Paddle-fest

I rather like paddles. Some that I own are heavy thuddy bastards, and some are stingy light bastards. Some look and feel like they’ll deliver a thud (like that gorgeous wooden one above made by The Gunner’s Daughter) but sting incredibly instead. I’ve found that’s one of the downsides of paddles: no matter what I think they’re going to deliver when I get them, I never know for sure until someone’s whacked my bum with it.

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Score!

Unlike the majority of New Zealanders, I’m not a big fan of sports. I’m particularly not a big fan of rugby – I went to some games with family when younger, but if pressed I must admit to preferring cricket a bit more (the other big Kiwi sport). And I prefer roller derby most of all, probably because I know some players!

But despite not being a rugby fan, there are sports grounds everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Handily, where there’s a sports ground, there’s a scoreboard:

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Slutwear

When making my list of things to take to Melbourne last month, m’Lady requested that I bring a short (as in short!) skirt. While I have some very short dresses, a short skirt is unfortunately missing from my wardrobe – I tend to go for long and flowy. But that’s what friends are for! I asked Kiana if she could lend me one, knowing that when we’d been op-shopping recently she’d purchased an incredibly sexy one.

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Return to Derp

The last time I posted some of my ‘derp’ photos the response was unexpectedly positive – so I promised I’d do it again. Finally, here are some more of my not-so-good pictures, complete with closed eyes, stupid expressions, and strange poses:

Starting with both a stupid expression and a strange pose, this photo was taken back during my aquarium trip, where I was photographed by Delilah’s husband. The shark is a recommended photo opportunity, but I obviously did not make the most of it!

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Rubber Band Brilliance

Last Saturday night I got all dressed up, picked up Kiana, and off we went to a kink party at the Chilli Club. It was private invitation, a pre-event for the new CHoKE  – but boy was it packed! It was fantastic to arrive there and see friends, acquaintances, and new people all mixing in together. Not to mention having a good perve at everyone

The party had a theme of corporal punishment, so it’s unsurprising that there were quite a few school girls, school boys, a headmaster and headmistress or two, and a whole lot of general fetish wear on show. It was quite an impressive turnout, with the least dressed-up still looking lovely indeed.

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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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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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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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In the Shed

Trapped.

The door swung closed, locked on the outside.

Hot.

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