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Posts Tagged ‘riding crop’

Fear and calm

Earlier this year I found myself in one of those tricky, unspanked states. I knew I needed an intense sub session that pushed me and left me bruised and tearful and cleansed, but I wanted to be dominated, which generally relies on someone else wanting to do those things to me. Specifically, I wanted D […]

Making up

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.

Bring my tea

The other weekend I headed up north to join a small gathering of people celebrating the launch of Nimue’s World – the homegrown, boundary-pushing, performer-centric brainchild of Nimue, which launched before mine last year and which I am rapidly starting to think of as Dreams of Spanking’s sister site. It was great to catch up with Nims for the first time since our sites launched, and meet her lovely poly family. They’d just come back from shooting with Will and Janna, and I heard all about the scenes they’d filmed as they bounced and decompressed.

I absolutely love the photos from the latest update from that shoot, Bring My Tea. As I know that Nimue and Janna are, like myself, inveterate tea drinkers, there’s something inherently amusing about making it the theme of a spanking scene. But the photos are as stylish and elegant as any I’ve ever seen, to the extent that I had real difficulty choosing which ones to share with you.


Janna is the new maid in the household, and is still making mistakes. When she brings my tea, without a cup, and then tries to cover up her mistake by pouring tea in the sugar bowl, I decide it’s time to teach her a lesson.

Over my knee she gets a good hard spanking, before receiving the riding crop and hard strokes of the cane. Hopefully she’ll learn and not make the same mistakes in future!


High quality spanking photography and erotic F/F from one of the UK’s most exciting new sites. I’ll be reviewing Nimue’s World more fully when I get the chance, but in the meantime, I hope this taster gives you a sense of the excellent work Nimue is doing. Please do check out her site, it deserves considerable attention.

Service

Like many submissives (and, I think, many women) I’m susceptible to anxiety and perfectionism. I tend to set myself unrealistically high standards, and then succumb to stress at the fear I’ll fail to meet them. It’s arrogant in a way – trying to be the best rather than aiming for a more moderate achievement. But there’s the desire to please in there, as well as to excel. And if left unchecked it can amount to self-sabotage, as the pressure mounts up and negatively affects performance.

When I experience this in my working or creative life, D/S can be a remarkably efficient tool to help me break the cycle. But when D/S is the subject of my anxiety, the usual solution isn’t so straightforward.

Tom was coming to visit early last week, and I knew that he and D had been plotting. Both of them had let slip, independently, that the plan was to give me the opportunity to earn my Domestic Service kinky merit badge. A roast dinner was mentioned, to be served in sexy lingerie and heels, and while the debauchery to follow wasn’t explicitly mentioned, it was certainly implicit.

It all sounded good to me. I love this stuff: I naturally incline towards feeding and looking after my loved ones, and doing so within the carefully negotiated space of a kink scene not only explicitly sexes it up, but it also lifts it above the back-and-forth of caring for each other in daily life, and enshrines my efforts in a way that makes me feel very appreciated.

For one reason and another – work stress, coming down with a cold, a flare-up of my chronic back pain – the preparations for this particular evening were inexplicably difficult. Some early misunderstandings and changes of plan left me emotionally unstable, and I ended up putting myself under far too much pressure. Every time we renegotiated expectations to something I felt like I could manage, I felt even guiltier about my inability to cope.

By the time the evening arrived, I felt overwhelmed by the idea of juggling both sides of it simultaneously. Under normal circumstances, I thought I could probably manage to calm myself down, take some painkillers, have a long soak in the bath, get dressed up and then feel relaxed, pretty and sexy and ready to play a scene with my doms. Or, perhaps in this sort of state I’d be able to cook a three course meal that was edible, serve it nicely, and then crash out with my boys, drink some wine and rest my aching back. But both, when I was this physically and emotionally fragile? It seemed impossible.

D kept reassuring me that they didn’t have lofty expectations and it would be okay. But this nagging voice at the back of my mind kept telling me that it had to be special, more so than just a normal evening where I cooked for people, or I wouldn’t deserve the badge and it would be pointless. I told the voice that my best would be good enough; that the point was the effort, not the result; that my boyfriends loved me and I loved them and an evening together would always be special.

