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Supermodel spanked by Santa

Posted at 14:09 on 9 Dec 2014 by Pandora Blake

I was feeling the need for a bit of light relief when my boyfriend sent me this, from US Magazine:

Kendall Jenner is featured in a new behind-the-scenes video for Love magazine's annual Advent calendar, and it sure is naughty.

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Tags: corrupting the innocent, Kendall Jenner, media, seasonal spankings, spanked by Santa

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Birthday spankings

Posted at 21:21 on 5 Jul 2012 by Pandora Blake

Happy birthday to me! Actually it was my birthday last week, and I'm happy to say that I spent it almost entirely away from the computer. The night before I enjoyed playing drinking/forfeit/spanking games with Molly and her friends, and on my birthday morning she treated me to a champagne breakfast in the sunny garden. The day was so warm that Molly, Pilot and I went for a dip in the cold brown river before putting me on a train to visit Tom... where more spankings, good food, good beer, presents and live music awaited me. It was a pretty much perfect day. Then I saw D and Jacq at the weekend for dressing up, debauchery, cuddles and my requested birthday threesome, which was just as much fun as I'd hoped it would be.

I was thoroughly spoiled when it came to presents - and perhaps it's indicative of my life these days that most of them were kinky. Molly gave me a handmade book of 'gift vouchers' allowing me to claim such luxuries as breakfast in bed, and various erotic favours, at times of my choosing. Tom gave me a little gorilla pod for my video camera, ideal for popping on top of bedside furniture to shoot homemade porn. D gave me a strap-on (!!!!!) including a dildo I picked out, and oh wow, I have enjoyed every minute of that these last few days. (Hopefully, so have Jacq and Molly.)

As for the birthday spankings... they all involved my new leather strap which I brought back from Texas, and which is my new favourite toy. I've been looking for something like it for years. It's wide, soft and you can use it full force without doing massive damage. I love it. It hurts, yes, but the pain is thick and warm, a huge thuddy impact that feels like being slammed into the floor. It makes your skin tingle and your gluts ache, and I could take it forever and ever.

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Tags: Dreams of Spanking, featured photos, kink, Molly Malone, seasonal spankings, strap, Thomas Cameron, Videos

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Hot and cold

Posted at 22:35 on 8 Feb 2012 by Pandora Blake

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?"

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Tags: D, featured photos, Fetish clubbing, Jacq, kink, Photos, seasonal spankings

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Kink over Christmas

Posted at 23:47 on 30 Dec 2011 by Pandora Blake

Unlike previous years, this Christmas saw me doing the family thing in a big way. I'd been hermitting so much in the run-up to my site launch that I'd barely left the flat. I haven't talked to my parents about my new baby business yet (although I want to soon, if I can muster up the courage) and after not seeing much of my family for ages, I was looking forward to some time with them. We spent Christmas day with D's sprawling, extended family, most of whom I hadn't met before, and then drove to my parents' on Boxing Day for a couple of days with them, my siblings and close family friends.

So I didn't really get any space to breathe: site launch on the 23rd, frantically baking, doing long overdue housework and wrapping presents on the 24th while diving online every few minutes to check my email, Twitter and CCBill account, then heading out on the 25th on hardly any sleep. It was a hardcore context shift, and I was convinced that I was going to slip up in a moment of tiredness or drunken distraction and accidentally let slip what's been going on with me for the last six months. I'm close to my parents and hate lying to them, which makes answering the "so how's work going?" questions an endless mess of half-truths and vagueness.

To my enduring relief, I managed to get away with it, and didn't say anything I shouldn't.

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Tags: D, kink, seasonal spankings

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The rites of spring

Posted at 01:07 on 7 May 2011 by Pandora Blake

This week began with my betrothed and I taking a walk in the woods. It was May day morning and the bluebells were thick and vibrant underfoot. We found a secluded grove and made a mini-camp, our picnic and thermos stowed under a cloak so we could roam unhindered. We rambled through woods coppiced and untended, enjoying the bright spaces and thick spring growth in the former, and the romantic tangles and looped tendrils of dead honeysuckle in the latter.

Having worked up an appetite we returned to our picnic spot and had breakfast. Once we'd feasted Tom struck out and came back with a straight, tapered length of young sweet chestnut sapling. He used his knife to strip the knots and buds from it while I wove a garland for my hair out of honeysuckle and hazel leaves.

