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Switch marks

Posted at 19:23 on 15 Nov 2011 by Pandora / Blake

Here are some photos from years ago which I never got round to posting. They're from a scene I played with HH back in 2007.

I was the nervous niece bringing a letter home from school, knowing I was in for it. He was my uncle, furious that I'd disappointed him. I was sent out into the garden with a pair of shears with my dress tucked into my knickers, and told to return with some suitable switches. Nervewracking: trying to cut the knobbly bits off each one, anxious that they'll be too thick and heavy, or that he'll deem them not thick and heavy enough and I'll incur further punishment.

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Tags: featured photos, kink, Photos, school uniform, switch


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


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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Valentine's Subversion

Posted at 20:59 on 10 Feb 2010 by Pandora / Blake

On Saturday I took Tom to Club Subversion as part of our Valentine's celebration. (We don't take Valentine's that seriously, but I'm a bit soppy about my men and tend to get overexcited about opportunities to spoil them.) The three of us haven't done much fetish clubbing in the last year, we've mostly been too busy. But Tom and I in particular have been playing more than usual lately; I figured that one way or another, we'd probably have fun :)

I didn't even think about my outfit until the day before. This event was vampire-themed ('love at first bite') which, I have to admit, didn't particularly appeal. I considered doing something with devil horns, but eventually decided to ignore the theme and go for an easy, comfortable outfit which would flatter my recent weight gain. I settled on a 'harem girl' look; a beaded veil, flowing sleeves, and a belly dancer's coin belt slung low over transculent trousers slit open on each side. I accessorised with jangly bangles and blackberry nail varnish on my fingers and toes. Tom was doing his customary half-gentleman, half-scoundrel thing in leather trousers, velvet waistcoat and a white dress shirt open at the neck. Whenever he does the "dishevelled formal-wear" thing I always have trouble resisting the urge to lick his collarbones.

It was really great to see people, particularly my friend J whom I haven't seen since the shoot with Zille, and his partner. When we first found them upstairs J was involved in a triple-topping scene, himself and two stylish dommes (whom I think we saw running a classroom scene at my first ever Night of the Cane) attending to a young lady I vaguely know, who looked very pretty strung up on a St Andrew's Cross. A lot of people had done the vamp thing to the nines, and the overall effect was not unlike wandering into a kinky Camarilla event. We had fun watching people and chatting - Subversion is such a friendly, welcoming club there's a danger of spending the whole time talking.

Unfortunately Tom's health was not at its best. He warned me shortly after we settled in that he might not be up to anything energetic, and I was glad to have friends to chat to when he went outside for a bit to clear his head.

So I was surprised and pleased when, a little while later, he whispered that he was inclined to find an available whipping bench and spend some time doing wicked things to me. It was a busy club, but he'd kept an eye on a black padded bench in the corner, and when it was vacated we moved over. All our friends were sitting in clear view of it - I used to feel a bit odd about playing in front of friends rather than strangers, but my exhibitionist streak must have developed, because this time I found the idea actively exciting.

I was kneeling down by the bench, kissing his hand and taking a quiet moment to get in sync with him in the crowded club, when another couple slipped past us and started using the bench. Not much we could do about it: there's always competition for furniture, and the window of opportunity in which we could have challenged their claim passed before it occurred to either of us to try. No big deal, anyway - we'd no doubt find somewhere eventually, even if it wasn't in front of a crowd of people we knew.

We ended up upstairs, being watched by a growing crowd that included J and his partner, but no other familiar faces. I bent over a spanking bench which may well have been the same one we played on last April. Tom removed the jingling coin belt and pulled the loose trousers down to reveal my bottom. He started to whip me, lightly, with one of his little switches. The more we play with these the hornier they make me. Playing in a club, where you can't easily hear each other, is always slightly odd - I feel like my gasps are being drowned in the background noise. I tried to respond physically as much as possible to keep him aware of how I was feeling, and he helped the connection by checking in with me regularly, stroking my hair and whispering things in my ear.

I responded to the whipping with enthusiasm. I was ready for this, I wanted it; I wanted to make him proud. He used the heavy brown tawse on me, which I used to be so scared of but am gradually warming up to. I watched J and his lady drift away from watching us; he bent her over an item of furniture on the other side of the room, and as I was gritting my teeth through the tawse strokes I half-watched him preparing to flog her.

After Tom had warmed up my bottom, he drew me to a kneeling position, and guided me round so I was sitting on the edge of the bench. He told me to put my hands behind my back. "Look at me," he said, and then held my eyes as he proceeded to switch my breasts. I could feel the eyes of all the watchers - and sense the movements of all the figures wandering past, ignoring what was happening. The tip of the switch on the curve of my breasts was sensual and delicious, but he took careful aim and landed several sharp flicks right on my tender, erect nipples. It hurt so much I twisted and cried out, and when my eyes met his again they were fearful. He gave me a few more strokes, just because he could, and then a slow, predatory grin spread across his handsome face.

