Views: 268 · Added: 28 days ago
The wife and I are still trying to figure out what all the hype is about. She read the book and didn't really think alot of the writing. Saw the movie and we were like meh. The only thing I can take from this is it's this decades 9 and 1/2 weeks. It seems there has always been a movie every few years that talks about what we do. The most three recent mainstream films I can recall is Exit to Eden, Secretary and the above mentioned. What made the books so hot that people couldn't put them down? Is society more accepting of kink than it was when Story of O was written and made into films? I think this may be it. As a veteran I remember reading about how the late Ed Lee (NuWest aka The Godfather of Spanking IMO) told tales of getting threatening letters from the government while trying to keep NuWest/Leda running, to where a novelist such as Anne Rice wrote a series of spanking novels under the name Anne Rampling (The Beauty Series). Maybe it can be looked upon as a victory for what past kinksters pushed for, mainstream. I just hope that people don't see the movie and just go jumping into this with no idea of what they're doing and knowing you can hurt someone. Let me get back on point, what do you think gives Fifty Shades so much hype?
4 comments ·
Views: 387 · Added: 28 days ago
She stares intently through the window of the coffee house. Her eyes nervously glance to and from the little red door across the road. Number 77, Salisbury Road. Bright red. Brass knocker and handle. Three steps up from the pavement. Not two. Not four. Three.
She traces the outline of her tea cup. A coffee girl by habit; double macchiato, maybe a cappuccino, but her beating heart and clammy palms had convinced her calm was good. There was already way more adrenalin thumping around this Tuesday evening than she was used to. A bored man in a grey suit briefly blocks her view of the door, and then it reappears. Bright red behind the dull street, the monochrome cars, the colourless commuter-belt terraced houses.
Her heart hop-skips. Did she see the curtain twitch in the little bay window? That’s him. Waiting for her. She glances down at her polished girlish shoes, and for an agonising second cannot look up. When at last she tears her gaze back to the window, there is no discernible sign of life, and she is suddenly aware of a cold disappointment quite out of proportion to the moment. She takes a breath and scolds herself inwardly for being childishly melodramatic.
Eight weeks. That is how long they had been chatting on line. Eight weeks of laughing out loud at the cleverness and wit of a person she had never met. Eight weeks of the highs and lows of opening her laptop to find if he had messaged her. Eight weeks of discovering fantasies she never knew were hers, of being shocked at her own sexuality, of daydreaming and drifting at her desk, of waking up in the middle of the night to find herself masturbating like a frustrated teenager, of shuddering orgasms that left her giddy, soaked, and shaking. Eight weeks.
It was she who had suggested they meet. She who had said she needed to know how it felt for real. The spankings, the slipperings, the canings that had been ever-present plot lines to their increasingly erotic correspondences had taken on a life of their own. They needed to take flight, to breathe their own breath, to take form.
“I want you to spank me like your naughty little school girl. I need to be over your knee. I need you to spank me over my panties, then pull them down, and spank my bare bottom with your slipper. And when you have me begging to be let off , pleading for mercy,then I want you to strip me naked and cane my bum until I can’t sit down. And then, Sir, I’m going to thank you the way a naughty girl should”.
The words were out, sent, flying through cyberland before she knew she had typed them. For what seemed like an hour she had stared at the screen, wondering if she had really just done what she thought she had done. Maybe she dreamt it. Maybe this was another of her 3AM half-asleep wet dreams. Maybe she’d wake up soon. Maybe.
Tuesday. 7PM, my house. 77 Salisbury Road. You can’t miss it, red door, three steps up from the pavement. I would advise you be on time.
She blinks. The bright red door, or the Tube home? A life-long fantasy, or just another Tuesday. The Red Pill, or the Blue. Without another thought, she rises, and heads for the door.
16 comments ·
Views: 296 · Added: 28 days ago
Good Morning Folks,
Today I wanted to start a discussion regarding any special implements that would be considered the crowning piece of your collection. Not just favorite to use or have used on you, or not just the one that is the heaviest, but a implement that is unique, rare, or has a certain sentimental quality to it.
Example A. Nu-West founder Ed Lee frequently used what he called an "Australian dog whip" in many of his productions, 3 Whipped Women being the best example. Before his passing Ed had a monthly newsletter, and in one of them he told the tale of purchasing three of these whips from a Aboriginal tribe in rural Australia. Two of these were lost or irreparably damaged, so the third was "guarded with my life" as he put it. Of course this was due to the fact the last one couldn't be replaced.
My example is somewhat similar, although not as exotic. Back in 1994 I went to an old school "adult bookstore" or creep magnet, to see if any spanking videos caught my interest. This dump also had a small selection of overpriced bondage gear. When I approached the fetish area I noticed this box in the corner with a bunch of bamboo sticks.