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Tags: dominance and submission, kink, outdoor, seasonal spankings, switch, Thomas Cameron, treehugger

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My edible Valentine

Posted at 16:25 on 18 Feb 2011 by Pandora Blake

I like food a lot. It will therefore come as no surprise that my Valentine's celebrations this week have involved some truly excellent cookery. The remarkable thing is that I didn't do any of it myself. Normally I'm the feeder in my relationships - but this week I've been thoroughly spoiled with some delicious dinners.

D, at the weekend, was the exception. He's not a big chef. But that was okay; after an all-nighter on the town, we'd digested too many stimulants to have much appetite for food in any case. Instead we took to bed for a luxurious, lazy Sunday - snuggles, sleep (well, I managed some, I'm not sure D did) followed by hours of slow, drowsy debauchery. He also gave me a card which entertained me no end:



Think of the possibilities! I can place it pointing at my work desk; pointing at my bed; pointing at friends I want to annoy amuse. First, though, of course, I had to arrange it pointing at D's butt. Which is, I have to confess, fairly edible.



On Monday I saw Penny, and I've already written about what we got up to during the day - which was certainly adult and very entertaining, but not especially appetising. The evening, however, was a gastronomic triumph in five courses (although we never actually got as far as the cheese). Baked pumpkin risotto balls with parmesan; broccoli and stilton soup; pasta with mushrooms, garlic and pancetta in a cream and wine sauce; bread and butter pudding with homemade Seville marmalade. She knows the route to a lady's heart, alright - and she's pretty tasty herself.

Then last night, Tom treated me to a belated Valentine's dinner at home. We'd had an extended scene planned which it turned out I was too tired for (to my disappointment - but we'll find another date), so I was prepared for a quiet evening. At the last minute he decided to spoil me rotten, and surprised me with an unexpected three course dinner. Tsatsiki, houmous and pitta dippers to start, then pan-fried marinated lamb steaks in garlic and rosemary, with roasted vegetables and cheesy cauliflower. Plus strawberries with vanilla cream for dessert. Oh, man.

*brief interlude to eat leftover toasted pitta strips and red pepper houmous (nomnomNOM)*

But the biggest and best surprise came later that night - after we'd repaired to the bedroom and I'd been lavished with affection, cuddles, and an over-the-knee spanking which didn't push my tired body too far. As if all that wasn't enough, he then presented me with the best. Valentine. EVER:



They're giant chocolate biscuits with icing and HANDPRINTS. Edible spanko valentines! OMG!



Would you be wooed by this man?



The first hand and spanked ass disappeared quite quickly. Luckily, there were two more sets in the bottom of the box :)



(They're by a kinky friend of ours who's just setting up shop as a confectioner. Aren't they awesome? As a thank you to her I thought I'd let you know she was taking orders, in case there's anyone who fancies giving their own partner a delicious spanko gift. They're 10 for one hand/heart or 20 for three, including P&P. Let me know if you're interested and I'll pass it on!)

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Tags: funny, kink, other pictures, seasonal spankings

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Unwrapped

Posted at 13:48 on 27 Dec 2010 by Pandora Blake

Merry Christmas and season's greetings! I've had a lovely few days at home with the boys, making, eating and drinking impressive quantities of delicious things, enjoying (and gently mocking) the Doctor Who Christmas Special, sitting round the fire playing silly parlour games, inviting friends over and all those other traditional midwinter activities. Hope you've had a restful and cheering time, whatever you've been up to.

D and I have also taken advantage of the time off work to jump each other's bones at every opportunity. We've had late-night Christmas Eve sex when I was exhausted and in pain and he methodically and selflessly took his time in making me feel better; tipsy post-prandial Christmas Day sex, giggly and uninhibited after too many champagne cocktails; and lazy extended Boxing Day sex, dipping in and out throughout a long mellow afternoon (and amusing Tom no end when he unwittingly disturbed us a couple of times). I particularly enjoyed having my breasts slapped with a small piece of wood D found which remarkably resembled a ruler.

    

Wishing you all a happy holidays, however you're spending them, and that you get to enjoy some quality time with your loved ones. Hope you've had as much fun unwrapping your presents as we have ours!

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Tags: D, Photos, seasonal spankings

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Halloween Switchery

Posted at 17:46 on 31 Oct 2010 by Pandora Blake

I'd hoped to have more time to blog this week, but it's all go in my offline world. I've just met Catherine Thomas for the first time, which was a treat, and there's been lots of Halloween-related foolery. We donned witches' hats for a party last night (hardly counts as a proper costume - goth plus a pointy hat, basically) and there's another tonight, which I'm considering going to as Eve.