"Now," he growled, "I'm ready to cane you."

Back over the bench I went, shivering with sensation and anticipation. "I'm going to give you 36 strokes," he told me quietly. "No need to count them. Just keep your bottom pushed out for me, and make sure you return to your position after each stroke."

I devoured that caning. The bench was too short for my arms and body, so to hang onto the other side comfortably my hips were bent, and my bottom jutted vulnerably over my bare feet. (Tom had carefully removed my slippers when one of them threatened to fly off during the switching.) I breathed with the strokes, concentrated on remaining obedient and graceful, on keeping my back arched and my bottom offered up to him submissively. It must have hurt a lot, because halfway through I peeked and realised he was using the Master cane, 12mm of stiff dragon tailored to the needs of Tom's reach and my arse. It has a thick, firm bite that seems to resonate through my pelvis, and it leaves glorious bruises. But I was so aroused, so focussed on being pleasing and taking the strokes well, so utterly subsumed by the moment, that the experience consisted of almost pure pleasure. Or, if pain - and there must have been pain, even if the physical memory has faded - entirely the right kind of pain.

The only blip in an otherwise dreamy scene was when we were interrupted by a random woman who - apparently, although Tom handled it so well I was totally unaware of what was happening at the time - marched into the scene without making eye contact with either of us and started berating Tom for bruising me. That was the first time I realised how hard we were playing, and when I caught sight of the cane he was using. I'd been floating so high I thought he'd been using one of the safe, medium canes, but the knowledge he was bruising me lent an extra frisson to the rest of the caning.

Afterwards I breached all reasonable etiquette by twisting round and kissing him enthusiastically. I perched on my hot, welted bottom on the end of the bench, kissing him deeply, running my hands up and down his back and wrapping my legs around his waist. I was ridiculously turned on. I can't imagine anyone paying attention could have been seriously worried that the scene was nonconsensual!

I was on a high for the rest of the night. I straddled his lap, stealing many more kisses, and persuaded him to lay me across his knees for a warm hand-spanking on my bruised bottom. I could have happily kept playing and playing.

We headed home not long after, as even the best caning can't mend a poorly Dom as well as sleep can. I had beautiful black and purple stripes to match my painted toenails, and after that scene I was more than willing to be taken to bed.

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Tags: breast punishment, cane, dominance and submission, Fetish clubbing, hand spanking, kink, Photos, switch, tawse, Thomas Cameron

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Fear and forgetfulness

Posted at 21:10 on 5 Jan 2009 by Pandora / Blake

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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Tags: cat toy switch, dominance and submission, kink, martinet, meta-analysis, paddle, Photos, riding crop, switch, Thomas Cameron


Willow weavers

Posted at 09:17 on 4 Jul 2008 by Pandora / Blake

I was recently responsible for constructing an outdoor installation for a national arts event. During the design process, one of my team members suggested weaving willow withies to create a couple of the sculptures. I've never worked with willow before, but I was grateful to my friend for the suggestion - the finished sculptures looked amazing, and it turns out willow is a common material in traditional crafts and construction.

I ordered two large bundles of it, and it arrived a couple of weeks before the event. Several hundred willow wands, each about eight foot long, tapering from a fingers-width at the thick end to a narrow point at the top. I was very excited about working with them, and when I had to supervise another part of the installation and a couple of the other artists in my team ended up doing all the weaving, I was pretty disappointed. As a result I made sure I salvaged as much of the undamaged willow as possible during the de-rig, and it came home with me. It's currently in bundles in my back garden, and I'm looking forward to spending some quality time weaving with it.

Of course, the alternative uses of willow withies haven't escaped me either. Right down to soaking the long wands before you weave them, the process of preparing willow is very familiar to those who share our interest. And I don't intend to waste the opportunity. I'm looking forward to selecting a couple of dozen long wands, cutting them down to size and dividing the resulting switches into a couple of birch bundles, one made up of thicker wands and one of thinner. I'm looking forward to putting aside a couple of the switches for use on their own. I'm looking forward to leaving the birches to soak overnight. (I have to say, though, that I'm definitely not looking forward to clearing the floor after my birching. Switches make a hell of a mess!)

Whether I'm looking forward to the birching itself is much more uncertain. At the moment, very much so - but then I've just been reading Zille Defeu's delightful write-up of her first ever birching, and I'm craving the sensations she enjoyed so much. Closer to the time, however, I'm sure I'll be much less keen...

