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apparently stoicism is infectious...

Posted at 21:34 on 18 Jun 2009 by Pandora / Blake

For the last few months, I've been working two days a week in the same office as my kinky friend J. Tuesday was my last day at that contract, and I was glad to have someone to moan at when I took my seat at the desk next to his.

"Ow, ow, fucking ow," I grimaced, just loud enough for J to overhear. He grinned at me. I winced. My bottom felt like one enormous blister waiting to pop. I sat down gingerly, half-expecting the swollen skin to split as I put weight on it. The tube journey into work had been a misery, and I was glad J was there. Having a domly friend on hand to cheerfully enjoy my suffering made it much easier to bear.

As soon as we had a moment alone, he flashed a sly smile and asked, "So! Who were you shooting with at the weekend?"

I blinked a bit before replying. "Not shooting playing. Last night." He blinked back at me. I laughed. "I know! Not often I scene this hard for fun. I haven't been this bruised from a private play session in years. It's brilliant."

Here's the photo I took that morning, in the work toilets like the classy lady I am:

My bottom the morning after.


It started in the pub on Saturday, when Tom and I met Caroline and Graham Grey for the first time. They are both very like their virtual selves, although Graham hadn't let on how cute she was (very.) Caroline in particular is someone I've felt a real connection to since we started talking online, and I was delighted that we clicked in person. Good job too, as I'd offered her my flat to crash in for the few days she was in London: I'm the most territorial person in the world, so this was a big deal for me, but it was lovely having her around.

The four of us drank and talked and laughed and gossiped and talked and drank, and Caroline and I swapped tales of our misspent youth (I like to think I'm still misspending mine) and embarrassing poor Graham by talking loudly about spanking where everyone could hear. Originally we had planned to reconvene on Monday night for a playdate, once we'd all got to know each other, and Graham had had her baptism of fire at the Lowewood school day on Sunday. But (thanks to a series of hilariously implausible events) she told us she couldn't make it on Monday night after all.

I didn't want Graham to miss out, so we flirted with the idea of playing that evening instead. But we'd all only just met and Caroline and I were both feeling tired, and Graham seemed hesitant, so I was reluctant to push it. At which point Caroline made the genius suggestion that we just head back to my place and just dress up in school uniform, and see what happened next.

So that's what we did! Graham was unbelievably adorable in white kneesocks and matching tartan tie and alice band, and Caroline made an unfairly cute netball player in her gym kit. I was declared a "sweet little convent girl" by Caroline in my grey cardigan and pleated skirt, but I felt a bit like I was cheating because it didn't match their navy blues.

No spanking resulted that evening, but that was fine. It was fun, and it was really lovely to get to spend some time with both girls.

By the time I saw Caroline again on Monday night, she'd had her Lowewood day and I'd been back at work. She was an absolute angel while I was out I got home to find the groceries bought for dinner and my washing brought in before the heavens opened. And I was astonished by how comfortable it felt having her around. Normally I'm an antisocial wreck when I get in from work, but we just fell straight back into nattering, drinking tea, talking about Lowewood and picking up where we'd left off on Saturday night with swapping life stories.

Tom arrived; we stuffed ourselves on fajitas and wine; Caroline and I got a major case of the giggles. We were having such a good time just hanging out that I couldn't work out how to segue neatly into playing, but I was determined to take advantage of Caroline while she was here, so in the end I just came right out with it, in my usual shamelessly blunt fashion. "Are we going to play, then?"

Not the most graceful of openings, perhaps. Tom had me pull down my jeans and go over his lap for a warm up. The spanking was slow and felt good, but I was fretting a bit about Caroline, who was sitting and watching. I hoped this wasn't weird. Usually, if I'm playing with new partners there's some sort of theatre to the event a planned scene or roleplay. I felt awkward going straight from sitting chatting to spanking without any psychodrama. Of course I'm Tom's sub, and he reminded me of that, but I held back from sinking full into a D/s atmosphere - I didn't want to exclude Caroline.

By the time it was her turn for a warm up, my worries had been partly spanked out of me, and then I had her spanking to distract me. I very quickly realised that Caroline is:

1. unbelievably gorgeous.
2. really quiet when she's playing.
3. way more hardcore than I am.

It was weird and amazing to watch. At first her lack of reaction made me think she wasn't into it, but pretty soon it became clear she was just signalling that she needed it harder. So she got it harder, and she still wasn't yelling, but when a stoic sub starts to kick you know you've really got to her, and it's all the more precious.

We took turns to bend over the pillows in the centre of the bed while the other girl kept count and held the victim's hands. It was a quiet scene - not much fuss or dialogue, just the slow, inexorable rhythm of the strokes. I had my first taste of the rubber singletail I bought at Boundcon, which is a horrible thing with a real sting in the tip, far weightier than you'd think to look at it. We both got the martinet and the tawse. Caroline took an incredibly heavy flogging with the martinet that made my heart pound in my throat. The next day her right cheek was covered in that distinctive stippled bruising.

