Thursday, August 31, 2006




The other day I went jogging near the beach so I could jump in the ocean when I was done. It was during the weekend and it was impossible to jog along the shoreline because of the number of people playing by the water. Of course I would have had an excuse to stop every 20 feet to avoid tripping over a little kid, but I actually wanted to get some exercise that afternoon instead of just pretending to myself that I had. I laced on my running shoes and headed out towards the numbered streets that run parallel to the ocean. My route was haphazard as I randomly crossed intersections according to which light happened to be green. As I was passing a park at 2nd and Cherry I noticed a small group of men doing tricep dips, (I think that's what the exercise is called), on two parallel metal bars that are on the grass there amongst various other pieces of exercise equipment. They were all wearing wifebeater tank tops and boxer shorts underneath long pants that sat very, very low on their hips. Their pants were so amazingly low that it seemed impossible that they were staying up at all. Did they have belts around them? If so, the belts must have been fastened around their dicks because the tops of their pants were so far below their waists. As I was ruminating about this a different one of the group stepped up to the front of the bars to do a set of dips. His muscles were already gleaming with sweat as he began the first of the repetitions. I was positive that his pants were going to fall off as he continued the exercise because they really seemed to be defying gravity. Maybe there was a belt that I couldn't see, but I kept watching him with fascination as I drew closer. He was laboring and sweating as I stared at him. His friends were chatting among themselves as they waited for their turn, seemingly unconcerned that their buddy may soon be working out in his underwear. All of a sudden the guy stopped in the middle of his repetition and looked me squarely in the face. Had he felt someone gazing at him? Had something just happened behind me to make him look up? I didn't know, but all of his boys whipped around to see what had caught his attention. My face grew red and I felt like a deer caught in the headlights as I passed in front of them on the sidewalk. I turned up the music louder on my disc player as I plodded past them, but not before I heard "C'mon over here..I'll give you some if you want it, baby!" ring out over other catcalls and laughter.

I was sweaty, tired, and embarrassed, but I could see the humor in the episode after I was a few blocks away. The only time I stare at people is when I think I'm completely undetected so it was a bit comical that I'd just been caught redhanded by those dudes. When I got back to the beach I dove into the ocean and forgot about it.

The following day I drove to a shoot with a photographer named Ron who shoots bondage material in his home. Ron had always been kind of weird. On one occasion he had become angry at me and another model when we were discussing an upcoming booking we had scheduled. He told us not to discuss other photographers during his shoot. She and I had exchanged glances of surprise/puzzlement, but we complied with his request. Another time he had accused me of stealing a pair of pantyhose from his wardrobe room. He was definitely a weirdo, but I'm accustomed to dealing with weirdos. I rang his doorbell when I arrived at his place. His annoyance was immediately evident when he answered the door.

"Did you have trouble parking?" he demanded.

"No," I answered and pointed at my car which was parked in front of his house.

"That learning center place behind me has started giving computer classes to guys who have recently been paroled from prison." He snorted with disgust and shook his head. "Do you believe that? Nobody wants them here. They park on my street and they should not be around here at all." he sputtered.

"Well, the classes might help them out a lot." I said.

"I do not need people like this in my neighborhood." he snarled as his assistant Mitch walked into the room. Mitch rolled his eyes behind Ron's back.

I smiled to myself as I headed into the dressing room. The backyard of the learning center sat directly behind Ron's backyard. Ron was probably going to put bars on his windows. What a big baby he was. At least he had made a wise decision when he chose to live in Orange County because he certainly was surrounded with lots of people of his own ilk. It gratified me that the folks at the learning center had the nuts to do something helpful and progressive even if it might distress their uptight neighbors. I quickly touched up my makeup and put on high heels that had a bright floral pattern on a black background. Ron had already selected a pair of red leather wrist and ankle cuffs for me to wear in the set of photos we were about to shoot. The sun was shining outside and he decided that I would pose by the beautiful koi pond that takes up one corner of his backyard. He had been putting that lovely setting to good use for years since it has a large canopy covering it from the view of his neighbors. As Ron, Mitch, and I traipsed outside the sounds of conversation and soft laughter filtered towards us. Evidently some of the students were taking a break in the yard of the learning center. I quickly walked under the canopy so no one would guess that we were doing a shoot next door.