When Tom arrived, I wasn’t sure if me or my doubts were winning. It was lovely to see him and all of us were trying to make it work, with Tom adding his voice to D’s that they had no intention to put pressure on me and would be happy with something simple. Tom even gave me a massage to help my back ache, and (at D’s suggestion) a spanking to help everything else. Gradually, with their help, my tearfulness and panic subsided, leaving me feeling a little more settled, but even after the spanking I was still tired out and downbeat.

During all of this it I realised that it was already 6pm and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so I decided to serve the soup early and see if some calories helped. I’d made leek, potato, carrot and bacon with homemade vegetable stock, and I served it with cream and black pepper. It went down well, and D and I finished the pot while Tom ran his bath. I did feel better after I’d eaten.

Once the chicken was in the oven (olive oil, black pepper, thyme and a little salt rubbed into the skin; a lemon and a sprig of fresh rosemary in the cavity) I started to regain some confidence: I was halfway through the cooking and nothing had gone wrong yet. I took the white wine out of the fridge and asked if Tom wanted a glass in the bath: he said yes. So I did, at least, get to serve him one drink properly, going onto one knee. He looked very tempting in his steamy nakedness, damp black hair curling on his chest, and I offered to soap his back.

I think that was the first moment I really felt properly connected with what we were doing that evening. Funny that it wasn’t the spanking, but this: squeezing raspberry-scented shower gel onto my palms and massaging the lather over Tom’s smooth upper chest, his solid arms, the soft skin down his sides. The sensuality of my sensitive palms describing circles in the lightly curled hairs on his tummy. I soaped his armpits, his neck, reaching up behind his ears. He stood up in the bath, co-operating fully, this smile sort of twinkling down at me. He turned around and I ran my hands thoroughly over his thighs and buttocks and back, savouring the intimacy. He knelt down again to let me rinse. Suddenly everything was okay. I felt wrapped in his dominance, his gentle enjoyment, his love.

Back in the kitchen, I sipped my own glass of wine and chattered to D, who’d decided to keep me company while I cooked. I accepted his cuddles, his rather toppy kisses and his offer of help with the vegetables. The chicken was smelling great. I served it with suede and carrot mash, broccoli, cabbage and gravy.

I put my heels back on to serve up, made sure everyone had a drink, and we fell to. The meal was informal, relaxed and convivial. So lovely to be able to spend time with both of them at once; to watch both of them enjoying my cooking. There was more than enough for everyone, and the wine was a rather nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

I was entirely unsurprised, not long after we’d finished eating, to find myself being offered dessert in the form of D’s delicious cock. Mmmm, my favourite. I made sure to put on a bit of a show for Tom, enjoying the erotic thrill of their combined appreciative gaze.

When Tom suggested I kneel on the sofa before carrying on, I knew what was coming. Hot, difficult and scary all at once: my hips bent and bottom exposed to Tom’s hard hand; with each smack, focussing on making sure my jaw stayed exactly where I’d put it. In some ways I prefer to be able to make the most of a single task at once, but the combined force of their attention was electrifying. Tom spanked me slowly, thoroughly; D was achingly turned on, and so was I. Rather than risk him with my teeth it seemed simplest to let him hold my head while I concentrated on relaxing my throat. This wasn’t about me putting on a pleasing performance any more, but simply about surrendering to their will. I was suspended between them, a conduit for the kinetic energy travelling through Tom’s arm, my bottom and transmitting itself through my throat into D’s cock.

After a while D let me up and signalled that Tom should take his place. I was delighted to find him as hard and ready as D had been, and applied myself to accommodating a different shape of cock and technique. Again, however, my grasp on things quickly slipped as D began distracting me with various sensations. I identified the sting of a riding crop finding the upturned curve of one buttock, then the other; seeking out the tender skin at the tops of my thighs. His palm provided a smooth, warm contrast. Tom’s hand on the back of my neck held me still, his thick cock filling my mouth, as D brought out the wide leather strap I love. Wordless communications crackled unseen above my head, and the solid impact of the strap was frightening, joyful and deeply satisfying. I lifted my hips and let the pain wash over me.