We played and we played and we played. There was the inevitable Tour of the Canes, starting in the middle and working up to the Master dragon cane by Chopper. I think it went 18, 24, 36, 48; and they were hard, hard enough to break my skin and my resolve, if Caroline hadn't been there. Tom paced it slow, and the deeper we went the more attuned I became to her responses. It wasn't that the pain wasn't making an impact on her: she was zoned into her own world, absorbing it, and processing it internally. Her quiet focus was infectious and I found myself responding more and more the same way. I was still yelping and wriggling in the way that is natural to me, but her calmness was soothing. I started to breathe through the strokes, taking far more of them without a cry than I ever normally would unbidden. Instead of finding expression in my voice, each impact blazed inside me, magnified in the echo chamber of my body.

Her count was very steady, but she held my wrists tightly, stroked my hands and my hair, cradled my head in her arms and clung to me as I struggled with the harder strokes. Her response to my pain was much more expressive than her response to her own. One of the reasons I tried to be brave was so as not to worry her. The atmosphere was quiet and intense. I was focussed wholly on her, on her little flutters of dismay as I cried out in pain, on the fragrant dark of her hair and breath. The softness of her hands contrasted with the fierce pain of the caning, and made it easier to bear. Whenever a particularly harsh stroke made me jump, she caressed and kissed and comforted me until my breath came back, and I was ready for the next.

Caroline after her caning

I felt so connected to her. It was wonderful. But I was also interested to realise that I felt most connected to her during my own canings; during hers I was much more attuned to Tom. I think he set that up deliberately. I held her wrists tightly, remembering how hot I find it to be pinned down. She barely made a sound as the strokes slammed into her, but I felt like the energy of each impact jolted through her body and into mine, up through my arms and out of my mouth as I spoke the count aloud. I was counting to Tom, for Tom, addressing each "thankyou, Sir" sincerely and respectfully to him. For the whole of her second caning I fixed my eyes on him, his face and his body, his controlled power.

During the rest I held her and kissed her hair, drinking in the sight of her body, the savageness with which she was whipped. I appreciated her beating with a sensual, sadistic enjoyment.

Caroline after her caning

The most interesting thing is that we weren't competing. One of the things we'd clicked over online was our shared competitiveness and exhibitionism, how much easier pain is to take with an audience. But that evening, there wasn't a shadow of jealousy or oneupmanship. We were just in tune.

Towards the end, I remember laughing and commenting that this was no good, I could never take this much when she wasn't here - and after this I was worried Tom was going to expect it regularly. Sharing energy with a third person, especially when you're discovering a new intimacy with them, completely changes the flavour of a scene. Tom was able to take me further that night than he's taken me in years. He's reassured me and I'm not seriously afraid that he's going to expect the impossible. In fact, I think it's good for us to deepen our connection through opening it to others; to know that this place is still there, if we can find a way of reaching it. Maybe it will be easier for him to take me further next time; each encounter fuelling the next one, reinforcing the pathways. In the meantime, I have the prettiest marks I've had since shooting with Pain4Fem in January. And some wonderful memories.

Me after my caning

Me after my caning

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Tags: Caroline Grey, dominance and submission, J, kink, other pictures, Photos, Thomas Cameron


I put on my robe and wizard hat...

Posted at 20:10 on 27 May 2009 by Pandora / Blake

J sent me this artwork the other day. Sometimes I wonder if our entire friendship is founded on sharing select pieces of porn; he certainly has a good eye for what I'll like. I love her harem pants, her slutty toenail polish, and especially I love the little mouse.

My question is: is she wielding that cane herself - or carrying it to the magician to whom she's apprenticed, to be used on her own supple, sulky self?

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Tags: Fantasies, fetish art, J


spanked on a spring morning

Posted at 12:46 on 19 Mar 2009 by Pandora / Blake

I've been sorting through the stills from the shoot last Friday. I am so pleased with them. J was fantastic to work with, and the results are amazing. I'm very lucky to have such talented friends who are willing to get involved with this project.

I'm really looking forward to spending a day focussing on stills, doing a couple of high-quality spanking photosets. I don't have any particular ideas for photostories, so I'm considering just giving executive control of the shoot to Tom and running it as an actual scene, with him in charge and me doing what I'm told, and J recording things as they happen. I think it'd be fun to put myself completely into his hands and see what we come out with.

I'll be releasing the url of the site as soon as I've got enough material to do the design. In the meantime, I'll continue posting previews as I work on the content. Here's a taster from last Friday:

Yeah, you can probably guess what happened next.

I didn't mind, though. You can tell I enjoyed it from this picture J snapped of me grinning at Tom afterwards:

I didn't even notice the slogan on the mug, I'd just picked it because it was the BIGGEST, and I am a caffeine fiend. Even my morning cuppa is trying to get me into trouble.

But yeah. A spanking and a cup of tea. I don't know about you, but I can't think of a better way to wake up on a beautiful sunny morning.