Ron could not relax. We had shot under that canopy on innumerable occasions when students had been relaxing outside, but today Ron was just livid.

"Those are those reprobates. Look, that's them!! Those are those violent criminals and now they are right next door to me!" He looked like he was about to fling his camera down on the ground in a petulant rage.

"Oh, c'mon. They could be any group of students." I said mildly. "Let's just shoot. They can't even see us."

"Any group of students?!" Ron almost spat at me. "Look what they are wearing. You think that's just any group of students in Orange County?!"

I peered sideways through a slat in the fence to look at the three students. They were all wearing clean, pressed T-shirts and pants very, very low on their hips. That style must be in fashion these days. I looked at them for a moment and then exchanged glances with Mitch.

"They could be anybody." Mitch said. "I see guys at my college who dress exactly like that."

"Yeah, I just saw a whole group of them in the park yesterday who had pants so low that I was hoping they might fall off." I said. "I felt like a lecherous pervert because one of them caught me checking out his crotch while I was jogging down the sidewalk."

Mitch and I both started chuckling. My comment had been slightly amusing, but it was Ron's red-faced anger that turned our chuckles into outright laughter. He was just pissed. I wasn't sure if it was because I had been talking about something that didn't pertain to the shoot or because he was so mortified by the dudes hanging out next door. His face was turning a nearly impossible shade of bright red and a vein was pulsing so hard in his forehead that I thought it might bust. For some reason his irrational fit of anger just tickled my funnybone and I could not compose myself. Mitch seemed to be having the same problem.

"Oh, it's funny? It's funny, is it??" Ron hissed at us. "Why don't you see how funny it is when these psychotic criminals see you standing out here naked?!"

With that he shoved me roughly from beneath the canopy and against a stretch of wooden fence that was clearly visible to the guys next door. Shock registered on Mitch's face. Ron was beyond furious and I saw him launch his camera into the air towards the koi pond. Amazingly, Mitch intercepted it in midair as Ron stormed towards the house. The commotion had caught the attention of the guys next door. They were staring at me in astonishment as I balanced myself against a wooden bench next to the fence. I was having trouble maneuvering because of the red leather restraints on my ankles and wrists. For some reason being shackled and naked in full view of these surprised bystanders was causing a hot feeling to spread throughout my body. I wanted to enjoy the moment and make their dicks as hard as possible as they watched from next door. Mitch sensed my mood and started snapping photos while I posed, hot and horny, against the fence..


Join now to see this huge gallery of photos inside The Bondage Room of my Playhouse!


- XXOO Tanya

Friday, August 25, 2006




I believe that dwellings contain the spirits of their former inhabitants. Sometimes the distress of those old occupants is almost palpable if they experienced a great deal of angst while living there. I've known this for a long time, but in the summer of 2005 the notion became very relevant to my life once again. That summer I found a unit in an old apartment house from the 1920s, the Capulet Arms, where I could enjoy the warm weather and ocean breezes right across the street from the beach. The rent on the place was remarkably low, but my commute to work would be very long on the days I had shoots scheduled. Most porn and fetish work is shot in the San Fernando Valley and that is much further North than this beach town where I wanted to stay. I decided to lease the apartment for the summer anyways.

On the day I signed the rental agreement my friend Tyson and I went to the Italian deli that occupied the ground floor of the building. The owner of the deli happened to engage us in conversation and I mentioned that I'd be living upstairs for a short while. He asked me the number of the apartment and I told him. I remember him also inquiring if I knew anyone else who had lived there. It seemed that he was watching me carefully as I shrugged and told him that I didn't. He commented that there were a lot of "characters" who stayed at the Capulet Arms. Later in the conversation it came up that someone had commited suicide a few months earlier by jumping from upstairs. The deli owner mentioned only that the individual had been a nice guy and had caved in the top of a police car with his body as his downward spiral through life had ended. It was a peculiar story and Tyson and I discussed it later that evening while I filled some suitcases with clothes at the old warehouse where I usually live. At some point Tyson disappeared into the room next door so he could avoid helping me pack. An hour later he came bursting through the door with the previous month's issue of Adult Video News Magazine in his hand.