In the meantime, there's not been much time for kink, although you'd be surprised at how masochistic it is to spend three hours scooping the flesh out of pumpkins to carve - my poor bruised and blistered hand is only just recovering. Lucky I'm not a spanker, really.

So I'll leave you with another audio snippet which I recorded a couple of weeks ago, and have been saving up for the appropriate day. Like the last poem, this is by my correspondent Jim, and has me taking a rather toppier role...

Switchery (1:30)
(Click to play or download)


(Thanks to RohrstockPalast for the photo!)

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Tags: audio stories, other pictures, seasonal spankings, switching

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A birthday beating

Posted at 13:07 on 30 Jun 2010 by Pandora Blake

Last week Tom and I were idly discussing ideas to celebrate my birthday. I mentioned that I was hoping for a birthday caning; we've both been incredibly busy with work since the move, and a play session was long overdue. To my relief, he said he'd been thinking along similar lines.

"Have you bought me a present?" I asked, both bashful and hopeful. Money's tight at the moment and I forgot Tom's present earlier this year, so I wasn't going to throw a tantrum if he hadn't organised anything. My fears were put to rest by a flashing grin from him.

"Yes. Although I didn't buy it, I acquired it. And I haven't oiled it yet."

Mysteries heaped upon mysteries! I decided to not test my deductive skills on his puzzle, and look forward to my surprise.

--

The mystery was almost revealed last night, as we were getting ready to play. Tom was making Unknown Preparations in his room, and I was taking the opportunity to tidy up mine a bit. On my way to the bathroom I glanced through his open door and saw him feeding implements into the long leather swordbag he uses to organise toys. He noticed me looking. "Well, that's torn that one," I heard him mutter after I'd passed.

I mulled on this for a moment. We'd already agreed there would be Play, and probably a Birthday Caning. The sight of Tom packing toys, including canes, was no surprise to me. I realised there must have been something specific he wanted me to not see - an unexpected implement, perhaps. His martinet? He likes it and we don't use it much .... was he going to make me play a guessing game later? On my way back I called through the open door (without looking) and reassured him that the surprise hadn't been ruined.

"Do you want me to get changed?" I asked

"That's entirely up to you, love."

More mulling. This means: 1) He isn't planning anything particularly elaborate or formal, 2) This is going to be a consensual, erotic play session rather than challenging D/s, and 3) He doesn't have a particular fantasy he wants me to perform for him. Fair enough. We've not played much lately and relaxed is probably the way forward. Nonetheless, I decided I wanted some help getting in the mood, and swapped my combats and t-shirt for a black satin nightie which barely skims my thighs. I kept my black knickers on, though, in deference to the spanko aesthetic that wants layers to peel away (and, to be fair, to my out-of-practice bottom).

The nightie helped diminish the body self-consciousness I've been feeling lately, and also put me into that slinky, confident, grown-up "I want this" mood which is an easy way to approach my masochism when I'm feeling nervous. The collar also helped: since we moved Tom's brought out the slim black velvet collar I made a year or so ago, less uncomfortable and unwieldy than the leather one, which presses against my windpipe and is really inconvenient when giving oral sex. This one is elegant, comfortable, and I'm looking forward to slowly imbuing it with significance, until I can slip into my subby headspace just by putting it on.

I went over his knee willingly and he started lightly, spanking the bare skin below my knickers and gradually warming me up. It was so light at first I found myself holding my breath, and then it was just yummy: tingly and stingy, each little impact eliciting a brief sweet ache in my gluts. I wriggled with delight, and I'm pretty sure it was obvious I was enjoying myself from the noises I was making.

He stepped up the pace. I pushed against the smacks, trying to struggle prettily, well aware of how out of practice and wimpy I was feeling. I found it easier to deal with the pain if I envisaged the spanking as if I was watching it. It sounds really weird, fantasising about a spanking as you're being spanked, but when you're fantasising a spanking is the hottest thing in the world, and when you're being spanked it just hurts, and so combining the two kind of makes sense. I sneaked a peek over my shoulder at his hand coming down on my bare ass and that, too, made it easier to take.

When he got harder still, and sped up so his hand was landing again and again without pause, all my strategies flew out of my head. It really hurt! I found myself wriggling and whining, trying not to scream my head off, all too aware of the open window. So much for maintaining my dignity. I think there was a certain amount of involuntary pleading before he finally let me up, and when he did I was surprised to discover that I was sulking.

"I was enjoying that until you went too hard!" I pouted. He, quite rightly, ignored this moment of out-of-character bratting, gave me a rub and told me to arrange pillows in the bed for my birthday beating.

