Bleu Productions and Maria Beatty relaunch their Members Website

Paris-based Maria Beatty has been one of the leading lights of lesbian femdom erotica since the release of her first film in 1995, The Elegant Spanking.

Maria created a new genre: Erotic Noir – fetish films in black and white reminiscent of the “film noir” of the 50s. Revelling in fetish and BDSM fantasies including bondage, spanking, sensual teasing and the most intimate acts of submission, the artistic quality of her films is a dramatic contrast to the sometimes shocking sexual images she reveals, Maria says “Erotic is the power of the imagination – it’s a subliminal seduction…”

Maria has shot and produced over 30 erotic films to date and has just released her first cinema feature “Bandaged”. Her members site has just been relaunched with a new look and brand new films to watch. BleuProductionsOnline.com offers both fans and newcomers instant access to Beatty’s fetish and BDSM archive including her greatest films classics like The Black Glove and her more contemporary cutting edge work recently billed as “Queer Porn”, again a new genre in fetish film making .

Download to own 20 years worth of genuine lesbian erotica film made in the fetish and BDSM underworld of New York, LA, Paris and Berlin.www.BleuProductionsOnline.com

Marky Meerkat Saxual DJ Ambient Lounge Hardcore Fem Dom

Sophisticated slinky soulful sax. The Meerkat, that infernal Ramsden fellow, mixes sophisticated  songs, soul, latin, sleazy jazz, funk, Happy House and Hardcore Fem Dom voice from London’s Premier Mistresses. Available for clubs, parties, dungeons and anywhere upmarket grown ups gather.

Sidonia Von Bork’s voice copyright The English Mansion.com

contact through MarkRamsden.moonfruit.com

Substance 666 Three Wise Women, A top geezer and a cauldron of hubble bubble toil and trouble

I got my lovely boy Santa outfit from Substance 666 Hastings, staffed by three Wise Women who like a laugh and good, quick service.  I bought my Scarlet and Black Lady Goddess a Viennese mask here. Although the shop offers all manner of bongs, legal highs, kinky knick knacks and gifts it’s Fancy Dress that’s all the rage currently. Have we all gone party mad? I was certainly bonkers after two deep bong hits on Salvia Divinorum purchased here. They did warn me it was powerful. As an experienced Lady K hound I thought I could handle the highest grade strength. That was the worst psychic and actual near death experience I have ever had. Even being cradled in Ruth’s arms during the hallucination of everyone I had ever known being torn in half didn’t help.

Have a care, kiddies.

The tall top geezer behind the counter has worked for Howard Stern, the lucky, lucky bastard. Howard does a lot of explicitly sexual humour, no corner of the Fetish underworld is left unprodded. When I saw his show some gorgeous filly was straddling a fucking machine and getting a right seeing to.  Not sure whether these should be allowed as men are more or less obsolete already. Why have a bloke sat on the sofa arguing with you when you can buy a horse-dicked metallic shagatron?Who will actually LISTEN to you.

For occultists Hastings is known as the place Crowley  came to die. Crowley – ‘rhymes with holy’ chant the faithful. As I reincarnated as the Great Beast, well, the slightly lesser Beast if you will, I love this atmospheric seaside town and its shifting cast of Boho relics, washed up artists and people who tired of Anus Mundi, otherwise known as London. Come and join us and buy all your kinky toys from Substance 666.

Fort Lauderdale’s Fetish Factory

Do you love unique & sexy latex fetishwear? Do you live for pervy fetish parties? Do you make your rounds of online fetish communities? Want to meet some new naughty friends? If you answered yes to any or all of the above, the pervy pioneers in South Florida-based Fetish Factory have you covered. “All-things-fetish” isn’t just a catchphrase… it’s the name of the game.
Read more

Club Black Whip and Madame Caramel

• Im looking for a work/live unit in central or east london.