"You aren't going to believe this!" he exclaimed excitedly. It was obvious that he had a good story to tell and his eyes were bright with wonder. He thrust the magazine under my chin and I looked down at it. Busty, blonde Taylor Wane glowered seductively up at me from the page he indicated. I communicated my lack of comprehension by raising my eyebrows and making the universal palms-upward gesture of befuddlement. Tyson stabbed his finger at a photo of a man that appeared on the page below Taylor's picture. For some reason the guy looked like a male stripper, but I can't remember why I thought that at the time. I read the brief paragraphs of text that accompanied his photo. Oh, wow. I no longer recall whether the actual name of the apartment building was mentioned, but the other details contained in the article were sufficient to make me realize that this was an obituary for the very guy who had commited suicide by jumping from the Capulet Arms. It turned out that he was a porn actor called Rex who had also worked as an agent in the business. Somehow I just knew that he used to reside in the exact unit in which I'd be living. I just knew. No wonder that great little place had been vacant. Now it all made sense why the landlords had been asking for so little rent and had been willing to accept a short-term tenant. I felt a bit of a chill as I contemplated the odd coincidence of another porn person living in that unlikely building so far from the hub of the industry.

After moving into unit 1103 at the Capulet Arms I spent hours sitting on the balcony reading and staring at the ocean. Something mysterious was always niggling at my senses although it remained out of the reach of my rational mind. I knew the feeling was connected to Rex's untimely death and I felt compelled to start finding out more information about him. One of my neighbors reluctantly confirmed that Rex had indeed occupied unit #1103. I don't know why I bothered getting that fact validated because I had already known in my soul that that was the case. After further (very casual) investigation I discovered that talent scout Rex had brought notorious pornstar Savannah into the industry. Savannah was platinum blonde, busty and beautiful. In 1992 she was named "Best New Starlet of the Year" by Adult Video News. She commited suicide in 1994 by shooting herself in the head.

Obviously there was a chain of suicide that linked at least two people, but I felt positive that there were others in that chain that I did not yet know about. Here and there, as I enjoyed my summer by the ocean, I would feel Rex's lingering torment around me. Sitting on the balcony was usually a pleasure at any time of the day, but occasionally I had fleeting but powerful impulses to throw myself over the pale green railing. That sounds really bizarre but that is what I experienced. I could usually shake off those twisted notions in the space of a few seconds. It was if an evil spirit would quickly invade my body only to discover that it was not inside a vulnerable enough venue. Then it would just leave. There was only one occasion when I capitulated to the sinister sensations. I had walked out onto the balcony and then
just sunk trembling to the concrete floor as panic and madness washed over me. Inexplicably I felt unable to take the chance of standing upright because I felt that I might go over the side and fall 11 floors to the street below. I sat there gripping the vertical bars of the balcony railing until the terror subsided and my confidence returned. It was just that one time that it happened. Now I think it was probably a warning for what was about to come.

Two days after that episode I was drinking coffee in my kitchen and enjoying the view out the window. There was a knock at the door. It surprised me but I answered it anyways. Two men that looked like male dancers from a cheesy movie stood there. One looked me up and down, smiled lecherously, and then turned to look at his friend. I followed his gaze to his friend's face and then I felt someone's hand shove me roughly back into my apartment although I could not tell who did it.

"You're one of Rex's girls, aren't you?" the taller one demanded. He was wearing a blue bandanna tied over his dark hair.

"N-no," I stuttered. "No."

Those were the last words I spoke that day. The man in the bandanna grabbed me by my hair and then propelled me further into the room. Both men stood between me and my front door. My only chance of escape was to run for the balcony. An image of my body hurtling over the pale green railing of the balcony to the sidewalk below kept my feet rooted to the floor. I was both petrified and paralyzed.

"You're going to behave, aren't you?" the bandanna-head guy said with certainty as he practically pulled me off the floor by my hair. His companion, who was about 5'11 and very muscular, produced a ballgag from out of his pocket and forced it into my mouth as pain shot through my jaw.