Walked over to take a look and turns out they were judicial canes imported from Singapore. There were stamps on all of the canes proclaiming "Made in Singapore" and the box appeared to have international shipping labels still stuck to it. Upon closer examination these were not hallow bamboo sticks for home decoration. These are much longer and heavier than English school canes.
Being that I was only 21 I didn't have much money to spend on this kind of stuff, but if memory serves me correctly they were around 20 USD. So I grabbed one for the hell of it.
My girlfriend at the time (Mara from a previous blog entry) could take an insane amount of spanking and loved every second of it. But with the Michael Fay caning case in Singapore being all over the news, along with descriptions of that caning, she was very apprehensive to try it. The first few times we treaded lightly and after a period of time built up she was able to take close to or over 100 strokes.
Before I ever used it on Mara I practiced swinging it on pillows because due to the size and weight the Singapore cane is much harder to control than the UK variety. Having practiced more than one style of martial arts that involves weapons I always had to keep it in the back of my mind that it didn't take much for me to deal an effective cane stroke.
Of course these were not ever, in any way, full fledged swings to cause deep purple bruising or draw blood. Personally, all of the severe stuff makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit and if someone reading this does enjoy making a woman bleed from the ass then get your frickin head examined. Seriously, WTF is wrong with you?
This thing also made a fun conversation piece. A kickboxing training partner of mine wanted me to get them one to add to their collection of martial arts memorabilia. When I went back to the scumpit bookstore I bought the last two they had. One for my sparring partner and one for my own back up.
Few years later a really sexy Dominatrix friend of mine asked to borrow one. She did have a submissive side due to being in control too much of the time. So made her a deal, I would borrow it to her but only if I can use it on her first, bent over her spanking bench.
Again, she asked to start off light and build up, not just start flailing away like some idiots would do. She became quite fond of it being used on her as well. Then a couple months later, supposedly the cane broke. Thankfully she let me give her a dose of her college paddle on the bare as method of repayment. Although to this day I suspect she still has it in her collection.
So now I am down to one of them. Glad I bought the second one because I never came across another. Over the past 20 years that I have owned this I have only used it on four women. Two loved the way I applied it, one was so-so and one girl took a single stroke and said forget it. These days the Singapore cane occupies a place near a European broadsword. While I may not use it very often, if ever, it is cool to see and know that it is a rare piece.
8 comments ·
Views: 198 · Added: 28 days ago
I was so very excited to wake on Tuesday to high 20's outside. A HEAT WAVE! I got dressed and was happy to run. Outside sunshine it was a GREAT DAY! Then Wednesday arrived with temps bellow 0 again. Ran on a darn treadmill inside and did a cardio workout inside. And now today is another frigged day. 11 weeks is all I have left. In my mind I will not get there. Do I just drop to the half marathon and know I can run it or do I just fight throw my fears and finish what I started? I am not one to quit something after I have already started. I am just worried I will not be able to complete this so early in the year. I guess I hope for nice weather for the weekend and go out for my long training and push myself to see how far I can go at the moment. I know I have done all I can up to this point and I have not let BackonTrack down or myself down for that matter. I just am questioning if this was a goal set to high?
Views: 447 · Added: 28 days ago
He whipped her with a birch from time to time as was the custom in those days. Sometimes it was richly deserved. Sometimes she provoked him. Whatever the cause, he whipped her well and left her sobbing. She always cried and was enraged by the humiliation. Or, was she? There was something else simmering just below the surface. The birch left her strangely aroused, oftentimes more than their lovemaking. It excited her when he threw her skirts and petticoats over her head and ripped at her pantalets to expose her fair bottom. Her helplessness against his strength aroused her. Even the pain, though sometimes exquisite, could be titillating. As a young girl, she'd heard the older women talk of, "The Kiss of the Lady." Now she knew. There was a sweet excitement to the sting.
She knew it affected him, too. He ran from it, though, always throwing down the birch and riding off, leaving his own anger and excitement unfulfilled. She had made the pleasure/pain connection long ago but he had not. He loved her dearly and remained confused, even disturbed that punishing her aroused him so. She yearned for him to caress and touch her after he whipped her but he was always gone, gone without a word. She was tired of the dance and could wait no longer. It was time she showed him why lust, rage and affection swirled around each blow of the birch.
She wore a simple cotton dress that day and asked cook to prepare them a picnic lunch. She had to get him alone and away from the cares of the estate. Most of all, she needed privacy. She led Thunder out of the stable and holding the brimming picnic basket, tapped on the window where he was laboring over the books. His smile told her she had planned well. He was happy to see her and even happier to step away from his work.