By the time I was arranged arse up, knickers pulled down to my knees and nightie tucked up around my waist, I was resolved to take what was coming to me. My sore bottom had faded to a pleasant warmth, and I was aware that despite my protests my cunt was hot and wet.

It was in that position that my surprise was revealed. "26 strokes, was it?" Tom asked casually, showing me his new toy:





He told me how he'd found it in the basement of our new house, and showed it to me with delight. I couldn't deny it was beautiful. An original vintage razor strop, left in a dusty corner by some previous owners. The embossed wording is barely legible (something about Genuine Shell Horse?) and the scrapes on the leather showed clear signs of use (I guess he didn't get round to oiling it); it is a truly unique item, and we both enjoyed the idea of the house itself making us this unexpectedly suitable gift. But mostly, all my sulky brain could think was: 26 strokes with a razor strop? That's my birthday present?

It wasn't until Tom had nipped to his room for a screwdriver so he could remove the metal link at the "business" end of the strop that I put two and two together, and realised the strokes weren't just my present, the strop itself was a gift. He'd been showing me my new toy, not his! I suddenly felt like an ungrateful wretch for not realising immediately, but fortunately I was already due the kind of strapping which would easily deal with that kind of guilt.

So, somewhat mollified but still racked with nerves, I bent over for a taste of the new strop, bracing myself for a session which I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be able to take.

Of course, Tom is not an irresponsible sadist, and he knew as well as I did how out of practice I was. So he started gently, letting me get a feel for the sensation and weight of the leather. As I got over my panic and adjusted to the pace he was setting, he increased the strength of the strokes. I didn't take it easily, grimacing at every stroke in my efforts to process the pain. Looking back, it was very well delivered; even at the time, I appreciated the accuracy with which he pitched the strokes, never so hard or fast it freaked me out, but enough to give me something to chew on, as it were, and to leave me satisfied. My only concern was that the strop was very weighted towards the tip, and after the third stroke in a row landed at the top of my right thigh, I started to worry about bruising. (He graciously allowed me to interrupt my whipping to tell him this; I was being unusually mouthy last night.)

It's a gorgeous implement - warm, without the same sting as a split-tailed tawse, but with a real percussive punch in the tip which could provide serious impact if used at force. By the end my sulks had dissipated enough that I even told him I'd liked it. He grinned. "Happy birthday."

I wasn't particularly surprised when he got another implement out and announced that I would be getting another 26. I complained, of course - I'm 26, not 52! - but wasn't completely wiped out yet, although I doubted I could make it through another two sets if he decided to round it up to three. The second implement was some kind of cane, and from past experience it seemed likely that he'd use a middle range one now and one of the serious ones next -

- the first canestroke shattered my thoughts, landing low on my bottom with an impact I could feel all through my hips. I cried out, remembered I needed to count, and with difficulty asked if I needed to count from 27 or 1. The next two felt just as hard, and I realised I was freaking out. This caning was way more heavy than I'd expected; the wood felt incredibly dense all along the burning line where it landed, as if several pounds of weight were condensing in that one fierce stripe. My panic must have shown in my reactions, because he paused and asked if I was okay. I'm afraid I didn't respond very submissively. I complained that I felt very bruisable, and the cane felt very heavy, and I hadn't played much lately ...

He took my concerns on board, and the next few were much easier to take. I wavered between feeling like a coward and being glad he'd listened to me. But my subby mood was lost; every time a stroke felt "too much" I responded with annoyance, and by the time I'd taken 26 strokes, even relatively gentle ones, I was thoroughly put out. His second "happy birthday" fell on profoundly ungrateful ears.

I stayed in position for a few minutes after it was over, trying to process my mood. Tom settled down beside me and offered strokings or a cuddle, but I needed to work out what was going on in my head and get over myself. I was furious with myself for slipping out of sub mode, especially when wearing my collar; rejecting the symbol in that way sets up negative reinforcement and makes it less powerful. My pride was hurt that I'd needed to ask for him to go easy on me, and I was bewildered that I hadn't enjoyed the caning as much as I'd hoped.

Eventually I cooled off, the throbbing in my bottom subsided to a pleasant buzz, and I apologised for my wobble interrupting the scene, and offered to continue if he wanted. He said he'd intended to stop after the cane (which, it turned out, was his Master cane, 12mm of dense unsmoked dragon), and tried to reassure me I hadn't wiggled out of anything he'd planned for me. I persisted, though: I think I kind of wanted to write over my unwanted reactions to the caning; get it "right" next time, achieve the intimacy and connection I was looking for. I asked for a "warm down" and hoped he'd understand what I was after.

