Note: I went to start writing about my recent adventures and found that this post had been sitting as a nearly finished draft for a long time. I kept getting distracted from it! So, I’ve finished it. This post is slightly off topic and the latter half of it includes sexual themes and images of clothed female masturbation.
I’m not going to lie: I love wearing makeup. I don’t dislike the way that I look without it on. There’s something coy and girlish about my “working from home” look, which usually consists of me just dressed in a pair of panties and a t-shirt, working on my laptop. I don’t wear makeup when I’m not leaving the house or having someone over: I have a tendency to break out, and letting my skin “breathe” when I don’t need to be fancy helps that.
That said, I definitely prefer to wear a smattering of cosmetics. It’s a skill I’ve only recently really developed. I try to go for a natural look, but I do enjoy having doll like attributes, too. There’s nothing like being told that my skin looks like a porcelain doll, especially when just two years ago, despite my best efforts, I pretty much always looked ruddy and spotty in the face.
Still, I’m definitely not the type of girl who never leaves home without my makeup on. If I’m not in the mood for it, then I’m not in the mood for it. If I want to feel pretty and fancy, then it’s something fun to do that I can enjoy. It’s the same difference between picking out an outfit that makes me feel cute, or not caring if I look cute or not and just heading out in leggings and an oversized sweater. Both are perfectly legitimate options for me, depending on how I’m feeling that day. But there is one time when I feel like I’m *always* in the mood for makeup: when there’s a camera running.
Even in my early days of blogging and modeling, where I felt a lot more comfortable posting pictures where I wasn’t wearing any makeup and was highlighting my very bad skin (hey, at least acne made me look authentically adolescent, right?) on this site, I always did my best with my makeup when I was on camera. The fact that I wasn’t very good at it made me feeling less confident than I could have at times.
Once I learned how to do makeup a bit more, though, I started to feel more confident about the way that I looked in pictures and on video, and people seemed to respond better to my images, too. The fancier my makeup, the more confident I feel, too. While I once felt out of place and out of my element when I dressed up, I’ve started to revel in it, realizing that I didn’t have to act any differently just because I looked different.
(A handful of selfies from a day when a makeup artist did my look, and I felt particularly cute)
Unfortunately, in a certain way, somewhere along the way, I crossed a Rubicon in this department. The confidence that I gain when I primp and powder became dependent on these this preparation in order to show up. The days when I would take and post a selfie to showcase a point simply wearing whatever I happened to have on, with my blotchy, unmade-up face on plain display are long gone. I post the occasional unmade-up pre-bedtime photo, but it’s rare.
I don’t really understand it, because I don’t feel uncute without makeup. If I’m willing to walk around the mall like this, why am I not willing to put it on the internet? Somewhere along the line, perhaps around the time when I began doing more explicit videos, intimacy began to be assigned differently. My naked body became something that everyone has seen. But, at least for the past few years, my naked face is something that’s been reserved for people who have spent real life, casual time around me. It’s the face that Paul looks at when we wake up in the morning. It’s the face that greets Rafa when I wander into his apartment so we can cuddle on the couch and watch movies. It’s the face that my girlfriend runs a loving finger across while we soak in bath together. It’s the face that Erica and Spankcake see when I’m feeling frazzled and I need them: the kind of days when one of us silently moves across the table to pull the other into a hug.
Make up free wombat hugs!
Thinking about these kinds of moments, those tender, vulnerable, intimate moments, I realized that I usually do feel quite cute and pretty in those times. I feel clean and innocent, and yes, I feel sexy. Any kind of nudity can be enjoyable.
Thinking about this a while ago, I decided that I wanted to try doing a video without any makeup on. I wanted to try being nakedly myself on film, just to see how it felt. I decided that I wanted to film something in my most natural state.
~~~
Last fall, Paul and I went on our first road trip together. We drove from Los Angeles to Green River Utah, where we spent a night before heading to Denver. We stayed for a few days there while I worked and we visited with Amoni, and then we got back in the car and drove to Iowa, through the corn fields and plains of the area where I used to live. We spent two nights there, and I did a day long shoot with a local bondage producer. From there, we continued on to Chicago, where we then attended the October Crimson Moon Party. It was a blast, and I didn’t feel too tired from all of the travel yet.
On the way back, we drove straight through to Denver in one go, and by then, I was starting to feel a bit worn by the trip, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Being in a car with someone for that long is very vulnerable: there’s no hiding any aspect of yourself in those close quarters, and you have to be patient with one and other. Fortunately, there was no tension between us. The trip went by harmoniously.