They rode Thunder together out to a sunny spot in the fields. It was near a stream and far away from the main house. She found a nice spot to lay down the tablecloth and unpack their lunch. He opened the wine. They quickly eased into each other's company as they ate cheese and fruit, and the chicken cook had roasted for them. She could see how relaxed he was when she finally laid her head in his lap. They talked on and on about hopes and dreams and all the things young people do. She challenged him with riddles. He regaled her with tales of his forefathers. They laughed so easily. It was like those early days not so long ago when a viscount and a kitchen maid fell in love.
"I brought something for us to play with," she said.
He thought at first she meant backgammon or shuttlecock but he saw the mischief in her eyes.
"What are you up to?"
She reached into the picnic basket and brought out his birch, that fearsome bundle of twigs he wielded from time to time. Seeing his puzzlement, she caressed it against her face.
"We can use this for love as well as war, did you know that?"
Still he resisted her logic so she moved closer.
"You've never heard of, 'The Kiss of he Lady'?"
Of course, he'd heard and he knew. At some level he's always known. If he were honest, even the sight of the birch excited him, but he pushed those thoughts away. It always frightened and confused him that he enjoyed taking the birch to her. He was even a bit ashamed at how much he relished giving her a good birching when she provoked him.
"I want to show you how you excite me," she said. "Bring the saddle here so I can lie across it."
He was taken aback at first by her candor and boldness but moved quickly to get the saddle as she started unbuttoning her dress. She was wearing only her camisole and pantalets when he returned and had tied her hair up with a ribbon. She was beautiful standing there in the dappled sunlight. She handed him the birch and he needed no further hints or encouragement. He knew what she expected. He took the birch and pointed to the saddle.
"Please, Sir, " she said softly, "I will do better."
"Yes, you will," he said pointing again to the saddle and warming to her game. "I am about to teach you a very painful lesson" he said as her eyes sparkled.
She lowered her eyes and put herself across the saddle. He knows! Finally, he's made the connection! As the saddle raised her hips, her pantalets opened to exposed her beautiful, rounded bottom. He was stunned at her posture and equally stunned at his response. There it was, finally out in the open. Whipping her aroused him. He walked around and knelt at her head. He pushed a curl off her face and touched a finger to her cheek.
"You are so lovely, my beautiful, beautiful Rose."
He was going to say more but she interrupted with a low whisper, "Please, sir?"
He put the birch down and pulled her camisole off over her head. He traced the birch over her neck and shoulders and watched her shiver and stretch out her arms and legs until she was one long arch over the saddle. He moved the birch back and forth across the small of her back. She groaned and pushed herself forward so her bottom rose even higher. He was mesmerized, fascinated by her response to a gentle sweep across her back.
He moved around to her feet, his eyes never leaving her. He was experimenting now, exploring and watching her response. He lightly touched the inside of her thighs and her legs moved apart. He dabbed it over her buttocks and she raised her bottom as if to meet her lover. He never realized how sensual she was or perhaps he never took the time. Finally, he understood that the birch could be both an erotic toy and an instrument of pain and ecstasy. He realized at last that his dominance over her excited them both.
For her part, she was lost in a cloud of caresses: his hands, the warmth of the sun, the soft breeze across her bottom and the teasing touch of the birch. Even the feel and smell of the leather saddle added to her excitement. She loved that she was helpless. She loved, too, that he was watching her. Her posture and silence were her gifts to him. She both feared and craved the punishment that he'd bring to her. Yet, she was hungry for it. She needed it and she needed it from him.
"Please, Sir," she said again.
"You must be punished! You understand that," he said more harshly than he had intended.
Watching her had transformed him as she knew it would. She had found a way. At his harsh words, she remained silent and turned her face down in full submission. He wanted to punish her now. He wanted to hear her cry out and suck in her breath. He moved the birch from hand to hand in anticipation. Her bottom was so beautifully round and inviting, framed as it was in white cotton. He whipped the birch through the air and watched her wince. He whipped it through the air again and watched her quiver and push her hips up to him. He was fully erect.
He began to thrash her with the birch, softly at first and then harder. Over and over he watched her writhe and meet the birch. She cried out but he couldn't tell, pain or passion? Or, both? She grabbed the tablecloth in her fists and sometimes even braced herself on her knees to boost herself higher. Her bottom was crimson now and showing the marks of the birch. The weals excited him as much as her cries. He lowered himself to lean on one knee. He held her down and whipped the birch across her buttocks again and again. She was sobbing as his strokes grew harder and her legs began to shiver and kick. Still, she never pleaded or asked him to stop. They were out in the fields, alone, and their excitement was in perfect sync. He was shocked at his passion as well as her's. She was screaming now as he clenched his teeth. They'd built themselves to a crescendo that couldn't be sustained. He fell on top of her, his face in her hair,
"I must take you, Rose. I want you." He was hoarse and rasped the words.
"Yes!" she wailed and pushed up as hard as she could.