"You'll do. You'll do just fine." the musclehead said softly as he buckled the gag tightly at the base of my skull.

Something impelled me to cooperate with these two intruders and not offer any resistance. I had always thought that I'd fight to the death in a nearly unimaginable situation like this. The dark-haired guy observed the terror in my eyes and my resigned, submissive posture for a few long moments. He and his friend exchanged glances. It seemed to please them that I was being so compliant. Perhaps that's why the bandanna guy decided to offer the following explanation to me:

"You see," he said calmly, "Rex stiffed us on a shoot. We paid him for a girl and we never got to shoot any of the footage. We can't let that type of thing happen. And you'll be just fine for our purposes. Even better than we expected. Everything will be fine as long as you do exactly what we tell you to do."

They stripped me naked and I did exactly what they wanted. The photo above is one of those that they shot in my apartment that day. It wasn't until several months ago, a full year after the incident, that I came across it on a severe bondage site on the Internet..


You can see the extent of the debauchery in the Machined gallery which is now inside The Bondage Room of my Playhouse.


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- XXOO Tanya



Tuesday, August 22, 2006



In recent months Jewell Marceau had begun telling people that I was a "weak link." She had even gone so far as to dress me down me in public by declaring at a party that someone needed to show me how to keep my mouth shut. Other people present were visibly taken aback by the malice blazing in her eyes and the venom in her words. Of course they didn't have any idea what she was talking about so obviously I do know how to keep my mouth shut. The reality then and now is that Jewell and I have a few dark secrets that we share. None of the details are particularly heinous but we could both potentially face prosecution if someone were to find out about everything. We both would suffer if the truth came out and we both know that. That's why Jewell's suspicion of me gets me so angry. I'm neither stupid nor self-destructive enough to spill the proverbial beans.

Last week I drove all the way out to her place and demanded that she quit making disparaging comments about me. Her expression remained unyielding during my diatribe as I began to list the reasons why we had to rely on each other. I ended my spiel by pointing out that she and I each had a lot to lose if either of us ever broke our silence. At last I saw a bit of resignation in her face.

"You're right," she sighed, "we really do have to trust each other." Her eyes flicked around the room and then landed at a space on the floor. Suddenly she began to look almost childlike and it seemed like she was about to cry. I wasn't sure what to do so I stared uncomfortably at the floor also. Finally, in a voice choked with emotion, Jewell said softly:

"Sometimes I just feel like you don't trust me at all anymore. We don't hang out like we used to and now I only see you if we happen to run into each other. It's like you're avoiding me and I always wonder why. I suppose I've been running my mouth a lot because I was hoping that you would finally come and confront me."

Wow. My mind started to switch gears. Maybe she was right. Maybe I had become aloof. Perhaps subconsciously I had been avoiding her. Maybe my behavior had given her reason to doubt me. Jewell seemed to sense the nature of my thoughts.

"I just need some reassurance from you." she said as she peered up from underneath her long, dark lashes. I remained pensive and silent.

"Look," she suggested gently, almost pleadingly, "why don't we do an exercise in trust? Remember when you used to let me tie you up and take pictures? Let's do it again so we can recapture some of the mutual faith we had in each other. It will be fun. You can tie me up too after I release you from the ropes."

She seemed to be afraid to look at me directly so I used a few moments to try and arrange my face in an expression that did not convey my jumbled emotions. The feelings of anger that had propelled me to drive out to the desert to face her were beginning to subside. A sense of guilt was now replacing my animosity. After a bit of consideration I took a deep breath and nodded my agreement to her idea. A sense of hopeful anticipation gripped me as I realized that our positive intentions would help erase a lot of the suspicions and insecurities that had arisen between us in these past few months.

Everything felt like old times when Jewell told me to lie on my back and began tying my wrists to the metal frame of her futon. We were giggling and playing around like the old friends we were until Jewell roughly slapped a jagged piece of red duct tape over my mouth and then hissed:

"Now I can finally teach you how to keep your mouth shut.."


What crass indignities do I end up suffering at the hands of my former friend? See the full
Bedtime Discipline gallery inside my Playhouse now!