Miss Makeover

“Vapulation” – an obscure word for flogging – how it hurt memorising that one! “Rubious” was another one of Sylvia’s obscure words, one that would drive any Scrabble opponent into a red mist rage.  It took fewer smacks to learn that one, perhaps because ‘the colour of rubies’ was poetic enough to be memorable.
Now I’m on my fourth twenty-ninth birthday I still persevere with men. Heaven knows why, as they’re mostly useless.  But I much prefer spanking women.  And the most recent jewel in my crown was Svetlana, a Russian mafia princess. She came into my life when I was looking for someone to kill my ex-husband. Too much information? Well, it was only a passing phase. I’d rather have him alive these days. That way he’ll suffer much longer.
Geezer Hardnut, my boyfriend, when I can prise him away from the Playstation, finally arranged for me to meet Svetlana, after a mere six months or so of hypnotic suggestion. Or nagging, as he calls it.
Svetlana was my scarlet woman. You could use ‘rubious’ to describe her crimson lipstick and the broken veins in her bloodshot eyes. She kills people for money. So Geezer says. He might be a liar but he’s murdered more people than I have so I have to go with it. Particularly as I have spent at least a year wanting my ex husband dispensed with. I admit I may have lost a little perspective when they took my child away from me.  Relax, I would never have gone through with it. Some film noir heroine I would have made.
Scarlet was the colour of her pert little bum once I had finished paddling it. Svetlana was thin, chic, adorably scatty and most probably insane. Her skin was as white as the paper I write on, her bruises as black as my ink. Like my teenage self Svetlana wore only black and red. Black boots, red leather micro-skirt. Her conversation also had one theme: what she wanted next.  Apart from her blonde hair this was going to be like spanking my teenage self.
“You talk too much! Beat me! I want to be flogged. Flogged hard!”
Typical Svetlana. She can’t even be bothered to wait for a proper introduction. I can hear her husky voice, too loud from vodka and smoky from too many cigarettes. “Linear narrative? Is for pussies! Pull my knickers down and smack my bottom!. Hard!”
Well. If you insist.

Manchester’s fabulous Club Lash moves to Saturday night!

The Club Lash goddesses are very excited: in March 2011, Club Lash is returning to a Saturday night slot.

Vampire Queen Rosie Lugosi is at the helm, ably assisted by Scarlet Woman Miss Jinny, and Wardrobe Mistress Lady H. ‘When Club Lash began, way back in 1998, we were on a Saturday. But fetish-friendly venues in Manchester are like gold dust – so we had to move to Fridays for a while.’

But now they have managed to swing the second Saturday of each month at The Tunnel, 6 Whitworth Street, Manchester. Same great venue with its atmospheric underground ambience, same friendly staff, same spankingly warm welcome.

And there are amazing room deals to be found at The Hotel International next door (http://thehotelinternational.co.uk). Gay-run and kink-friendly, you’ll find fellow Lash club-goers in the hotel bar. But it gets booked up fast on Club Lash weekends, so hurry! And with deals like this, you could make it a kinky weekend, taking in famed Manchester stores such as Kiku www.kikuboutique.co.uk , Nua and Affleck’s Palace. Join the Club Lash Facebook group for the latest news.

‘Of course, our January and February events will be happening on the regular second Friday. But keep Saturday March 12th in your diary. The theme is Pervy Popstars and it’s going to be a hell of a party!’