And, so he did. He had whipped her and taken her, out in the fields on a beautiful summer afternoon. She lay spent and sobbing over a saddle. He collapsed over her, physically and emotionally drained. Only the loyal Thunder saw them as he munched on the nearby tender grasses.
© 2015 RosyPickwicket
36 comments ·
Views: 172 · Added: 28 days ago
He kept his mind on Heaven
Until Jezebel pulled down his britches
And showed him how sweet and hot
Hell could be.
Now his Bible lies behind the pulpit,
While he worships the dragon tattoo
On Jezebel's well-muscled
Upper right arm.
1 comments ·
Views: 295 · Added: 29 days ago
It's another birthday with no birthday spankings in sight. Even the current man in my life has his doubts. I still have almost 24 hours to show him the error of his ways. Any suggestions on how I might best go about that?
18 comments ·
Views: 239 · Added: 29 days ago
Is anyone having trouble viewing videos? I can;t it says I need to download Codec????????
9 comments ·
Views: 192 · Added: 29 days ago
would anyone have an interest in me making a self spanking video and posting it here? also if so, tell me what you would like to see.
Views: 208 · Added: 29 days ago
That’s what she calls them, Emma, ‘tutorials’. What she means is that she is sending me away to be disciplined. This happens quite frequently, usually when I have misbehaved beyond that which she can address herself. Sure, Emma can swing a cane, wield a paddle or just plain spank me, but she is unable to achieve the emotional disconnect that is required to administer fully effective corporal punishment. I suppose I should be glad!
I know it’s coming, I know when I have pushed the boundaries just that little bit too far. Emma measures the exact moment to tell me. It’s performed simply, matter of fact and despite the knowing, it always catches me by surprise, why I don’t know, I’m sure that subconsciously I engineer these situations myself, just so I can be punished. Why would I do that? Why would I want to be put in a position of such pain and humiliation?
The reason will be given, delivered by Emma in a cold and uncaring tone, I can’t help it but this really cuts, it hurts, far more than the physical punishment. Then, as if part of the overall theatre of the occasion, there is the letter that she has prepared, the letter outlining the reason I am to be disciplined, the sentence, method and severity of the beating, it’s all there in meticulous detail, even down to what she expects me to wear, all within that simple plain white envelope. On the back, in Emma’s neat handwriting is a date, time and location. She opens the envelope, takes out the letter and slowly unfolds it, she glances briefly at the content before passing it to me to read and understand. I feel her watching me, my expression as the words come together and I start to understand why the ’tutorial’ and what is expected of me in order to comply.
There is always a week or so between Emma producing ‘the letter’ and the day itself, I have often thought that this is purposeful, a means of tormenting me further, am I reading too much into this?
The day arrives and Emma is now ‘in role’, taking command, punctuating the time with reprimands, scolding me, perhaps in an attempt to justify my imminent punishment.
I become conscious of the time, my tutorial is a significant distance away and I know that being late would invoke further and more severe consequences. As instructed, I shower and shave, taking great care to ensure that my body is as smooth as possible. Emma enters the room, hands me the clothing I am to wear, I start dressing and become aware of her eyes, watching, scanning, and inspecting my body as I slowly dress – I am ready.
With a stony expression Emma hands me the envelope and a package. The content of the letter comes back to me and I realise that the package and my ‘tutorial’ are intimately linked. There are no other words, I grab my keys and leave.When I reach the car I place the letter and package on the passenger seat and with the engine started I set the navigation, 1hr 55mins. My mind races, in two hours it will have begun. I start off and as I hit the motorway I recall the last time, the intensity of the beating and just how difficult it was to remain seated on the way back home. My bottom had been subject to a fierce and prolonged campaign of strokes which had left it scarlet, burning and every bump and bounce of the car caused added pressure on the mass of welts embedded in my cheeks. Was this ‘tutorial’ to be worse?
I am early, the roads had been easy, but I was early!! I park up, not too close but equally not too far for the walk. 2:45pm and my ‘tutorial’ is not until 3:00pm, I fidget, I’m nervous, scared even. My eyes glance at the package on the passenger seat, I should look, investigate, but do I want to know right now what is to be later used on me?
I pick the package up and carefully peel the tape from one end releasing the wrap. I become anxious as I separate the layers of brown paper until I can see it, a paddle, wooden, savage looking!!
I extract the paddle taking great care so as not to damage the wrapping. It is about 18” long, 4” wide and about ½” thick, it looks as though it’s oak, stained and with eight holes, each about ¾” in diameter. I am entranced by its beauty, its quality and consider the love and attention that had been applied to its creation. Then I remember its purpose as I relate back to Emma’s letter, this object is with me for one function only, my fear escalates.
2:55pm, its time. I repack the paddle taking care so as to return the packaging to its untouched condition, I take the package and the letter and leave the safety of my car for the walk.