- XXOO Tanya

Saturday, August 19, 2006

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Thursday, August 17, 2006

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Wednesday, August 16, 2006


JERUSALEM (AFP) -

One Israeli woman has received an unexpected boost from her breast implants during the Lebanon war -- the silicone embeds saved her life during a Hezbollah rocket attack, a doctor said.

"This is an extraordinary case, but it's a fact that the silicone implants prevented her from a more serious and deeper wound," Jacky Govrin, of the hospital in Nahariya that treated the woman, told army radio Tuesday. "The young woman went through surgery two years ago to have a larger chest," he said. "During the war she was wounded in the chest by shrapnel" that got stuck in the implants instead of penetrating further.

The woman did not emerge from her ordeal completely unscathed, however.
"The shrapnel was removed but the implant had to be replaced," Govrin said.


(In the pic above I am modelling the latest in bulletproof bras and implants.)

- XXOO Tanya

Sunday, August 13, 2006



A while ago I was reading a true crime book written by celebrity District Attorney Vincent Bugliosi. There never should have been such a person as a "celebrity District Attorney," but the book is still pretty interesting nonetheless. It is about a man and a woman whom he prosecuted for their involvement in the murder of the woman's husband in the 1960s. Bugliosi presumed that they offed him so she could collect a fairly substantial insurance settlement. In the book Bugliosi takes an in-depth look at the sociopathic personalities and backgrounds of both individuals. The man was a former cop who had been kicked out of the LAPD for his role in helping a young woman find someone to illegally abort her unborn child in the "no choice" era of the 1950s. Among the other revelations about his background was the murderer's own admission that he became sexually aroused while watching two women fight. Evidently he had witnessed two young girls fighting over him when he was at a pivotal age. He had been at the home of a fat girl who liked him and he had unintentionally started paying more attention to her thinner friend. The fat girl had become enraged, stripped her girlfriend naked, and begun beating her while the future murderer watched in amazement. Bugliosi ties the killer's sexual interest in female fighting to his penchant for commiting extreme acts of violence. I found that a bit amusing.

To date I still have not finished the book because I temporarily lost interest in the second part of it. Part 2 covers all the details, (and I mean all of them), of the courtroom proceedings which ultimately lead to the convictions of the murdering pair. Eventually I'll read it but last month I put it to the side of my nighttable for awhile. Coincidentally I got booked for a catfight shoot right around that time. I had not done one in many months and this shoot would be for a new company. Oddly, the location was a house in San Bernardino. I was willing to go there even though it was a long distance away because I could use some extra money. When I confirmed the directions on MapQuest.com I noticed that the place was on an isolated road way off the main highway. Oh, whatever. These people would be paying me generously and they had mentioned the names of several models I knew as references. Plus, I would be working with Stacy Burke. It appeared that everything was on the up and up.

On the given morning I drove out there and arrived at the location a bit late. I did not see Stacy's car anywhere. Numerous other vehicles lined the driveway leading up to the secluded house. The accumulated dirt and rust coating their surfaces indicated that they had not moved for a long time. I stepped up to the door and rang the doorbell. No one answered so I tried knocking and then rang the doorbell again. Maybe I was at the wrong place. The dwelling itself looked so ramshackle that it was possible that no one lived there at all. When I pulled out my cellphone to call the man who had booked me for the shoot I found that I could not get a signal.

Just then I heard a footstep behind me. Momentarily startled, I whipped around to face a disheveled looking man with a friendly smile on his face. It turned out to be Pete, the guy who had arranged the shoot. He picked up my bag and ushered me inside. For some reason a bit of nervousness was welling up inside me and I asked if Stacy had arrived. He said "no" and gestured for me to sit at the rickety wooden table in the center of the room. There was a single lightbulb with no enclosure suspended from the ceiling above it. We sat in silence for a minute and then I began making polite conversation to fill the dead air. Pete was a master of one-word responses, but I gleaned that he'd been a fan of catfight entertainment for some time and had finally decided to start shooting his own material for an Internet site. We lapsed into another prolonged silence. Where in the world was Stacy? Could she have gotten lost on the winding roads that lead up to Pete's house? I started chatting again to ease my own tension. For some reason I found myself mentioning the Bugliosi book and the murderer who enjoyed watching women fight. The emotionless expression on Pete's face began to morph into one of sinister fascination. He quickly became so enrapt in my discussion of the book that it started to creep me out. Abruptly I stopped talking. A minute ticked by as he stared at me and watched me try to stifle my rising sense of unease. There was a sadistic glint in his eye when at last he said:

"You really should have checked with the other models I named as references. I've never met any of them. At least you could have called Stacy to find out if she really was booked for a shoot today. I can tell you that she's not booked for one here, but I am still very eager to see how hard you can fight."

I sat frozen in my chair paralyzed with panic. Oh, Lord help me- what was this psycho going to do to me?!

Perhaps it's better that I don't remember much of what happened after that. I wish I could forget all of it, but the memory of his rough, calloused hands jerking me out of the chair and forcing me into the woods behind his shack is etched into my mind forever. A week after the incident I received the pictures below in a large manila envelope that came to my mailbox. The return address provided on the package named a street in San Bernardino that does not exist..


These disturbing photos are now in The Bondage Room inside my Playhouse:

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- XXOO Tanya

Thursday, August 10, 2006


Here's an excerpt from a recent addition to my archive site
www.JackOffLand.com :


Lauren Phoenix and Barrett Blade are the couple in the pic above. The only time I met Lauren was during the Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas in 2004. She and I had been hired to sit at booths owned by Larry Flynt Publications (LFP) at the convention. One morning I was supposed to get my makeup done in her hotel room because that was how LFP had arranged it. Initially Lauren had slammed the door in the makeup artist's face to prevent us from coming in there. She relented a few minutes later and...


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- XXOO Tanya

Saturday, August 05, 2006


I've been dancing for a number of years and have heard the same questions from customers over and over. They ask things like: "Do you have any education?", "What are you going to do when you quit dancing?", "Have you made any plans for the future?", Who's going to hire you when you have to get a real job?" Often they press a few folded dollar bills into my hand as they wait to see what my response will be. Are these guys really concerned about my welfare and my future? No, fuck no. Of course they aren't. So what is the best way to answer questions which are intended to be offensive? I don't know. People like these annoying douchebags just bug me. I don't even want to manufacture responses to counter their idiocy. Why do they always have to talk to me? There are so many of them and they all use the same tactics. Maybe each of them believes that he's doing something unique. They do tend to be savvy enough to hand me money while trying to insult me- obviously they realize that the malicious intent of their comments would be too transparent if they didn't. For some reason I'm a magnet for these types of people.

After one particularly tiresome shift at Larry's Rack Shack I decided to try a different job. It seemed like an idea whose time had come. I opened the classified section of the L.A. Times and the perfect opportunity jumped out at me. A local motorcycle dealership was hiring. I could sell motorcycles. I'd sell tons of them!

The next afternoon I headed into the Crotch Rocket Megastore with my friend Raul and filled out less than one quarter of the employment application. I made reference to one of my former jobs at a marine wholesaler. Had those people fired me or had I quit? It didn't matter. It still proved that I had sales experience so I just made their phone number illegible as I scribbled it on the form. That was the only information I provided other than my own name and phone number.

Raul watched as I handed the application to the smiling blonde receptionist. She promised that the manager would contact me for an interview if he was interested in hiring me. As Raul and I walked out the door he expressed surprise that I'd left so much of the application blank. He shook his head gravely and informed me that I'd really have to make more of an effort if I expected to get a "real" job. I found myself only half listening as he gave me further advice. Some of his other suggestions were that I enroll at a junior college and also enlist the help of a professional resume writer to put a positive spin on my employment history.

My phone did not ring for 3 days after Raul dropped me off at home. Maybe Raul had been right to lecture me. Maybe all those customers at the club had been onto something when they were trying to get under my skin. Maybe I wouldn't be able to get a job after I quit dancing. Maybe I'd be one of those dancers who tried to stay in the profession way too long. Maybe...



What happened next? How did busty Francesca Le become embroiled in my quest for new employment? Join my Playhouse to find out now:

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- XXOO Tanya