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Tags: funny, J, Photos, porn production


directing from the bottom

Posted at 23:46 on 16 Mar 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Friday was the first film shoot for my new site.

I'm starting small. The site will be pay-per-download when it first goes live, since I don't have time to commit to a regular update schedule. I don't have a massive budget, so for the time being I'm paying my friends in trade for their time, and borrowing a camera and lights. (Well, light, as it happened; one of the bulbs blew and we decided to press on rather than replace it.)

I've been writing scenes all year. I want to concentrate on stand-alone films of varying lengths. There'll be some photostories as well, but I think I want to do films and photostories separately rather than as versions of each other, if you see what I mean. If I don't have a daily update schedule I can hopefully avoid having to break films down into short clips, or produce any 'filler' material. I'd like to make each film, whether it's a five-minute short or a full-length feature, a complete story in its own right. Some of my ideas are ongoing series, and they all vary in complexity, but I want to strive, even in the short simple clips, for a richness in the characterisation and details.

I'm possibly being horribly over-ambitious, but that's my starting point, anyway.

I've already written far more scenes than I can possibly film this year. Each of them represents a real fantasy of mine. I'm not interested in producing empty action: the idea is that even if the only glimpse you get into a story is the punishment scene, I want it to be contextualised, to be part of a longer narrative. Trying to limit my imagination to scenes I can feasibly film is a challenge, and I was even more limited for this first shoot.

We were filming at a friend's beautiful London flat, with one spankee (me) and one top (Tom). No multi-actor scenes, then, and no period pieces (which, unsurprisingly, a considerable proportion of my ideas are). So, preparing a callsheet for a domestic location, one camera and two actors, well aware that I'd be learning on the job and everything would take longer than I expected, I picked out three short domestic discipline scenes. This isn't just going to be a DD site, but when you're shooting with your boyfriend in a friend's flat it's definitely the easiest type of scene to produce.

Our cameraman for the day was my dear friend J, whom I've already written about as a top and play partner. He's also a photographer and techie, and I was lucky to get him on board. We hadn't worked together on a spanking shoot before, so we started with some stills to get a feel for the lighting, and get used to interacting in this new context.

I wanted some photos for the site design, and had specific ideas about what I wanted. It was slightly odd directing from in front of the camera much like topping from the bottom and I didn't feel very confident, but when we stopped and looked through the photos I thought they'd come out well. I'm getting copies from him tomorrow so I should be able to post a sneak preview.

Then it was the first film, which went without a hitch. We only had a single camera but we put it to good use, getting a variety of shots and cutaways, spurred on by J's confidence and my recent crash course in film editing. The clip came out short and sweet. I was anxious that the spanking itself wasn't long enough to please people, and wondered if Tom should have padded it out a bit, but he was right that the scenario I'd written called for a 'short sharp shock' type of punishment.

Afterwards we sat down and reviewed the footage. It takes up valuable shooting time, but while I'm starting out I want to review as I go so I can correct any mistakes as we go along. This turned out to be the right decision. A mic problem in the first clip had generated irregular low-level noise, enough that we were seriously worried about having to start again from scratch. We couldn't work out what was causing it. It sounded like physical interference perhaps the manual adjustment of the focus, since the mic was mounted on the camera?

So, for the next clip, we set up the mic on a separate tripod. We were going to monitor the sound through headphones, but plugging them in seemed to make the background rumbling worse. J ran a test that seemed to be clear of the noise, and we went ahead.

Technical issues aside, halfway through the punishment for the second scene, I was really struggling. My head was full of storyboarding, camera angles, working out how things looked so far and what we were doing next. I couldn't process the pain when my head was busy directing. After the first twelve strokes I was yelling indignantly and angrily twisting away from Tom. When we cut to move the camera Tom asked if I was okay, and I burst into tears.

He was cross with me for not calling cut and letting him know I was having difficulty he'd had to assume my reactions were in character. Truth be told, I hadn't quite realised they weren't. Of course I should have cut, but it didn't even occur to me. The punishment was minor by my standards. I thought I just needed to push through, to deal with it. I remember thinking, if I just hung in there, then soon the endorphines would kick in and it'd get easier. Maybe they would have, after the next couple of strokes. But I couldn't explain why I was so upset to Tom's satisfaction, and he was frustrated, not knowing if he'd done something wrong.

The main reason, I think is simply that I was tired. The last three weeks I've been working the hardest I think I ever have in my life. Long days, tight deadlines and juggling a ridiculous number of balls. I'm working in two different offices on different days of the week, and I'm not used to commuting. Most of my leisure time is being spent on the site. So I was exhausted and overwrought, and probably closer to my limits emotionally than I'd taken into account.

Directing and subbing at the same time is really, really hard.

The thing is that I've known this for ages. I've asked Tom to direct the next film I'm producing for Roué, because I know I won't want to work on anything out of character on the day. Amelia Jane-Rutherford has written about this before, and we had a long chat about it over lunch last summer. Creative control over a project is all very well, but I can't have creative control over a scene, working out the gritty technical details and taking responsibility for what happens next, and also submit to my top, to the pain, stay in character and not freak out. However much executive control I have off-camera, once we're shooting a scene I have to trust my top to move things at their own pace. I can't micro-manage my own discipline and relax into it at the same time.