Then, D’s hands moving over the tingling skin of my bottom; his fingers finding my wetness, and then his cock. I had no control left at this point, no responsibilities except to keep from doing Tom an injury, and very little poise; just grateful, horny acceptance of the journey I was being taken on. Our fucking was emotionally and physically intense. They moved me as they would and I couldn’t even vocalise my reactions, except in the brief moments when I gasped for breath.

After D had taken his pleasure Tom took over, and I rested my elbows on the back of the sofa and took advantage of being able to cry out as much as I liked.

Sometime later I recovered myself enough to stumble to the kitchen, Dazed, tousled and feeling very, very lucky, I topped up our wineglasses, and settled back onto the sofa for some serious cuddling.

Still, although my mood had been thoroughly lifted, I did end up making one last, unplanned effort towards the service thing. It involved some gleefully spontaneous kitchen adventures, but in under an hour I was able to present an unexpected, somewhat improved homemade chocolate fudge cake, decorated with chocolate buttons and fudge icing. I daresay they’d have given me the badge without it, but it at least helped reassure myself that I’d earned it. (It’s telling that the two unplanned service gestures of the evening – the bathing and the baking – were both the most positive, in the end. Something I need to remember, I think.)

The rest of Tom’s visit was a joy: he and D got on well, the three of us had a great time together, and sharing a bed with him was bliss (especially that first night, when our horny mood continued not only before we went to sleep, but the next morning too). When, halfway through Tuesday, I suddenly came down with a stinking cold, at least it went some way towards explaining my fragility the day before.

Despite being ill, emotionally I ended Tom’s visit feeling far better than I started it. With both my boyfriends looking after me; the memories of what had turned out to be an excellent evening; Tom’s visibly improved health and the affection and relaxation between the three of us, I had a lot of things to feel good about. Plus, of course, the pleasure of being given another badge to add to my collection, even though earning it hadn’t looked exactly like I’d expected.

Stripes with the riding crop

I was very pleased that Jacq came to the party on Saturday night. For a start, she’s an excellent drinking companion, and has proved before her ability to drink me under the table without ever seeming to lose control (she doesn’t even get hangovers – most unfair!). Mostly, it had been a few weeks since I last got my hands on her, and I hoped to make the most of the opportunity.

Still, when there’s all the diversions of a drinking party around you, it can be hard to find the right moment to slip away. There was some flirting, initially. Toppy flirting can be a bit tricky to get the hang of when you’re used to playing the other role, but I’m gradually picking it up. When I made some threat or other – with a grin – and Jacq responded by wordlessly handing me my pint, it was clear that she was encouraging me to overcome my inhibitions and take the initiative.

In the end, things were set in motion by some social anxiety of Jacq’s. She was unable to put a particular worry down, and I playfully suggested that perhaps she just needed distracting. “Yeah, that’d work,” she said, and suddenly I had no choice but to swallow my hesitation and invite her upstairs.

I wanted to introduce her to my two new riding crops, bought for my recent M/M shoot and each fiendish but interestingly different. I’d sampled both of them already, which gave me the confidence to try them on her. The plaited leather one is longer, thicker and heavier; the other is a normal whippy riding crop, slender with a fair amount of spring.

Because I’m mean, I chose that one first, although I knew that like me, she prefers thud to sting. Because I’m nice, I decided that I was only going to give her six, and I was going to let her keep her jeans on.

Because I’m mean, I made them decently hard.

She took them very well, kneeling with bottom nicely presented while she gripped the headboard of my bed. I enjoy her reactions – not a lot of noise and fuss, but some lovely wriggling and grimacing as she processes the pain. As we were on about number four, D knocked on the bedroom door and ended up watching me give the final two.

Afterwards I had the pleasure of seeing her take her jeans down and reveal the results of my labours. The stripes were lovely – as was the confidence boost of knowing I’d judged the strength about right even through her jeans.

I invited D to take over, but he had other ideas… which kept Jacq’s mouth full and left her bottom available to me. I wasn’t complaining. I took the opportunity to distract her in several ways, one of which involved swapping to the heavier crop.

Her bottom was completely bare now, so I was able to admire the stripes arising as I played. I had a lot of fun mixing up lighter and harder strokes to keep her guessing. And sharing smiles with D as we co-ordinated what we were doing to her – adding our own contribution to her reactions the other was eliciting – that was a big rush, too.

