords can also be pretty complex. There's a lot to say about safewords, but right now I want to focus on the negotiation part of non-consent play.
Yesterday I got beaten just to warm me up. Like a schoolboy in the history books I read as a child about life in Tudor times. It was so cold that I was over D's knee for five solid minutes of spanking - which hurt like fuck on cold skin - but my arse was still chilly to the touch.
When I remarked on this, rather than taking pity on me like a gentleman, and employing - say - warm rubs to solve the problem, D flashed me a grin and pulled the wooden paddle out of his toybox, with me still over his lap. Three rapid swats and I was yelling in indignance. "It will! It'll warm you up!" he insisted.
I guess my squawks of protest must have been more persuasive than I remember, because he put the paddle down and asked me to pass him his belt. Doubled over twice, he used it over the knee for a while, but while I was enjoying the thuddy little impacts, they weren't getting more reaction than my grin. After a little while I prompted, "Shall I move somewhere you can swing that properly?"
I'm not a fan of the commercialisation of Valentine's Day, so was reluctant to join the throngs of marketeers insisting that the primary objective of the 14th of February was to have hot romantic sex with a lover, and their product could best help you achieve this. On the other hand, the date provided an ideal opportunity to step up the steaminess on my website a notch or two.
D and I shot our first ever boy/girl sex scene, Snip Snip (bonus points to anyone who can spot the reference) a couple of years ago, with photographer Tricia Sullivan. She's an old friend, and there was little of us she hadn't seen before. Actually if you're at all nervous about shooting hardcore porn for the first time I can recommend getting a friendly ex-lover behind the camera - none of us are particularly prone to sexual embarrassment, but our familiarity with each other definitely made things easier.
We played two scenes that day, both shot at home in natural light, both very candid and unrehearsed in feel. I'd say "amateur" if Tricia's photography wasn't of such a high professional standard; D and I certainly felt like a couple doing their thing rather than models performing for the camera.
Welcome to e[lust], the sex blog round-up- The best posts from the hottest and smartest sex bloggers all in one place! This edition highlights topics such as STI's, swingers and poly relationships, spanking, role play and so much more. Want to be included in e[lust] #34? Start with the rules, come back in February to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!
Others have written before about the ways in which play begets more play. I don't know why I didn't expect that going fulltime as a pornographer would boost the amount of kink in my life. I knew I'd be looking at more of it on my computer screen, but I thought I'd be more of a geeky hermit as a result. For some reason, I didn't predict that putting out kinky, creative energy every day would strengthen my connections with likeminded friends and provide more opportunities for play.
I've noticed that since my website launch I've felt a new self assurance, a confidence that has fed into my burgeoning toppy energy, but also a sort of centredness. I imagine that this makes me better company than the anxious urgency I felt prior to launch.
This last week has overflowed with spanking to the extent that I can't quite believe it. In the past, when people have assumed that the life of a spanking performer is full of kinky adventure I've always been quick to correct them, pointing out that vanilla work, long distance relationships and health problems mean that performer's lives aren't, on average, that different from anyone else's. But this week, it's actually been true. I feel almost embarrassed about it, knowing how many people don't have the opportunity to express their spanking kink. Mostly, however, I feel fucking grateful.
Today's blogpost is brought to you by another reader with a taste for the ritual and atmosphere of school punishment roleplay.
My mistress and I occasionally indulge in a public school style beating whereupon I am summoned to the prefects' common room, instructed to bend over a plain wooden chair, and given six of the best with a chalked cane by the head of house (in this case a girl with a fine wrist action!). I am then instructed to get up, lower my trousers and pants and bend over again. With the tip of the cane she flicks my coat-tails clear once more and gives me a further six.
The first six are evenly spread over my bottom, but the last are concentrated in the middle. The photos doesn't really do the marks justice, which are dark, well-defined tramlines.
It's about gentility and power. The gloved spanker is protected, removed from you by one crucial layer. When they touch your bare skin, they aren't touched themselves. A leather glove can lend a touch of class, an air of mystery and money.
Or they can designate a brute, a biker, an officer. Military and efficient.