Its 3:00pm and I am now stood outside the door, I am shaking almost uncontrollably as I raise my arm and rest my finger on the doorbell.
Slight pressure, I hear the bell and know that it is now too late, I’m committed!!
3 comments ·
Views: 189 · Added: 29 days ago
I see her at the bar. We have had chances in the past to experiment if our husbands would have let us. I will not let them get in our way tonight. I walk over to her table and sit in the empty chair. She smiles at me, and I can tell she is in the same mood I am. Hot and horny and wanting to play. Her heart shaped ass is calling out to me, for me to me to peel those jeans off of and spank it until it is has a beautiful rosy red blush to it.
I motion with my head for her to follow me.
She does follow me.
We are in the back room of the bar.
I peel those jeans from her hips, remove her panties, and make her squirm for more. I have her spread her legs to see if she is enjoying playing as much as I am. She is; she is wet to my touch.
We can still hear the people in the main bar. We can see people watching us, peeking through into the play area. But, we just do not care.
I can see and smell that she is enjoying herself. I give her pussy a soft slap, just to let her know, that I know how wet she is for me.
I start to make her bottom cheeks hot and red.
She is now meeting my hand in anticipation and grinding her pelvic bone into my thigh as she takes her spanking.
Her bottom is on fire I can feel the heat rising from her globes, into the flesh of my palm.
Then I notice you watching me, as I sneak my fingers between her thighs and find her wet pussy lips.
I stroke them and feel her grind back onto my hand; clearly wanting more. I find her little button and rub it until she is screaming my name and needing to cum.
As my sweet friend cums at my hand, I see that you are still watching entranced by our activities. I motion you to come closer. I see the bulge in your pants, the excitement in your eyes.
"Do you want to be next?" I ask, with a grin on your face you undo your jeans and place yourself across my lap.
With you over my knee, I start to swat your bottom with my hand. I can both, feel and hear you laughing at my attempts to chastise you.
Removing your boxer-briefs, I pull my belt off and wrap it around my hand. I soon see by the red marks it leaves on your skin, that the belt is making a bigger impression. I can also feel your shaft stiffening even more as it bumps up against my thigh. I roll your balls in my hand and pull on your sac ever so gently.
Your focus is not on who may be watching but where my hands and belt are. I move to caress your cock and feel you stiffen with every stroke.
I drop the belt and use my hand again this time with a little more force behind it. I feel you are close to climax, and I can only think about seeing your cock and tasting it. With that thought, I stop and have you stand up I drop to my knees and start to stroke your cock and lick the tip.
I want to taste you, so I take you into my mouth.
Your massive cock is now at the back of my throat, and I can hear you moan with pleasure. I start to suck hard, deep, and fast, now needing to taste your cum. I grab your hips, and you place your hands on my head I let you take what you need from me to give me what I want.
And then I feel the warmth hit the back of my throat. I moan and suck you dry. You pull yourself together, then sit on the chair I vacated.
You hold your hand out, I think you are going to help me up. Before I realize what you are doing, I am over your knee, and my legs are trapped between yours.
7 comments ·
Views: 184 · Added: 29 days ago
"We'll no longer allow blogs that contain sexually explicit or graphic nude images or video".
I guess this page can be considered "documentary'
But it might still be removed.
I will be expanding my web site (www.HydroMadam.com) and will include this blog page as well as current spanking pictures & videos.
This is my Vintage Clips & Pics page If you'd like to take a look before it's possible removal, here's your chance
Stay warm (I don't mean just your bottom) and safe
Spring is coming.
0 comments ·
Views: 212 · Added: 29 days ago
Belated end to my serial - parts 1-7 may be found in my blog history.
Ordinarily, Jim would consider that, at this point, this job was just about completed. Thelma and Laura-Lee have received the firm whipping which they richly deserved; they have learned their lessons and, after a little more time to reflect upon their new found wisdom, they would be set free to go home and prepare their husbands’ lunches.
However, with the ladies still tied up in the shed and reflecting upon their lack of discretion, Jim receives a visit from Judge Beauregard and Pastor John, whereupon events take an unexpected turn.
It emerges that the two men are not finished with disciplining their ladies yet. A conversation amongst the church elders has revealed that the Judge and the Pastor are not the only ones who have been having trouble with insubordinate wives. Even the mayor is experiencing problems; so much so, that the prospect of a sound whipping from Jim is proving to have a waning deterrent value. The very fabric of their ordered little society is being undermined and it has been resolved that something must be done or anarchy will ensue.
This being the case, the Judge and the Pastor have decided to raise the ante and to clamp down hard on these would-be emancipated women for once and for all. An example is to be made of Thelma and Laura-Lee. The Judge is calling it “The walk of shame”!