Pirates and slavegirls and bondage, oh my

Ariel Anderssen and Pandora Blake are captured pirates at www.RestrainedElegance.com

Immediately after getting back from Germany, I was plunged straight into a whirlwind of activity shooting with the lovely folks of Restrained Elegance for three days of shoot trade: one day for their site, and two days for mine.

I was more than a little nervous about this shoot. I’ve been a fan of Restrained Elegance for ages – even though the doesn’t much cater to my primary kink, the quality of their work is undeniable. I think I can safely say that they are the most professional, aesthetically stylish, cinematically ambitious UK kink production company.

I’m not bendy enough to be a serious bondage model – and rope isn’t a strong enough kink for me to want to explore it for the love alone. So, while admiring the beauty of Restrained Elegance’s films and photosets, I felt it was unlikely I’d ever work for them. And yet somehow the idea was mooted, during a conversation with Amelia Jane Rutherford about booking her for my forthcoming site. Her partner Hywel, the genius behind Restrained Elegance, seemed willing, and it was agreed.

Nerves set in almost immediately. Would it matter that I don’t really fit the glamour model look, especially not now my body’s changing shape? And how would it feel producing/directing a two day shoot in my low-tech production mode with two of the most accomplished, experienced filmmakers in the business?

I’d say that of course I needn’t have worried, because AJR and Hywel are also two of the loveliest, most generous, pleasant people I’ve ever worked with, and I can’t imagine them ever being tactless about operating on a less ambitious scale than usual for a new baby website. Except actually, I think worrying about it was quite good for me: it meant I upped my game in terms of pre-shoot planning, and was much more organised than usual. I’d like to think that I’ll continue to be a bit better prepared now for future shoots. I learned a huge amount from working with them and watching them work, and was a bit overwhelmed by the whole experience – but in a good way.

Amelia was in charge of coming up with ideas for the Restrained Elegance shoot, and I think a little creative one-up-womanship snuck in as we emailed scenarios back and forth. She proposed 1940s interrogations, lady pirates tied together by their hair, captives in predicament bondage, and slavegirls playing a chess game with BDSM forfeits. Not to be outdone, I threw Victorian ghost stories, con-artists, underground D/S clubs, sword-fighting superheroes and food porn into the ring.

Of course, it wasn’t a competition – but I think both of us appreciated the chance to write scenes which were a little wilder than the content we usually get to shoot. Amelia/Ariel and I have a lot of overlapping tastes, and are both somewhat unusual in the spanking industry in being interested in willing submission as well as the more traditional role of unwilling spankee (although technically Amelia-Jane Rutherford isn’t ever submissive – she leaves that to her alter ego, Ariel Anderssen). As I was fretting about not looking enough like a glamour model, Hywel was keen to take advantage of shooting with a genuinely kinky player, and shoot some BDSM videos that would be beyond the limits of many of the models they work with. We both ended up with a good balance, I think; each coming away with a couple of classic scenarios, and one or two entirely off-the-wall ones. I think it’s a toss up whether their chess-game-with-forfeits or my canings-with-dessert video was the looniest…

I’m told that the first video from this shoot will be published on Restrained Elegance towards the end of October, and I’ll be able to share more details about the things we shot for my site with you all very soon. In the meantime, Hywel has been good enough to send me screengrabs of the chess game and the pirates in bondage, and I don’t think he’d mind if I showed some of them to you:

Like this post? Don’t click here.

Fear and forgetfulness

I was originally planning to tell you about the whipping Tom gave me on New Year’s Day, in the spirit of starting the year as you mean to continue. But we’ve played again since then and, to my dismay, the scenes are already blurring together in my memory.

Two scenes in one week is less common for us than you might imagine. 2008 was a difficult year in many ways, and health problems, work, house moves have all got in the way of kinky activities. Not that our relationship has suffered – we’ve always been very good at looking after each other, and the last few months have seen a lot of cooking and relaxing together, gentle spankings and snuggling. And all that is lovely. But we’ve both missed the other stuff. Since we first hooked up six years ago our relationship has been defined by the breathtaking intensity we can achieve together, the severity we both crave.

Tom is an extremely careful and responsible dominant. He would much rather wait than risk a scene when he’s exhausted and his judgement might be impaired. So we’ve been waiting, and for the most part he’s been much more patient than I have.