I knew all this, but I couldn't see how I could get round it this time. It's my own material for my own site. I have a specific vision, I've done all this work, it's my baby I knew I couldn't let go of that, so it seemed pointless to try. It worked for the first clip, a light-hearted, erotic discipline spanking. But the next two stories were edgier. Most of my fantasies are emotionally difficult. The CP I was writing for myself was emotionally tough.

Looking back, it's easy to see that I didn't really think this through.

I was absolutely determined to carry on, however. Once we'd finished arguing about whether I should have cut or not, I managed to collect myself and we picked up where we'd left off. This time the pain was easier. Once I'd had my outburst and got myself back under control, I found the headspace I needed. And the shots for the second film looked pretty good when we sat down and reviewed them.

Unfortunately the sound issue had persisted throughout, despite our efforts. J eventually managed to fix the problem by adjusting the settings on the mic, a miracle which continues to impress me. He also applied a low-level filter to the footage from the first two clips that removed most of the noise. Genius! I was immensely relieved, but after all that we still had to move furniture and lights for the third clip and work out our shooting angles, and we disagreed about the best position for the punishment, and it was almost dark by the time we started.

The third story of the day was the longest, and the nastiest. Based on a real life event, it involved me being disciplined unjustly by my over-strict guardian. My character strongly believes she's in the right, the mistreated victim of a man abusing his authority. Her reaction to the punishment is righteous anger and acute frustration at her own physical helplessness.

I find the idea of unjust punishments immensely hot, but they're emotionally draining to film. 'Relaxing' into the pain isn't an option. But genuinely suffering on camera won't work either. I have to let part of me resist the pain, fight and rage against it, and carefully channel that resistance into my acting. With the rest of me I need to wholly consent to what's happening, trust that I'm in safe hands, so I can focus my energy on doing good work rather than feeling hard done by.

Yet again, the scene was fine right up until the actual CP. We got the intro and cutaways, and then the opening interaction between my character and her guardian was filmed in a single take the dialogue flowed really well. He continued to scold as he bent me over the arm of a chair and started strapping me over my short skirt, an unspecified number of 'warm up strokes' before the punishment proper. I was shocked by how much they hurt, and suddenly all of me was resisting. When my panties were yanked down I sat up, and said I didn't think that was appropriate for these characters.

I hadn't actually called cut, but the scene had been broken. "Okay," said Tom patiently. "Do you want to keep your underwear on for this scene, then?"

"I don't know," I said.

I felt miserable. I didn't want to make a decision. I didn't want the responsibility. I was frightened of the strapping I was about to get and my head wasn't doing what I wanted it to. I was tired and I couldn't work out if I was just wimping out or if I had a point, and a strict uncle would leave his niece's knickers up. But even if it was more realistic, would keeping my knickers on ruin the scene for all the viewers who wanted to see punishment on the bare? I was reluctant to make the judgement call. I couldn't think straight.

Which, of course, is exactly why I should have left the decision to Tom. It didn't matter either way in the scheme of things; as long as someone made a decision, either way would probably have been fine. If I'd wanted to change my mind because knickers-on was more realistic, I could have done that. But I couldn't make my mind up. I wasn't letting the top pace the scene, but I wasn't taking control of things either.

By the time I'd worked all this out I was in floods of tears. Mostly exhaustion, and the silly recursive upset of thinking I'd ruined the shoot and it had all gone wrong and it was all my fault. Tom suggested we abandon this clip and move on there was an extra scenario on the callsheet in case we had time for a fourth. Stubbornly, I refused. The film I'd interrupted was edgy and interesting and we'd done too much work already for me to want to stop now. If only I could stop crying and get my breath back we could just finish the damn thing and be done with it. If only it was that easy!

Eventually I calmed down enough to make a decision. We'd fix the punishment at twelve hard strokes, shorter and simpler than the scene I'd scripted, and we'd take them slowly, cutting after every four to give me a breather. Tom poured me a glass of cold wine, gave me a cuddle, and installed me on J's lap while he went out for a well-earned cigarette. This was a good thing to do. Tom and I both have tempers on us and things can flare up quickly, but J is very soothing. I curled up with my arms around his neck, and whimpered that I was rubbish and unprofessional, and he held me and told me I was doing fine. Before long I was ready to carry on, and we finished the filming with no further problems. I was close to tears throughout the punishment, through tiredness if nothing else, but it looked good on camera and I wasn't frightened any more. I even ended up extending the punishment to sixteen strokes so I could get the facial reaction shots I wanted.

We abandoned my plan to take some more stills at the end of the day. I'd wanted some shots of the marks for promo materials, but it wasn't important. We put all the furniture back in its place and copied the files to my laptop, and stayed for another glass of wine before heading home. I was so exhausted my legs barely held me up on the tube home. But by the time we went to bed that night, I'd gained enough distance from my 'failure' to feel pleased with what we'd achieved. And when Tom and I were cuddling in the dark, our memories of the day seemed far more erotic than stressful.