There follows a brief discussion with Jim, who nods and disappears inside the shed, returning with the ladies’ dresses, shoes, and purses in his arms. He turns them over to the two men who get into their car and they drive away. It would appear that the ladies will be required to return home barefoot in their petticoats. At one time this was customary practice for dealing with errant wives in England and the Judge has uncovered the details in one of his historical legal textbooks.
Technically speaking, the correct procedure calls for ducking the miscreants in the pond and placing them in the stocks afterwards. However, since the town of Hicksville had neither stocks nor pond, some divergence from the classical methods was, unfortunately, deemed expedient.
Nevertheless, whilst it represents a departure from what normally happens, Jim is by no means displeased. In fact he rather likes the idea. To be truthful he has a fetish for women in soft flowing lingerie and white lingerie in particular. He goes back inside the shed and cuts the two women down, explaining that their dresses and shoes etc have been confiscated by their husbands.
If they would kindly put the rest of their clothing on, which amounts in practice to their slips and hats, he will escort them to town in his pickup truck.
The news is received first with incredulity and then with dismay. It is bad enough for two ladies of breeding such as Thelma and Laura-Lee to have been unceremoniously whipped like common vagrants, but to return home barefoot and in their underwear, is just about the ultimate in humiliation. Unfortunately, with their dresses and shoes confiscated and a mile down the road by now, they do not have any choice. Self-consciously, they step out of the shed and into the sunlight.
Laura-Lee with her fair skin and auburn hair is marginally the taller and slimmer of the two. Thelma has medium length dark hair with brown eyes and, whilst neither of them could be described in any way as fat, it is fair to say that she is the more generously apportioned.
On Jim’s recommendation, neither is wearing her brassiere because, as he correctly suggests, it would be very uncomfortable and sore after the kind of whipping they had received. In consequence, their breasts are wobbling tantalisingly beneath a light covering of lace and white satin. The skimpy nature of the slip, with its loose fit, ribbon straps and revealing cut, means that the whip marks across their shoulders are all too visible.
The two women are feeling exposed and vulnerable, but fortunately there appears to be no one about to witness their humiliation. As Jim leads them to his pickup truck, they are feeling partially consoled by the fact that, once inside the cab, they will be virtually hidden from view and their modesty will be preserved.
However, whereas the latter would have been true, riding inside the cab is absolutely not what the Judge and the Pastor have in mind. They have decreed instead that the ladies are to ride in the load area of the pickup truck, as though on a tumbrel taking them to the place of execution. Since there is nowhere to sit down in the back, they will be obliged to stand facing forward and holding on to the ladder rack. It is either that or they make must their own way home on foot, Jim informs them, and would they kindly make up their minds quickly because he does not have all day.
With the greatest of reluctance, but with little choice in the matter, they accept the ride.
Having helped them to climb on board, Jim sets off slowly down the road with the ladies hanging on in the back. Their tits are bouncing up and down each time the truck hits a pothole. With their slips flapping briskly in the turbulence of the air around them, they cling on with one hand to the ladder rack whilst holding on to their hats with the other.
This was bad enough but, if they had retained any notion for retaining the smallest shred of dignity and privacy, their hopes is to be dashed when Jim reaches the town boundary. It would appear that the word has got out and the road is lined with curious bystanders who are openly taking a great deal of pleasure from the spectacle before them.
Just inside the town limits, the full extent of the humiliation that awaits them becomes apparent, when Jim stops the truck and orders them off.
“I’m afraid you have to have to walk from here ladies.” he says. “I was given strict instructions. The rest of your clothes are at the church. I believe that your husbands are waiting for you there.”
The white painted church, with its imposing bell tower, is about a hundred yards ahead and to the right. It appears that the whole congregation has gathered outside to await their arrival. In order to reach it, the ladies will have to walk past Miss Kitty’s place and there is a whole row of her girls leaning over the veranda, waiting. It is not a welcome prospect but what other option is there?
So, for Thelma and Laura-Lee, the walk of shame begins. With heads bowed in disgrace, dishonoured and humiliated, they walk as quickly as their bared feet will allow, past the rows of bystanders and by Miss Kitty’s veranda. From there, they are taunted mercilessly by many of the young ladies, who are scarcely more covered up than they are. Eventually, after what seems an age, they turn into the gates and down the path to the church steps where, in the midst of the congregation, they are made to kneel in supplication, in order to receive forgiveness.
“Oh Lord,” bellows Pastor John. “We thank Thee most kindly for your benevolence in delivering these poor lowly sinners here from the clutches of the Devil and setting them on the path of righteousness. Amen.”
“Amen!” choruses the assembled crowd. There then follows a selection of prayers and an impromptu sermon about the virtues of obedience, after which the formalities are over and the onlookers quietly disperse.
When the crowd is gone, Thelma and Laura-Lee are led by their husbands into the church where, once the doors close behind them, both women get a good slapping around for bringing shame and disgrace upon their men folk. Then they get a pants-down leathering with the church’s strap until their asses are red raw, followed by a good hard seeing-to whilst bent over the alter rail.