Now that, gradually, we’re rediscovering our energy; now that we’re finding a space we can play in, re-awarkening the spark that was always there, it’s a source of joy to us both. And it’s scary, at least for me.

Not at the time, not really. He knows me very well. When we started on the first morning of the new year, he began by kissing me down the length of my body, a kiss that built slowly to a deeply satisfying orgasm that left me smiling and languorous. I had sleepily started to return the favour when he told me to set up the pillows in the middle of the bed, and in my soft, contented state it didn’t even occur to me to be frightened.

He was gentle with me, at first. He started with a thin bamboo switch, playing it rapidly over my bottom and thighs in a way that only tingled at first, the sensation building so lightly that it didn’t panic me. I stayed relaxed, only moaning more deeply as the flickering switch started to cut more deeply.

I can’t remember exactly what was next. At one point he cropped me, a slow series of hard strokes that covered every heated inch of my bottom. At another he definitely paddled me, and I think it was because I’d started to shrink away from the sharper pain, my will rising like bile and coming between us. He was kind, and the paddle achieved the effect he was after – I stopped fighting back, accepting the pain and letting it wash over me.

Sorry for the poor quality, but I do like the perfect crop mark in this, just at the top of my left thigh.

The final implement that day was the martinet, with the thick square-tipped leather thongs that are terrifyingly heavy if used with full force. The ends whip around and strike the soft sides of the flank as if bullets were sewn into them. He started with it after the crop, but I twitched away from the sensation, unable to relax into it. The scattered peppering of the tips bit into me seemingly at random, and all the warmth the crop had wakened in me seemed to flee. I shied away, plaintive and frightened. And he was merciful, and followed my lead when I suggested the paddle. The even, solid sensation of the wood after the stinging, difficult martinet was strangely soothing.

But he returned to the martinet afterwards, with 24 heavy strokes. I remember not liking those, either, but it was easier to submit to them gracefully after he’d granted my request for the paddle.

The other scene, too, started with a switching – the plastic cat toy, although at first I thought it was one of our thin canes. That evening it was the heavy leather strap that made me flinch away, made him tone down his strokes to ones I could manage. I was disappointed, afterwards, that he hadn’t continued at the heavier pace, but we both knew that I would have rebelled and it would have been miserable. He caned me, afterwards, and it was delicious, but I was tormented by the knowledge that he’d gone easy on me – and, worse, that if he hadn’t I wouldn’t have been able to cope.

We ended up talking about it a few days later, about the depth of my submission to him these days, how my growing adult independence and the difficulties of last year – among other things – have affected how much I’m able to give him. I think spanking modelling is a part of it, too.

When we’re playing, nowadays, I’m less interested in what he wants and much more focussed on my own needs. If I crave a particular sensation, my body is stubborn and he can’t easily persuade me to enjoy something I’m not in the mood for. And that isn’t how it should be. What he wants should be enough; it should be arousing by the simple fact of it being him that wants it. Of course I trust him not to go beyond my limits. I’m talking here about my mercuriality, my moodiness, my desire to stay in control of what’s happening. I’m working on changing it. The conversation we had about this was positive, if difficult. I’m still learning how to submit as an adult as deeply as I did when I was a teenager, but without the unhealthy elements of obsession and dependence which coloured our relationship then.

And re-learning how to give a scene to him, after years of building up my professional self-knowledge and control, is hard. When I’m filming I have a responsibility to my top to stay in control of myself, to be aware of my limits. When I’m subbing, I explicitly surrender that responsibility. Or at least, I should.

I want to learn to let go again. I miss the euphoria and intimacy of total surrender. I miss being able to fly. But it’s a big emotional leap, and we’re both nervous about whether I’ll be able to make it.

Playing long, erotic scenes that re-awaken my senses definitely helps. Remembering how hot pain can be definitely helps. But Tom’s gentleness is predicated partly on my reluctance to let him push me. The fact that, in both of the scenes this week, I was never truly frightened is not necessarily a good thing. I need to be frightened again; I need to trust him to take me places I hadn’t necessarily planned for, and carry me through them. Hot as they are, the scenes tailored to my enjoyment will never really be enough.

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