We visited a wild animal sanctuary outside of Denver, then we had an early night at a hotel. The next morning, I was going to go shoot for Real Spankings and RSI again, so I needed my rest.
The shoot the next day was one of my favorites that I ever did with them, but it was definitely hard. It started off with strapping, followed by a caning, and then a hard school paddling. I got a break to be a background character in one of Jordan’s scenes, and then she had to go home. When it was time to do the last scene, Michael Masterson told me that we could do whatever I wanted to.
I’d had a long week and a half of adventuring. I had been spanked countless times, in multiple cities and states, including plenty of hard scenes. But there was something special about this last scene I was going to do: it was the final thing that I had planned. I didn’t have to hold anything back for later. This could be a final expenditure of energy for me.
So, I didn’t hold anything back. I went into the “implement room” and came back with a Vermont Country Store bath brush and I asked for a long, hard, OTK spanking with it, one that would push me. I’ve done a lot of hard scenes with Michael in the past, and I trust him both to bring me to a place I want to go and not to bring me too far from where I should be. We negotiated my safety signal (since this works better for me than a safeword) and the scene started.
It was super hard, and super fast: I struggled and wailed and cried out as Michael pinned my hand behind my back. It was everything I wanted it to be. I felt sore and exhausted when it was done, but happy and satisfied with myself.
When the shoot was over and I had finished fussing over the Real Spankings cats, I met up with Paul and we had to hit the road: we wanted to drive as far as Utah that night. I dropped a little bit at one point, but Paul boosted me back up, and seeing big horn sheep in the mountains made me stay alert. We drove until we reached Green River again, then checked into the same motel where we had stayed on the way there.
That night, I slept very soundly, although I must admit that I slept on my tummy. My bottom was still very sore to the touch, and I was exhausted.
I woke up the next morning still feeling sore, but as is often the case, feeling horny as well. It was a particular kind of horniness that I get sometimes, usually after I’ve been doing a lot of shoots: exhibitionist horniness. Paul was already up and dressed, so when he came back in from having been outside looking at the Utah landscape (something quite alien to anything you’ll see in the UK) I told him that I wanted to film a video.
Honestly, I think I decided that I wanted to do a no makeup video that morning because I was too lazy to really get put together, but still wanted to film. Besides, I felt cozy and contented. I had gone to sleep in my favorite old, soft t-shirt and pair of panties, without bothering to take off my tall socks from the day before. Paul set up the camera and I didn’t do anything more to get ready than run my fingers through my hair.
So, I started to masturbate, the way I would if there was no camera there, mixing fingering myself through my panties with some pillow humping. I felt a flush of invigoration, knowing that I was being observed in this natural state. I didn’t worry about being judged, or not looking the way that I “should.” I just existed, vulnerable and fine with that.
Later, I looked at the stills that we had taken after the video and it felt a little odd to see, now that I was out of that moment. I had pulled the gaudy, motel bedspread and the sheets out of place in my passion, and my bottom was a mixture of bruises, cane welts and lines from where I’d slept. My hair was a mess, and without makeup, my face really showed how flushed I become with arousal.
I wasn’t used to seeing myself look this way in an image online, instead of the mirror as I sleepily got ready for the day. I felt a bit shy to share this, but it also felt like something special. Like, despite the fact that I never undressed in the video, I was truly being naked on the internet again.
I’m not going to make a habit of doing this sort of thing, but it was a fun boundary to push. That’s not to say that I’ll never do it again. Want to see me at my most vulnerable? You can get the video here.
The day after Paul arrived back home happened to be Valentine’s Day. It was positively joyful to wake up in the morning next to him, knowing that he was really here and that we’d be spending the whole day together. The day was beautiful out: sunny and warm. I made breakfast and we spent the morning and early afternoon relaxing and cuddling. At dinner time, we headed downtown to go to a favorite restaurant.
Now, I hadn’t been spanked for non-professional reasons the entire time that Paul had been gone: about three months. I was antsy for as much attention as possible, and I couldn’t help but let this show in acts of naughtiness while we were out. I didn’t do anything serious, but I was obviously a bit hyperactive, and I pushed tiny boundaries: I ran from the car to the elevator in the parking lot. I pushed all the buttons in said elevator. I was impatient to get inside and get to dinner (all due to excitement, of course!) and I may have whined a bit. While I didn’t act out much in the restaurant itself, about halfway through our meal, I discovered that the table wasn’t exactly even, and by leaning on it, I could make it shift. It wasn’t enough to spill anything or disturb anything, but Paul told me to stop it. So I did. But then I did it again– entirely by accident, of course! And the third and fourth and fifth time were by accident, too. I was very accident prone, until he leaned over and whispered in my ear:
“You’re going to get spanked for being so naughty when we get home. If you keep this up, you’re going to get spanked here.”