Meanwhile outside and across the road, Jim, who has waited on to watch the proceedings from Miss Kitty’s veranda, climbs back in his pickup and heads off to find Mike and G.
“Hot damn!” he chuckles to himself. Who would have thought that he, Jim of all people, would be in the business of saving souls? Hell, if he could save enough of these poor sinners and set them on the path of righteousness, they might even make him a saint one day.
The Lord sure did work in mysterious ways.
10 comments ·
Views: 404 · Added: 30 days ago
The other day while driving I was feeling pride in the ladies I am currently working for, and had a slight epiphany. I decided I'd post this here and see if anyone else feels the same way, the title is self explanatory.
First there's the basic part of all of it, I have an interest in spanking it's true. As I explained in my profile I think at one point it was a basic fetish that grew into something much more. Though I do recall a time before I even knew what sexuality was that I would play house and spank my female (and even male) friends. Regardless it's become more of a hobby; dare I say career that provides no monetary gain.
Next comes the power dynamic, as a normal man living in the broad world I feel I have little to no control over my own life. I have a wife and children and work hard to do what I can to carry on a functioning family. I've made countless mistakes in my life and seem to have painted myself into a corner career wise due to some of the choices I made as a teenager and young adult. I seem to be better at giving others advice than I do taking it myself, and I like what little control I have over those that willingly submit to it. I am also enamored with the trust and respect these ladies have given me.
The previous two reasons are pretty common and I'm sure anyone can relate; from those who do it for fun to those who do it for that and more. However my favorite thing about it would have to be the pride. To be more specific, the sense of pride I feel when they succeed at their goals. They tell me it's thanks to me and my efforts, but I know really I'm just a small part of it, and it's really them who are putting forth the effort and willing to be held accountable. I get to live vicariously through them. They are their own people and can make their own choices, but they made the conscious choice to surrender a part of themselves to me, knowing the results would likely be unpleasant because they wanted to do better, and know they can.
Views: 207 · Added: 30 days ago
"So off we tootled to the head's office straight after her first detention. I can tell you she looked pretty scared at was was going to be coming her way.
It's odd really that the head still keeps all his old canes in the office, I suppose he is keeping hold of them in case corporal punishment is ever brought back. Well, anyway whatever the reason, he had about five in a long cupboard behind his desk.
Obviously I had to find one that would suit me, so I took each one out and gave them all a couple of practice air swishes. When I did that I could see what little colour Joan had drain from her face, you know how pale she always looks?
Well, you should have seen her this evening; she was as white as a sheet!
I felt a little bit sorry for you know?
I even thought about not caning her and just pretending that the punishment had been carried out. After all, who would be any the wiser it's not like her dad would be checking her bottom for stripe marks is it?
You know the detention would be bad enough for her, so I thought about just letting her off!”
“Really?” I asked in a perhaps overly surprised tone.
“Did I bollocks!” Angela laughed at the very thought of her being so soft, “there was no way I was going to be giving up this chance!
So I said to her 'as we are both girls together, this is going to be a proper old fashioned caning, so if you could lift up your skirt, lower your tights and knickers and touch your toes we can begin?'
The look on her face was a picture as she shook her head saying that I couldn't cane her bare bum. I reminded her of the agreement that she had signed. And that it was my decision how the caning would be carried out, and to make this a truly salutary punishment it would be given to her bare bottom.
You know she was in tears even before her tights were down around her knees?
By the time she was bent over with that large pale moon in front of me she crying like a kid!
I laid the first stroke on her, right across the middle of her chubby cheeks, and she hopped straight up grabbing at her arse and swearing her head off.
Such language from our little put upon innocent!
Eventually, she got back into position but she was swaying back and forth and struggling to keep her balance.
'this is no good,' I told her, 'I'm going to be trying to hit a moving target here! I'll tell you what, instead of touching your toes, put your feet just over shoulder width apart and grab the backs of your knees.'
She did what I told her, I don't know if she knew what view she was now giving me, but I'm sure you can guess?”
I nodded silently my throat now dry at the thought of this scenario.
“Well let's just say her little secret places weren't that secret anymore, her virgin chink was on full view; leastways I'm assuming she is a virgin but who knows these days. Do you think little Joannie is still virgo intacta?”
I shrugged my shoulders, not wanting her to think that I dwelled too much in my mind upon the sexual activities of her pupils.
“I think she would be, she is a real goody two-shoes, anyway, this position seemed to suit her more as she took the next stroke a lot better. I suppose the first one was a real shock and the second one she was a bit more prepared for. I waited a while watching the lines colour up, once I had two cute little red tramlines running across the middle of her bot I had to think of where to place the third line.