I rejected the hairbrush and the riding crop before accepting the idea of the switch. I thought that sounded about right. I was well aware that this wasn't how a submissive behaves in scene, and I was a bit disappointed with myself for being so inflexible, but hey, at least we were talking it through.

Grateful that he was pandering to my weird mood, and determined to make things better between us, I threw myself passionately into the switching. I knelt up at the head of the bed with my elbows resting on the headboard, back arched, thighs spread, bottom out. It was everything I needed: light, playful, and hot hot hot. I felt beautiful and his again by the time my final whipping stopped, and I was soaking wet. I wanted his cock in me, and after some breathtaking preliminaries, I got exactly what I wanted. By the time he whispered a final "happy birthday" into my ear, we were both drenched with sweat, and I was happy and sated.

I suspect it'll take a little time before I'm able to be as flexible as we'd both like in scene. D/s should be about obedience, not a set-piece tailored to my expectations. I'm extremely grateful to Tom for his caution and patience in not pushing me faster than I can go. I have a huge amount of respect for his motivation in wanting to ease me back into our D/s relationship gently. But at the same time, I am hungry for the feelings 'true' submissiveness provides, and frustrated with myself for not having it to offer on tap. I want to relearn it, to let go enough that I can give him what he wants and enjoy the sense of release surrender brings, without being hung up on what I want and inadvertently topping from the bottom.

I'm aware of the irony in these noble submissive intentions still being couched in the language of I want.

This morning, of course, my bottom was unmarked despite my fears during the caning last night. I guess, at the moment, my body can take more than my head can. We've agreed that this clearly indicates that harder canings are needed. But, as Tom keeps telling me, there's no harm in being patient.

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Tags: cane, dominance and submission, hand spanking, kink, learning curves, razor strop, seasonal spankings, switch, Thomas Cameron

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Linden flowers

Posted at 21:41 on 4 May 2009 by Pandora Blake

I came home from a magical May weekend to discover this beautiful post by Abby Williams. She wrote a 250-word story for a writing challenge, "based on a dream I had a year ago about Pandora telling me she'd 'dreamed about the linden tree again.'" Of course I am a sucker for hearing about myself, but I would have found this story compelling and haunting anyway.

It's funny that I should be associated with the linden tree. I can't remember if Abby wrote to me about that dream when she had it, but linden has a special meaning for me. The tea is well known for its healing properties; I prefer the taste of it to camomile and often drink it at the end of the day. But mostly I drink it for the profound sense-memory associated with it, of the first weekend I played with Tom.

I was nineteen, still an undergraduate, and it was our first date. We'd ended up in bed sometime the previous year, in complicated circumstances that led to us falling out of touch for a few months. When we picked things up he decided to do things properly. My young self was thoroughly, expertly woo'd. I can still remember the tingling excitement of receiving his love letters in the college post. He dressed me up, took me out and swept me off my feet.

Here's what I wrote in my personal journal when I got home:

Everything about the last three days has been almost feverishly acute, from the moment I collected my post on Friday to find a white lily corsage had been delivered for me only an hour before, chosen to perfectly complement the antique jet-beaded jacket I would be wearing that night. And then that moment when we stepped through the doors of Simpson's in the Strand wearing full Victorian period costume; the way he passed his umbrella and top hat to the cloakroom attendant with absolute gravity while I couldn't keep from grinning. And the champagne cocktails and madeira and wine and port and cigars, and the most extravagant dinner I have ever had bought for me, and not getting to sleep until 6am (at which point he had to go to Oxford to see his other partner) and sleeping until mid-afternoon in his bed that was specially built to comfortably sleep four (including provision for two of them to be tied down to it), and making myself linden tea in that huge empty house and reading the Iliad in a room smelling of pipe tobacco and sex.

And, of course, the utterly inexpressible contentment of having to sleep on my front each night so as to avoid putting any weight on the new bruises. And, then, this morning, coming back from the bathroom wearing Thomas' black silk dressing gown to find the low-backed, oaken chair arranged exactly as it had been on Friday night - white silk scarves for my wrists and ankles, a red knotted one for my mouth - and my sheer, animal terror at the thought of my already welted and swollen skin. And him sitting in the armchair with the cane resting, unobtrusively, on his lap, waiting for me.

Linden has long been "the tree of lovers". When I drink it now, I'm taken straight back to that sunny, sleepy Saturday, almost five years ago to the day. Lazing in his bed, still half-drunk with desire, drinking linden tea and falling in love with him.

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Tags: kink, seasonal spankings, Short stories, Thomas Cameron

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