I doubted that he would actually spank me in a restaurant, but since it was my favorite place, I didn’t want to risk it. Despite feeling a bit squirmy after this scolding, I sat quietly through the rest of the meal and pushed only one button in the elevator on the way back down.
Once we got home, we snuggled up on the sofa for a while. I continued to talk a mile a minute to catch up on all the things that he had missed while gone. Eventually, the subject changed to my earlier naughtiness.
“I think you need to be spanked for making such mischief, and for disobeying me,” he told me, pulling me over his lap as he sat on the sofa and lifting my short, heart-printed dress. I was wearing white cotton panties with pink hearts on them, and he rubbed my bottom gently for a while: it was still slightly tender from having been spanked so thoroughly the night before. Then, he started to spank me. The sound rang through the room, sounding incredibly loud, and I let out a sound which was not just caused by the sharp sting. He continued, slowly and firmly, and I cooed, purred, whimpered and wriggled. I wanted more. I wanted to be spanked even harder, and I wanted it to be faster. He teased me for a few moments, but the spanking grew, and it got exactly that: hard and fast. Soon I was gasping, overwhelmed, unable to process each individual sensation until it grew into one big, all encompassing feeling and I slipped, as if underwater, into a delicate, passive place. I was flushed with arousal and entirely content. After a few minutes, he stopped and leaned in to whisper to me again: “I don’t think that spanking you is enough. I’m going to beat you.” He stood me up and pulled my dress all the way off, enjoying the site of me standing in my panties for a moment before giving me an instruction: “Go get my cane.”
I padded off to the kitchen, blushing in the way that being sent for an implement tends to make me blush. My heart was dancing in my chest: I hadn’t been caned in a long time. Besides, I hadn’t been caned by him in months, and that experience is a different thing than playing that way with anyone else. It’s not just the fact that we tend to play harder together. It’s an emotional thing: I’m far more vulnerable with him, and I was in a state of particularly high vulnerability. I was apprehensive, but in a positive way.
In the white cabinet in the kitchen where the implements are kept (AKA the “Cupboard of Awful”) there are four canes. These can be divided into two categories: “every day” canes and “special” canes. There are two lightweight rattan canes of different lengths which are the “every day” canes. These are used when filming, during sessions, when playing with other people, when traveling and, very rarely, during our personal play. The two “special” canes are fancier, denser, scarier vintage canes. The smaller one is the cane that we use nearly all the time in our personal play. The larger one has never been used: it’s reserved for very serious infractions and I’m somewhat terrified of it. It’s thicker and denser than the cane that Paul usually uses during our personal scenes (both playful and disciplinary) and that cane is incredibly heavy, dense and thick. It also has a lot of emotional attachment, and this mental side of things has a strong effect on me. Without being told, I knew to select this cane, and I brought it back rather awkwardly, thinking about how much it was going to hurt.
Paul took the cane from me and bent me over with my hands on the seat of the sofa. Bent over positions feel more formal to me (as opposed to prone positions, which feel more intimate) and the mix of the formal positioning with my vulnerability and arousal, as well as our seriously intimate emotional connection worked for me. It brought me back to very old fantasies, and I quivered with anticipation. “Open your legs,” he instructed, and I did so, rather sheepishly.
“I’m not going to beat you because you were naughty tonight,” Paul told me. “I’m going to beat you because you’re mine.”
“Yes, Paul,” I affirmed, floating off into a place where I was focused on belonging and couldn’t feel safer.
Then, he began to cane me. The first stroke made me cry out: a mix between a wail and a sharp exhale. It bit and stung, and the pain was growing rapidly. I expected a long pause, during which I would squirm and whimper and then finally calm myself and wait for the next stroke, which would follow. I was taken by surprise when the next stroke followed rather immediately after the first. The parallel pains blossomed, and Paul gave me a short break to catch my breath before landing another pair of strokes. I tried to adapt to this new pacing, but it left me trembling. At one point, after about six or seven strokes, I whimpered out “How many?” In the past year or so, I had become very attached the idea of knowing exactly what was going to happen before it started. Paul didn’t hear my question, I don’t think, and I realized I didn’t actually want to repeat it. I didn’t need to know. I could let things be entirely out of my hands, and just trust him to give me the right amount for what I needed. I found doing this very freeing. Paul and I developed our relationship in the wake of me getting out of something which had stopped being emotionally healthy for me, and I’ve struggled with fears, insecurities and anxieties about things which used to seem simple to me. Paul has been incredibly patient: never pushing me too hard and always making me feel safe. It was rewarding to be able to bask in this safety without some of the nervousness that had been gnawing at me. As such, neither of us know how many strokes I actually took, but I know it was a lot. He continued in this paired fashion, and I cried out and wailed, but didn’t actually break into tears. I was too happy to be in that moment, too filled with adrenaline, and too aroused to go to that place.