I don't know if I can learn to sub and direct simultneously, given time. I don't know if it'll get easier with practice, once I'm used to running shoots and things aren't so new and tense. I don't know if subbing for my own projects will be easier when the site is earning money, when I'm not going out on a limb, taking financial risks and giving my time for free. I don't know if it'll be easier when I've adjusted to my gruelling new work schedule and caught up on my sleep. Maybe it will, eventually.

But in the meantime, I'm making an executive decision. I'll have complete creative control of everything to do with this site, except when the cameras are rolling. I'm working with close friends, and Tom in particular I can trust to be faithful to my vision. He's an experienced director and I know me and my ideas will be safe in his hands. If it's not going the direction I envisioned, I can always cut. But while we're in character, I need to completely put down all the stress and responsibility and perfectionism that lets me be so ambitious the rest of the time. I've written a script, and I need to follow it, and trust my top to follow it. That's why I've hired him, after all.

I don't know if it'll be easier or harder when I'm not working with my real life Dom. I struggle to combine my personal ambition with my submission, even though they aren't contradictory. Perhaps I'm just tripping over that. Or perhaps subbing to Tom on-camera and being in charge off it is the balance that will make this possible. But I don't think I can be in control of the shoot and accept punishment at the same time, especially when the scene is an edgy one, written to push me.

To endure the pain, I need to not be in control; I need to half-believe I have no choice. Give me a choice, and I'll vacillate. I'm not a toppy masochist demanding to be spanked: I'm a sub, and to enjoy pain I need to be enduring it for someone other than myself.

So, future shoots will have a Designated Director, and I will hopefully be able to get into character and enjoy my sub headspace. I hope it works, because I'm totally in love with the site concept and really, really don't want to give up the idea yet.

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Tags: J, learning curves, porn production, shoot writeups, Thomas Cameron


at the foot of the glacier

Posted at 22:24 on 27 Jan 2009 by Pandora / Blake

This winter has been the coldest I can remember in the UK. (I'm too young to remember the cold snap of '86.) It's foolhardy to step outside your front door without gloves, and I've swapped the rooms of my tiny flat around so that the cold draught blowing around my ill-fitting front door only freezes me while I work, not while I try to sleep. Every night I huddle under two duvets with a hot water bottle, my cat curled up on my feet, and preferably a boyfriend to wrap me in his arms.

When Amy and I arrived in Slovakia we stared at the snow and shivered at the announcement telling us it was -4C outside. But when we returned to the UK we discovered that it had been -8 to -10 all week in London. However bare I am in my photos, most of my blogging these last few months has been done while wearing thick jumpers and fleecy toe-socks.

Even so, I've not been as cold as my friend Gentian was the November before last, when she good-naturedly agreed to bare her bottom and go over the knee for a spanking at the foot of the Athabasca Glacier in the Canadian Rockies. I was behind the camera this time, and sent the photos to my friends Angie and Peter at English Vice a few months later.

Dave at The Cherry Red Report emailled me a couple of days ago asking for the scoop on these photos, and he's just posted a feature on them; including the full story of our hike to the foot of the glacier, and how exactly I persuaded my friends to brave the biting winds so I could take spanking photos for you at several thousand feet above sea level.

I sent four photos in total to English Vice . Sadly the spanking doesn't show up very well but I wanted to stand far enough back to get a sense of the amazing location. Even in this small photoseries you can see the sudden flurries of ice and snow that obscured the camera view. I can only applaud G's bravery and guess that the wind was much more painful than J's hand! I didn't dare take any more in case she got serious frost bite.

You can read the full story over at The Cherry Red Report. Many thanks to Dave for his interest, and to English Vice for hosting the photos and providing such wonderful inspiration.

And now I'm going to bed with my cat and my hot water bottle, to dream of being spanked in the warm.

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Tags: al fresco spanking, J, kink, other pictures, those crazy kinksters


severity and intimacy

Posted at 16:43 on 10 Jan 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Thankfully, I feel much less traumatised today. I got through work okay yesterday, but as I left the building at 6 o' clock my exhaustion seemed to roll over me like a wave. I was overwhelmed by the awareness that I'd struggled through the last three days without any real aftercare; I was freezing cold, my butt had been aching all day and as I stood up from my desk the blood seemed to flow back into the bruises and make them throb all the more ... within a minute I was shaking and tears were rolling down my cheeks.

Luckily my friend J lives round the corner from my office. He is not only a wonderful man but also an experienced Dom and sometime play partner of mine, and he only had to take one look at me to know exactly what I needed. One cup of tea with two sugars and a very warm bear-hug later, I was feeling a bit more normal and telling him all about the shoot. He stayed with me for twenty minutes even though he was due somewhere, bless him. By the time he left I was back in control, and could cope with getting myself and my suitcase home on a rush-hour London bus.