www.clublash.com
www.myspace.com/clublash

First visit to a Mistress

John Updike once referenced ‘a discord of unspoken expectations’. How should you avoid it, when seeing Pro-Domme? Well, try washing and using a deodorant. Don’t arrive drunk or drugged and show up when you’ve booked instead of bottling it. This may seem obvious but you would be surprised how many people ignore these seemingly self evident truths.  Here’s Mistress Keane, www.mistresskeene.com, with some advice for potential clients. “Do think with your brain and not your cock. Arrange to see her at a convenient time, plan ahead for the session, relax, give up control to her when you meet her and let her as a competent, experienced Domme take the lead.” To which I would add, as with all women, try belting up for a change and seeing what they think. Be prepared to listen. At length. It works wonders.
I’ve never paid for sex, except in the usual currency of heartbreak, life derailment and losing the will to live. So this is a little like Anne Widdecombe writing an article entitled “Gagging For It! My threesome with two well hung studs!” There would be a lot of conjecture and none of her own experience. However, I did sell various lewd corrective services once upon a time and I gained enough experience to be able to share some wisdom.
While it is entirely appropriate, indeed advisable, to discuss a session before arriving, abbreviated text messaging is disrespectful and when it’s obviously a covert attempt at cyber-sex it is an abomination before the Lord. Not gr8, m8. Professionals in whatever sphere require your best English. If you can’t be bothered to write properly why would they bother to read it? And while they will answer serious questions in order to facilitate a session, timewasters are legion and Pro-Dommes have heard it all before and then some. Ring a Mistress at a sensible time, office hours or early evening, not late at night when you’re in a sexual delirium but she may be reading Mills and Boon, watching a Jane Austen adaptation, dreaming of Mr Right, eating too much chocolate or tucked up in bed with Mr Cuddles, her teddy bear.
After discussing your desires, (not too explicit too quickly either), and what equipment and scenarios are available you may decide that what is on offer doesn’t suit. In which case there is no shame in saying that you will consider the matter and thanking her for her time. But you will burn in hell next to Saddam Hussein if you make an appointment you don’t intend keeping. Do not be alarmed if a man answers the phone, it could be her tranny maid or a slave looking after the phone while she’s in a session.
While we’re on telephone etiquette, turn your mobile off before the session. You’re about to experience a unique blend of sex, violence and religion. You are hoping to get into a deep psychosexual trance state. This will be one of the most intense experiences you will ever encounter. You don’t need any interruptions.
Once you have booked, a little gift such as flowers, Greene and Black chocolate or good wine will help make a good impression and grease the wheels of commerce. Look your best. You may not have fetish gear but try not to show up looking like a total nerd. Trainers should not be worn in any fetish context, indeed they shouldn’t be worn at all, except during sport. Sandals were rubbish in biblical times and are totally unacceptable in a sexual context. It is regrettable that some elderly men strip naked and masturbate in fetish clubs, it is tragic that they wear sandals to do so. Wear boots if you’ve got them, the kinkier the better. Sportswear and hoodies don’t show any respect. Dress casually by all means, military gear is always good, but whatever you wear, all clothes and body parts must be spotless, shaved and deodorised.
If you’re attempting androgyny or cross dressing consider shaving your body hair. Sportsmen have been doing this for some years now so straight friends or your partner will not immediately assume you’re kinky or effeminate. You don’t make it as a tranny just by wearing panties or stockings. If you try harder you will get more out of it.
Of course, self-styled worms may wish to look hideous to exacerbate their self hatred. I still haven’t recovered from the sight of an ashtray-eater and ballkick receiver who showed up to a fetish club with a Max Wall hairdo – bald on top, sides grown long – wearing a scruffy hoodie and dirty white plimsoles. With any luck someone has put this specimen out of his misery because such people are a ‘vexation to the spirit’, as Ronnie Kray once said. 

SVETLANA, RUSSIAN ASSASSIN, RUBIOUS GEM

I was a teenage Satanist. In other words, I was a Goth embarrassment, a pale, thin brunette in black. Red was my second favourite colour, particular the shade of soundly smacked bottoms. Cane lines crayoned on white flesh. Red passion flowers. Or perhaps it was the canvas on which they were etched. Artists need a flat easel but those who work on flesh prefer curves. This sort of work should be done as slowly as possible, preferably on chubby buttocks, the sort one must fondle before, during and after a punishment. Just to  ascertain whether the skin can take any more reddening, of course. One wouldn’t want to besmirch the noble art of chastisement with sexuality. At least not until the receiver has been allowed to rub their bottom, perhaps while pouting defiantly, and after they have spread themselves in whatever position in which they like to receive oral sex. Or something a little more invasive…