Finally, after what seemed like a very, very long time, Paul said “I’m going to give you six more strokes.”
“Six?!” I gasped. I was expecting that he would say one or two, maybe. For a second, this many more strokes seemed impossible, but I quickly accepted it, and I took pleasure in the thought that I would take them as well as I could. Paul instructed me to shut my legs, and I knew that this meant that at least some of these strokes would be on my thighs. I braced myself for this, focusing on the feeling of belonging, of this being something decided by him for me, and of being out of control. I felt another sharp shiver of excitement course through my body. It was followed quite quickly by the first of the six final cane strokes, which landed across my thighs. I shouted: it was shockingly painful. All six of these strokes happened with fairly quick pacing, and I found myself wiggling, squirming, wailing, jumping up and down in a way which was probably rather ridiculous to look at and, all in all, struggling. They were very hard, and I could feel how swollen my thighs were already. I felt each welt rise as I gritted my teeth together, trying to bear the red hot agony that they brought. Then, it was over.
Pretty immediately, I collapsed into his arms on the sofa. Paul held me close, and I felt wrapped up, tiny and very, very loved. I thanked him for beating me, and he stroked my hair and cuddled me as I came down from my endorphin high. Finally, I stood up and gently felt the welts. They felt pretty obvious to the touch, and I wondered how it looked. I suffer from an inability to show just how severely I have been spanked sometimes, and I was afraid that this would look less spectacular than it felt.
“Do I have lines?” I asked Paul. He looked carefully.
“You have a few,” he told me. “If you go look quickly you might be able to see them.” I was disappointed. This was ALWAYS the way it turned out. My stupid bottom not marking up the way it should! I grumbled as I walked to the mirror, where I turned around and saw this:
There was a purple patch where two lines had crossed and the lines on my thighs were very distinctive.
“HEY!” I yelled. “You tricked me!” Paul laughed from the other room.
He then helped me document them in a couple of different lighting situations:
After taking photos, we retired to the bedroom for some time together before going to sleep.
It was the best Valentine’s Day ever. ♥
Note: I wrote this last night, scheduled it, then didn’t like parts of it so I went back and redid them. It’s later than I originally promised because of that. You’ll probably live.
A few days ago, I finally hit the road again after having spent all of November and December in South Dakota (except for the brief trips that I took to Omaha to fetch and return Heather, but that really doesn’t count). I headed to Denver on Sunday in order to visit Amoni and to shoot with Real Spankings again. I had such a wonderful time when I last shot for them, and I was really looking forward to this second shoot. Betty Blaze is incredibly fun and friendly, and last time we shot, she really put me at ease.
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| Betty Blaze strapping me during my first RS shoot. |
I was especially excited about doing this second shoot because the Top this time was Danny Creighton. I like him a lot. I got to have a very nice, long scene with him when we first met at a Scarlet Moons (a small, local party in Denver) party in October and I was really looking forward to being spanked by him again!
I arrived to my shoot on Tuesday a little bit early (I feel that it’s never a good idea to show up late to something spanking related. Don’t need to give anyone more excuses, right?) and was feeling jittery and excited. When I got there, I found that Betty had a cold and wouldn’t actually be filming any scenes with me that day, which was a little disappointing since we had talked about the prospect of being spanked together, which is always fun. Still, the show must go on, and I was more than capable of taking everyone’s spankings myself. 🙂
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| Betty Blaze and me. Aren’t we cute?! |
I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before, but I find it very exciting to be on the set where Real Spankings is filmed. I’ve looked at their content for many years and certainly had more than a few fantasies where I imagine taking the place of one of the girls in the pictures or videos I was watching. There’s really nothing more exciting than actually doing that!
The first scene which we filmed that day was an all hand spanking scene. Really, a nice, long hand spanking is the ideal way to start any work day! The positioning was a little different, as I was bent over a railing at the end of a staircase, so it was kind of close to a standing-up style spanking. That’s not usually my preference, but I liked the impromptu feeling of the location and position. The spanking built perfectly and eased me into the perfect mood while warming me up to take the rest of the spankings I’d be getting that day. I had to remember to act like I wasn’t enjoying it.