The benefits of having good friends who Get It. I'm a lucky girl.

I arrived home to a very attention-deprived cat, a cold flat and a frozen water system, but Tom turned up shortly afterwards and made everything better (including my plumbing, which was above and beyond the call of duty). He gave me cuddles, made me tea and a hot water bottle, and even went out in the cold by himself to bring back takeout. I settled down to a warm cat rapturously re-familiarising herself with my lap, and an evening with nothing planned but snuggling and watching DVDs. Perfect.

I didn't even know where to start with telling Tom about the shoot, so I showed him my most recent post, and my marks. He bent down behind me, casting an appraising eye over my bottom.

"Yup," he grinned, "that's a good start."

"Impressive, aren't they? And I don't even mark much these days!"

"That's because you don't let me hit you hard enough."

My lower lip wobbled a bit at that, but I didn't say anything because I knew what he meant. I don't want the hardest beatings I get in my life to all be from other people either.

This shoot was a huge event for me. Ever since I first started making spanking films I've been aware of the hard caners: Lupus Spanking, Mood Pictures, Pain4fem. Niki Flynn is one of the first friends I made in the scene, and since hearing about her experiences with Lupus the question has been on the edge of my mind; is this something I could do?

I remember watching my first Lupus DVD with Niki and Cameron - The Noise. It's one of the ones that has an hour of story and build-up before the two brutal, swift 50-stroke canings at the end. It also taps into one of my favourite kinky narratives, that of the human spirit flourishing in an oppressive regime - and, naturally, the human body being severely punished for the rebellion. I had my heart in my mouth for most of the film, particularly the prologue and the part leading up to the caning, where the girls look through the record books of previous punishments, full of clinical and grisly "before" and "after" pictures.

I didn't find the actual caning in The Noise erotic. I watched with a mixture of detachment and horrified fascination. My natural reaction when faced by something sensationalistically awful is to withdraw, to watch it with more curiosity than emotional engagement. But the fear and anticipation beforehand? That was hot.

I'm still not sure if I'd like to work with Lupus. I love the richness and detail of their films, I love their political narratives and sense of humour, and after Pain4fem I'm pretty sure I could take it. But I'm still not sure. For one thing - and this may make me sound mercenary but it's a practical concern - their fee isn't really high enough to cover the amount of time I'd need to take off work afterwards. Pain4fem pay by the stroke, which adds up to more than my usual rate over two days (even after paying an unexpected 45 excess baggage charge!). I'm grateful for it, because I think I'll need to spend a fair amount of the next week processing the experience and writing about it. And, of course, I'm not going to be able to model again until I've healed.

If my plans this year come off and I start filming my own material, then it doesn't really make sense for me to be marked for six weeks unless the resulting film is one of my own.

So this caning was a huge milestone for me. It's something I've been eyeing from a distance for years, wondering if I can do it. I'd like to work for Pain4fem again, and they've invited Amy and me back in the autumn if we're interested. But after that, I doubt I'll push myself to this level unless I'm producing the film myself. And I think that's going to be Tom's only opportunity to take me this far while I've still got a career in spanking.

Even then, submitting to this level of caning from him would be a hugely different experience. It wouldn't be brutal. He wouldn't want me screaming and yelling in outrage, or crying and miserable. We might be on camera, but I think he'd still want it to be deep and true and connected. I think he'd still want to make me fly.

This experience was nothing like that. I was doing this entirely for myself. Peter is lovely, professional, and an extremely accurate top, but there was no intimacy shared between us. Not even the friendly, flirty connection I enjoy when working with tops like Paul Kennedy or Stephen Lewis. During the caning I wasn't responding to Peter; my emotional landscape was wholly internal. Apart from encouraging myself to be brave with thoughts of Tom, I wasn't submissive and I wasn't giving anything to anyone.

That fact allowed me to immerse myself for the first time in the more brutal range of my fantasies. My character was sullen, angry, rebellious. I had to sit and watch Amy's caning on camera, which I didn't want to do - I wanted to wrap up warm and sip a drink and recover from the 15 fierce lashes of the singletail I'd just received on my back. I know that people watching spanking films want the girl watching a punishment to react with horror, fear and anticipation written on her face. Well, I was tired and I wanted a break, and my character intended to give her tormentors as little satisfaction as she could. And, as I said earlier, emotional detachment is my natural response anyway to watching something deliberately traumatic. So I hugged my knees and stared blankly into space, trying to block out the cracks of the cane and Amy's impressively hysterical weeping. Curiousity got the better of me a couple of times, when we paused between takes, and I wandered round to get a look at the welts, which were long and red and angry-looking. But once Amy's punishment started, the dread which had been eating at me for days had fled. I just wanted to get it over with.

So I wasn't submissive during the caning. I broke, after a few strokes; I had no desire to brazen the whole thing out even if I could have, and I'd decided to let my willpower crack at pretty much its own pace. I wasn't performing for anyone. I stared straight ahead of me between strokes, and found it extremely difficult to interact with anyone when they paused filming to give me a break. I didn't yelp, I yelled - or, on the hardest strokes, screamed with rage and pain. And I got to fully immerse myself in the kind of truly brutal, miserable, unfair punishment I've fantasised about my whole life.