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Tags: birch, corrupting the innocent, kink, switch


Saunas, harem girls and early Valentines spankings

Posted at 20:18 on 10 Feb 2008 by Pandora / Blake

Ouch, has it really been a fortnight since I last blogged? So much for furthering the cause of feminism with behind-the-scenes commentary!

My extracurricular activities have been even busier than usual recently. The weekend before last Mr Cameron and I went on our annual Shakespeare fest of acting, beer and music. It was tremendous fun, and for the first year we had a private room, but due to lots of late nights doing plays and drinking with our thespian friends, I'm afraid we didn't manage to fit any spanking in. We did spend a lot of time in the sauna, though - like eating very spicy food, I've always thought saunas offered a useful analogy for explaining why being spanked is fun. It starts out pleasantly warming, but over time builds up until the heat is almost unbearable. You endure it as long as you can, knowing that the longer you can last the better you'll feel afterwards. Eventually you can't take any more and you have to stop - but afterwards, the ordeal is rewarded by an invigorated feeling of glowing relaxation and energy.

While we were there it snowed on the Friday night. I was in the middle of an impromptu music session at the time, but some of my friends who were in the sauna took advantage of the weather to run outside, straight from the heat of the steamroom to frolic in the snow. Disappointingly, they didn't do more than run about a bit with towels still wrapped around themselves, letting the snowflakes melt on their arms and faces. I can understand that they didn't want shocked locals to call the police, but surely being whipped with birch switches is an essential part of the Swedish tradition?

Since returning from Elizabethan times to 21st century North London, I've been rushed off my feet, and I'm fully booked over the next couple of weeks, including another trip away. The good news for you guys is that this includes two shoots next week, both of which will hopefully result in new spanking photos to show you all! I'm looking forward to both of the shoots. One will hopefully involve lots of erotic spanking and Victorian underwear (yay!), and the other is with my old friends English Spankers.

Of course, next week also contains Valentines day, which can be one of the busiest periods of the year for us polyamorous types. I'm beginning to think that next year I might have to ignore Valentines for the sake of my sanity, but my beloveds and I do like taking the opportunity to indulge ourselves. I've spent most of the last couple of days in bed with Tom - he and I made time for our romantic celebrations a few days early, as we're both busy later in the week.

A good friend recently installed a couple of suspension points in my ceiling, but although we'd planned to make use of them, we never actually got around to it. But I did get soundly spanked several times over the course of the day; in pyjamas and out of them, over the knee, with hand, tawse, wooden paddle and thin whippy switch. I particularly enjoyed one over the knee spanking where he raised his right leg higher than normal, lifting my bottom high into the air and leaving me thorough exposed with my face buried in the pillows. I think my favourite was the paddling, though. He started slow, with a warm-up set of 12 and then another of 24, while I knelt over pillows in the middle of the bed with my pyjama bottoms around my knees. Then I got a "proper" set of 24, by the end of which I was shouting and kicking as each firm swat connected with my stinging flesh. I've discovered that a good yell is definitely the most therapeutic response to a hard thwack from a wooden paddle. It releases a lot of the overwhelming stimulation of every inch of my cheeks coming ablaze at once, allows me to process it and settle back down to wait for the next one. Cane strokes make me yelp and whimper, but I definitely find the paddle easier to endure if I let myself shout a bit.

I don't know if there are more spankings in store for me on the 14th - that's up to D, with whom I'm spending Valentines Day itself. What with shoots either side of it, if he's not in the mood my poor bottom will probably be glad of the rest! We are planning to go the Torture Garden Valentines Ball the following weekend, though, and what's the point of going to a fetish club if not to make use of the dungeon furniture?

I'll be dressing as a harem girl: low-slung, loose flowing trousers in shimmery, see-through fabric, with a matching bikini top jangling with little coins, and a veil covering my face. I don't know what my owner will have in store for me, but it could be anything from dancing for his pleasure to feeling the sting of his whip. Maybe he'll punish me for not having paid close enough attention at my bellydancing classes? I enjoy dancing, but I'm horribly self-conscious and find performing for people very difficult and humiliating - which makes for a powerful headspace in scenes. I've played a harem girl roleplay once before, and it was very memorable and intense.

I'm sure my new outfit will be put to good use on shoots as well as in private. If there any slavegirl or 'Arabian Nights' style scenarios you'd particularly like to see, let me know and I'll suggest them next time I'm filming :)

Anyway, enough of my rambling. I've got a busy few days coming up, but even so I'll try and post more regularly. I get a lot out of writing here, and I don't want to let myself get out of the habit. Self-discipline never was one of my strong points...

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Tags: acting, cane, dominance and submission, Fantasies, hand spanking, kink, making a scene, paddle, Spanking and bondage porn, switch, tawse


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