My teenage hobbies were mooching around and deciding how suicidal I was. Usually while reading Sylvia Plath. I would wonder who would miss me after I was gone.  How much I could hurt them. How they would rue the day they upset me, the centre of the known universe.
Perhaps I just needed someone to thrash some sense into me, fortunately I met a wise older woman. Her name was also Sylvia, although, unlike Plath, there was nothing remotely masochist about her. She taught me the benefits of a sound scourging on a moonlit night. Black clothes, red wine, white moon, red bums, shared sighs. We were the cruel sisters, taking it in turns to whip each other into a frenzy. I was fond of my teacher. She whipped me well. She showed me how to make money from my passion, helping me to become a pro-Domme. She even taught me new words to describe a beating, sometimes over her knee, with one spank for each letter.
“Vapulation” – an obscure word for flogging – how it hurt memorising that one! “Rubious” was another one of Sylvia’s obscure words, one that would drive any Scrabble opponent into a red mist rage.  It took fewer smacks to learn that one, perhaps because ‘the colour of rubies’ was poetic enough to be memorable. Just like the way she sucked and fucked me afterwards, till I gasped and squirmed in her arms.

Miss Makeover’s Xmyth from Hell. My Ex-Husband

I saw my son. We exchanged presents and hugs, at the fortified compound run by the fat hag and my ex-husband. My son is not allowed to come to my house since I was caught with ketamine at his birthday party. Now before you start siding with him, small amounts of K can act as a sort of sparkly trippy speed and I was exhausted.  Ketamine provides exactly the sort of fairy tale glitter required for a children’s fancy dress party, especially one featuring demanding little princesses. And rampaging  and rampaging little hooligans. It was in fact the only way to get through a very lively afternoon after a sleepless night. Go on then, judge me harshly. I’m sure any mothers reading this haven’t got stuck well into their prescribed painkillers from time to time or taken a quick swig of Chardonnay. My own mother put little nips of gin into my bottle to stop me crying and allow herself some sleep. But that was then. When the parents were in charge. Now the little loonies run the asylum – kids and Guardian-reading pansies like my ex-husband.
How come you fell in love with him? You may ask. Well, he was once a funny guy who had the same problems with his parents as I did. We liked some of the same music and films. He used to wear black silk shirts, faded jeans, lizard skin loafers and discreet red cuff links, this while his OK Yah! mates were wearing rugby shirts. They’d gather to bray at each other in Gastro Pubs, in the same Thomas Pink shirts they wore for business, just leaving the ties off for evenings and weekends.  Now, since the tyranny of the trollop, he looks like a new age traveler, shapeless pullover damp with soya milk, beard flecked with muesli.
Having inherited enough money to become a tireless (and tiresome) eco-warrior, he’s recently grown a beard, shaking his fist in the face of taste, aesthetics, civilization itself.  I bet flecks of muesli stick in it. And it will taste of soya milk. How many time do I hate thee. Let me count the ways. His ferocious nose blowing – random trumpetings that would always catch me off-guard. These dry spluttering eruptions sounded like a knackered car trying to start. And you could never tell when, or if, they would ever stop.
What does it matter? We grew apart. Most people would say he grew up and I went feral. But you know what? Fuck them. They’re just jealous. I do what I want and I don’t have to get up before noon. Enjoy the school run, you prissy prudes, gridlocked up in your four by fours. I’ll carry on striping the backsides of my needy, timewasting ‘slaves’. Caning them from cold till they bleed. Slaves, you’d get more deference from the average snooty fashion shop assistant. It’s always about them. Well, two words for you lot, Fem-Dom. It’s not called Slave-Dom, is it? Just try to remember that the next time you open your mouths to inform me of your needs. To adapt Marcus Aurelius, Don’t get aggravated by Mother Nature. The Goddess doesn’t care. Now be off with you.

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