I don't think I could ever achieve that space with Tom; our dynamic is too loving. This caning was cold and hard and clinical and I took it in isolation. That was a massive part of the experience, for me, and I don't think I'm going to want to re-live it more than once or twice.

I was going to tell you more details about the shoot, but that can wait for another entry. In the meantime, here are last night's Bruise Update photos:

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Tags: Amy Hunter, J, Lupus Spanking, meta-analysis, Pain4Fem, shoot writeups, Thomas Cameron


More on back whipping

Posted at 13:55 on 1 May 2008 by Pandora / Blake

Wow, the weather's finally brightened, hasn't it? We had our first picnic of the summer over the weekend, and although the ground was damp and the rain drove us home early in the evening, today is glorious. I'm full of energy. (Who knows, maybe that energy will finally assist me in finishing the new version of my website I'm working on ... it's been a long time in coming.)

There are lots of things I want to write about at the moment - not least the new violent porn bill which was passed last Wednesday. My thoughts on that are taking a while to pull together, so in the meantime I want to return to the subject of back whipping. I touched on this in my previous entry, but I don't really feel like I communicates my feelings about it successfully.

A little while ago, a reader asked me about this by email:

1. What do you think of bare back whipping (see the pictures below)?

2. Take a look at the pictures on the links below. I really enjoy them because of the dynamics between the dominant and the submissive girl in these scenes. Just look at the determination is the eyes of the girls executing the strokes and how the submissive girls are working with their bodies to stand the pain. Pretty nice pictures, don't you think?

After thanking him for the fantastic photos, I replied as follows:

I have an interesting relationship with bare back whipping. On the one hand, it's definitely a part of my real-life play and I enjoy it as a form of punishment. I find it very realistic - it's associated with real, historical punishments and scenarios in my head, and as such it carries an edginess which I find very powerful. Well-executed back flogging can be a powerful, ritualistic thing and I've been known to be put in an altered state of consciousness after a prolongued whipping - the effect it has on the body is extremely powerful, and it can very easily put me into trance!

On the other hand, the physical sensations of back whipping don't have the same erotic charge for me that being punished on my bottom does. It's not that it's not connected to my masochism, because the meditative trance state evoked through back whipping is certainly the result of endorphine stimulation. It's that it connects to my kink in a different way. There's an instant, primal, sexual jolt connected to the idea of being spanked or whipped on my bottom, breasts or thighs. It's a highly erotically charged concept. Back whipping - like hand punishment - doesn't carry that instinctive erotic charge. But like hand punishment, it's a powerful psychological thing. And because the part of the body being punished isn't one which will allow the punishment to be sexually enjoyable on a physical level, the punishment can have a more harsh, non-consensual feel to it. And that's very powerful as well.

I think that comes closer to describing it. It's not that one type of CP connects to my sexual masochism and another doesn't, but rather that they connect to it in very different ways.

Remember my kinky friend who punished me with a quirt he'd made himself? His implement of choice is leather floggers. He has a beautiful collection, in various shades and types of leather, most if not all of them made by himself. He always takes a couple out with him when he goes to play parties or clubs, and most of the kinky girls in our social circle have tasted his florentine flogging at one time or another. Any public scene he plays will draw a crowd, and he invariably receives compliments on the grace and power of his flogging style for the rest of the evening.

During the same evening on which I earned a whipping with the quirt for keeping him waiting and making him late, he also used his floggers on me - a couple of floggers made of soft, heavy, straight-cut leather thongs, and a cat o' nine tails with harsh, plaited leather tails, which he swapped in when he wanted to step things up a notch. This was at the club, long before my punishment later in the night. It wasn't the first time he'd flogged me, but it was the first time he'd done so on a night when I was submitting to him alone, and neither of my Doms were present. Here's what I wrote about it in my personal diary:

The dungeon was crowded and not very well arranged, but we created a space and he put me on the cross for a flogging scene. We'd done this once before (at Torture Garden eight months ago), but I was his tonight and it made all the difference. He's very skilled with floggers. The florentine strokes started light, teasing me, drawing my hips back towards him as I ached for deeper sensations, and then pushing me back with sharper force that left me limp. The crescendo built to tidal waves of sensation that crashed over me. I floated in place, helpless; feeling as if I was being washed up on a shore, like driftwood, again and again. But he never quite let me drown - always catching me as my mind was going blank under the onslaught, soothing me, bringing me down before he started to build up the pace once again. He played me like a puppet and my body danced on the cross.

It ended with a series of blows that built up and up until I felt like I was standing under a waterfall, just letting the unbelievable force of it rain down on me, offering myself up to it. On the last crack between my shoulder blades my whole body sagged and I felt the tears start to flow. He stroked me, soothed my skin and took me into his arms, and I was laughing and crying, almost incredulous at the emotional force of what he'd done to me. It felt like catharsis, like a floodgate in me had been opened, leaving me weightless and shaking and completely blissed out.

