Flying the Flag

New Zealand isn’t huge on flags like some nations – but there are still a few around. Enough that you know you’re in New Zealand and not Australia (who have a similar flag – we have four stars; they have six). Places you’re always guaranteed to see the New Zealand flag in Auckland (provided it’s not too windy) are on the top of the Harbour Bridge and in Cornwall Park. Oh my! That’s where Modesty Ablaze, her hubby, and I met up for lunch

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Shady Assets

In which Katie and Dee flash their stuff!

So there are all these gazebos at Cornwall Park – they’re very popular, naturally, as they’re shady spots and you don’t have to worry about getting a damp bum on the ground, or sitting on roots. But we were determined to find one that wasn’t already occupied, because damn, we wanted to get a photo at one. How often do you find a gazebo?

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Heated Spaces

A winter’s day.

Good company.

A hot fire, and no clothes…

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Monumental

A few weeks ago I had the grand pleasure of meeting up with Modesty Ablaze and her hubby for lunch followed by an afternoon of Scavenger Hunting – a rare treat for a sex blogger in New Zealand! Katie and Hubby had flown into Auckland the day before, and thanks to great forward planning (that is, an email from her just before New Years, and the occasional back and forth since to check it was still on) we were all very much looking forward to it.

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Rope

This article was originally written for express magazine online in June 2011. It was written for those without much rope experience. All photos (so far as I can recall) were taken by Kiana at various workshops and play parties.

It’s marvellously versatile, rope. Sure, you can use it for securing the load on your trailer, but it’s a hell of a lot more exciting winding it around limbs, across skin, and creating patterns that you know can stay impressed on flesh for hours later.

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Showing It All Off

What was I showing off? My udders and my arse – they were definitely on display at the party Hylas and I attended last month, celebrating the life and times of the Marquis de Sade.

Naturally, we needed to get some photos we took before heading in! (A little black dress slipped on nicely for the drive, and then slipped off again immediately after we arrived). My pet’s balcony once again provided the perfect backdrop for displaying my pretties.

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Cow Number 1 on Lambda Farm

Once there was a young red heifer, wandering across the fields. She had lost her herd: there was no farm she called home, nor any farmer’s whistle she recognised as familiar.

The cow was unaware that the sensation she felt deep below her stomachs, day after day, was loneliness – she had been weaned long since, and so all she had to do each day was amble and munch upon pasture grass (and wildflowers, when she came across them) for the long slow turning of the earth.

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White Wine in the Sun

If you’ve never heard ‘White Wine in the Sun’ by Tim Minchin, then you’re missing out – and the video is at the end of this post if you want to hear it. For me it’s one of the few (too damned few, in my opinion) songs that really capture what it is to celebrate at Christmas-time in the Southern Hemisphere.

Not for us, the snow, the cold, the bundled-upness and heavy food. Instead, being in the middle of summer: we have warm weather, chilled drinks, swimming togs. There are outdoor celebrations in the backyard, at a park or at the beach and there’s plenty of sunblock (and a parasol, usually).

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Placed Around My Neck

Two years ago today, m’Lady placed a collar around my neck. This meant something very special to us both, but we didn’t make a big deal out of it – there was no celebration, no ceremony, no party (there was a lot of fucking, though!). Instead, beforehand we’d talked extensively about whether a D/s dynamic, specifically ownership, was something we both wanted. Before my visit to see eir I’d also arranged to have the collar custom-made by my friend Kiana, and we’d discussed the type of leather to be used, the shape and style, size and width of it.

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Beat My Feet, Please!

Here’s how it is with my feet: I hate having them tickled. I really don’t like having needles stuck in them – whether it’s for acupuncture or for kink. Like many people, I find that having them rubbed is blissful. And I happen to think that having them beaten, smacked, flogged and cropped – especially if it’s heavy, thuddy and hard – is about the best damned thing ever.

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