Right after that, we filmed our second scene, this one involving a strap. I was asked to select which strap I’d want to be hit with from what was essentially a dresser full of implements. I’m going to go on a tangent for a moment to point out that I think that selecting an implement is one of the hardest things to do, period. Occasionally, Malignus sends me to “go find something for him to hit me with” and I inevitably spend way too long obsessing over making the choice. At home, picking something out to be hit with involves trying to find the perfect balance. If I pick something that isn’t “mean” enough, I’ll feel disappointed if the spanking isn’t as hard as I’d prefer. All my instincts are against picking something “too mean.” I usually end up finding whatever seems like the right middle ground for the situation and then bumping it up one level of meanness, just in case. In this case, though, I had only been spanked with two of the implements in the dresser of doom, and I couldn’t even identify which ones they were at this point. I ended up seeking Betty’s advice, and we selected a strap which she told me she enjoyed being spanked with.
The strapping scene involved me being a little bitch and having an attitude, which is something that I’ve been trying to get more practice with in play and for cinematic value recently (that is, however, something which comes with a big “WARNING: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME” label for me :P). I think that I pulled it off pretty well. At one point, Danny asked me a question to which I really didn’t have an answer. I tried to come up with some sort of clever line, but kept drawing blanks so instead of waisting time I simply let out the most pathetic whining noise I’ve ever made while giving the best scowl I could muster. This lead to me getting put rather firmly back into positon and spanked quite a bit more, so I suppose it worked out properly. ^_^
After the first two scenes, I went to change and snuck a few phone photos in the bathroom because that’s what I do and who I am: I’m a girl who takes pictures of her ass in bathrooms across the country.
The second two scenes that we filmed were “School Strokes” and “School Swats.” If you don’t already know, these are series that Real Spankings does where they interview girls about their experiences and thoughts regarding both canes and paddles and then give them “traditional” chastisement with the implement in question. I always get a little nervous when being interviewed on camera (I actually opted not to watch my Punishment Profile after the last shoot, because I feel like I always look and sound a bit silly when speaking candidly) but I do think that my blushing while talking about the subject matter at hand was probably cute. Danny interviewed me regarding caning, first, and then showed me three thicknesses of canes. I then got 4 strokes with each. The last cane was a thicker rattan cane than we have at home, and it hit with a level of density and firmness behind each stroke like nothing I’d ever felt from a natural material cane. I will probably need to buy one.
When we were discussing these last two sets, it was up to me whether I wanted to do them with my jeans on or not. For the first one, I decided to do it on the bare because cane lines always look great, and because at this point in my life, it feels kind of unnatural to get spanked over clothing since baring is nearly always a part of my spanking ritual, unless it’s something extremely impromptu or it’s part of a mind-game. Shortly after we finished filming the caning sequence, I went to get changed to do the paddling one. I had originally said that I would take the paddle swats over my jeans, but I changed my mind at the last minute. My butt was sore, sure, but I wasn’t dying. I was really enjoying getting spanked, and I really wanted to feel the spanking I’d be getting that day.
After the interview, when it came time to actually take my jeans down, I felt a little apprehensive about my decision. It’s funny how the closer a spanking gets, the scarier it becomes. But I reminded myself that this was all my choice and I wanted it to be hard and got them down.
It was hard.
I got ten swats with the paddle, and each of them made me rise up on my toes, cry out, and contort my face in pain. After the seventh, I asked for a moment to catch my breath. I took a second to just breathe as Danny gently rubbed my bottom. I felt safe and secure, and relaxed myself again, stuck my bottom back out and took the final three swats. When it was done, I had quite a mix of adrenaline and endorphins and a very sore bottom. That, my friends, is the ideal way to end a work day. 🙂
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| Sore! |
After we took care of paperwork, I hugged everyone and said my goodbyes, I got picked up and headed back to Amoni’s where we hung out more. My bottom hurt for the rest of the day, and around bedtime I still had some bruising (which is rare and kind of exciting for me ^_^). I went to bed with a sore bottom and woke up with one still in the morning. In fact, as I’m preparing this at bedtime on the second night, I can still sort of feel it. That’s a win in my books.
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| See my bruise?! See it?! |
I can’t wait until these scenes come out so I can be excited about them all over the internet. You probably should be, too!
♥
Oh, Hai!
Alex
Los Angeles, California, United States
First and foremost, I’m a girl who loves being spanked. It’s at the very center of my being. I’m also a professional spanking model, which means I get to do what I love for my job. I’m twenty six years old, and currently located in Los Angeles when I’m not traveling around on my adventures. My vanilla interests include poetry, film history, academia, Pokemon, indie music, baby animals, baking and cooking, collecting vintage clothes and lots of cuddling.
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