Flogging doesn't really tap into my kink in some ways. My masochism responds to it, but it doesn't awaken that desire in me, that serpent uncoiling at the base of my spine, that other forms of CP and BDSM do. It seems almost asexual in some ways: a powerful physical and emotional act, like a meditation or a massage... intimate, deeply submissive and yes, the endorphines flood through me. But the sensations aren't erotic per se. It's subtly other, and I can't explain it. But it's intensely powerful.

I was spaced out for ages after that. I sat on his lap, still topless and the skin of my back hot to the touch, relaxed and happy while he talked to people. He got a lot of compliments and I talked a little about the scene and how it had affected me. We both agreed there had been a very intense connection between us. I remember some of the strokes communicating themselves to me like words, and the arcing of my body in response, like a conversation or like sex. I remember saying his name aloud in my head over and again as I let the pain wash over me.

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Tags: flogger, implements, J, kink, meta-analysis, other pictures, pandoras mailbox, quirt, whip


Quirt: punishment

Posted at 15:15 on 15 Apr 2008 by Pandora / Blake

I had my first experience of a quirt a little while ago. A kinky friend of mine is a bit of an expert in making and using leather whips, and back when we were first getting to know each other he promised me my first taste of one of his toys. For various reasons we've never had quite as many chances to play as we'd both like, and by the time we finally made a date in February we had a whole bunch of desires and intentions to explore together.

Th evening didn't start well. It was my fault, really. I'd been ill recently, had a long shoot that day, and was exhausted when I got home afterwards. I ended up running very late. We were trying out a new fetish night, and had originally planned to meet up first so we could get ready and travel to the club together. I was overwhelmed by stuff to do and kept postponing our meeting time, until eventually we agreed to just get ready separately and meet at the club. I said I'd text him as I was leaving the house so he could aim to arrive at the same time, but I forgot to send the text. I'd called and told him I was leaving in a few minutes, but I was meant to then text and confirm and I didn't. He ended up waiting at home for twenty minutes before deciding to leave anyway, and I didn't realise my mistake until I was on the tube and out of phone access. He got to the club considerably later than I did and he wasn't impressed.

While I was waiting for him to arrive I felt really anxious. I knew I'd messed up and I didn't know if he'd still be angry when he got there, and I didn't know if he'd be the kind of angry that could be resolved in role or if our date was ruined before it started.

Eventually we found each other, and the look in his eye told me everything I needed to know. I was definitely in trouble. But it was the kind of trouble that meant I was going home with him at the end of the evening. I breathed a sigh of relief as I kissed his hand and said I was sorry. "Oh, you will be," he said, and the threat held just enough of a spark of mischief that I could let go of my guilt. It would be dealt with later and I knew he'd be fair.

The fact that he was choosing to react in this way - that he wasn't letting me get away with messing him around, but he was determined to not let it affect our time together - was deeply reassuring. I felt the letting go, the security I always feel when I'm faced with discipline I know I can rely on. It feels very safe to know that I won't get away with something. Knowing I'd be punished later, that I'd atone in full, let me put the guilty feelings aside and start to enjoy my evening.

We had all sorts of adventures that night, both in the club and afterwards at his place, but those are another story. At one point in the evening he told me to stand with my hands resting on the wall while he used the quirt on me for the first time. I've wanted to taste this implement for years. He told me that this is what he'd be using for my punishment later. Twenty hard strokes, one for each minute he was kept waiting at home. I swallowed and looked down, knowing it was fair, frightened and excited but feeling that same security in his authority that was completely relaxing. He flicked the quirt against my shoulders, my back and buttocks, then started wrapping it, lashing my nipples and belly with the leather tips with perfect accuracy. The pain started to mount and each lash was beginning to really hurt. I was squirming in response to the quick, burning strokes and he had to tell me angrily to stay still.

Much later, when it was time for my punishment, I knew it was inevitable and I accepted it. He was gentle and firm and looked deeply into my eyes, checking in and connecting with me before telling me to resume my position against the wall. The whipping was hard and slow. I sobbed my count and my thanks after each stroke. I was quiet at first, concentrating on my breathing and on my count, emptying my mind and accepting the pain. By halfway through it was seriously hurting and I was struggling to stay still. By the end I was screaming before I found the breath to give my count, and afterwards I felt emptied, cleansed, resolved. It was closure, both emotionally and physically. Enough pain for me to really get a grip on, enough for me to feel pushed. I felt like I'd needed it, and in a strange way it was deeply satisfying.

Afterwards I knelt before him and thanked him for my punishment in a much more intimate way. I was very glad to be able to give him some closure in return. Tired and contented, we curled up in each other's arms and talked quietly as we drifted off to sleep. The sun had come up some time ago.

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Tags: dominance and submission, J, kink, other pictures, Photos, quirt, Real life punishment


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