I decided on going a little higher, to place it above her puckered up little bum hole.
I did tell you that this position left everything open to view didn't I?”
I nodded, holding my breath as I did so.
“The fourth stroke though I never had any doubt in my mind where that would be going, I aimed for the lowest part of her bum, right were the arse cheeks meet the hamstrings.
I know from experience that that hurts like a bastard and that the next day every step would be a little reminder of this evening.
Also with it being the last stroke I made it extra tight, you know a right stinger?
It worked as well as she jumped up hopping again, no swearing this time though.
It was rather sweet actually, when I told her that she could pull her clothes back up she managed to stutter out 'thank you miss' between her sniffles!
So what do think, was I right in what I did?”
I shook my head and said.
“We both know what you did was very wrong and cruel Angela don't we?”
Angela nodded and replied.
“Yeah...I suppose so....so I'm in trouble now for being such a bitch?”
I nodded silently.
“Should I go and get the slipper?”
Again I nodded in silence, Angela then sloped out of the room to get the instrument for her correction.
I so love it when Joan plays the “Angela The Cruel Schoolteacher” game.
Views: 160 · Added: 30 days ago
“Why you though, that's what I can't understand?”
“Why not me, I have been on the wrong side of it plenty of times?” Angela replied rather irately.
“It just seems so strange, after all, you must only be about five years older than her?”
“Six years as it happens, though what age has to do with it I have no idea?”
“It just seems odd that they asked you, rather than one of the older teachers that's all I meant,” I replied trying to calm down Angela's growing indignation.
“Well, actually I volunteered, as no one else seemed very keen on giving her a dose of the cane, I think they were worried about being sued or something.” Angela's eyes were now almost flashing as she spoke.
“So you aren't worried about being sued?” I asked in disbelief.
“No, not at all, her father made her sign a disclaimer, stating that the punishment was being carried out at her request and by the appointed teachers discretion. Better that I suppose than being expelled so close to her final A level exams.”
I shook my head still not really taking it all in. Here was Angela my twenty-four-year-old fiancée and live in lover telling me how today she had caned Joan Morley an eighteen-year-old six former for vandalism. Despite, corporal punishment being banned in British state schools over three years ago.
“So what happened exactly?” I asked, my secret predilection for corporal punishment now being stoked up.
“I whacked her arse!”
“I know that but why....how...where..?” I was now starting to feel that Angela was just trying to wind me up with her vagueness.
“OK, OK! Joan and two of her mates decided that they wanted to have a sly smoke. And rather than going back to the sixth form block, for some reason best be known to themselves they decided to have a smoke on the upstairs landing at the back of the Domestic Science room. Before you ask, because I don't know why either, but there is always a supermarket shopping cart parked up on that hardly used landing. So the three of them started to play with the trolley, can you believe that? This, is the supposed future of our country I'm talking about here!”
I nodded in silence as I thought that would be the best way to race her to the juicy bits that I was looking forward to hearing.
“Well anyway, Joan got a bit too carried away by what we have heard. She started spinning the trolley around her, you know like she was one of those Moroccan dancers?”
Again patiently I nodded.
“Then for some reason she let go of the handle, the trolley shot off down the stairs. When it reached the bottom of the first flight, hit the handrail and shot over the top and straight through the window!”
Now Angela was looking quite deliriously happy at Joan's more or less accidental situation.
“Now most people would have legged it at this point. Not these three, Joan's two mates broke their necks to snitch on her. Now personally I think they should have got a good thrashing for being a pair of little yellow grasses, but that wasn't to be. So I had to make do with 'little miss goody two shoes' on her own. You do know who I'm talking about here don't you?”
I shook my head in confusion and frustration at the way she was spinning out her story.
“Last month at the charity quiz? The girl with dark brown hair that was serving the wine and cheese? She looks a bit like a Pierrot clown; heart shaped face and mouth?”
Now I realised who Angela was talking about, “the pleasant, polite girl with more than a passing resemblance to Kate Bush?”
“Yeah, that's the one. Well, anyway I've never trusted these butter wouldn't melt girls, so I was quite happy when three of them were dropped in the shit like this. Then two wangled out by blaming Joan, if they had kept quiet they would most likely have gotten away with it, but they just bottled it!”
I nodded for her to continue.
“So the Head went off it, demanding that an example must be made here. These days our maximum punishment is expulsion, so that was what he intended, till Joan's dad came up with his alternative option of an old fashioned caning.”
In my mind's eye, I could already see Joan bending over and touching her toes, waiting for her green skirt to be given a good dusting with the stick!
“Of course the caning would have to be hushed up. So, the head said that would not set any example to the others, so her dad said a caning and a weeks night time detention after school. The head's office must have been like a market with the two of them haggling and Joan just standing listening to see what her fate would be.
To be honest, a weeks detention would probably have been a fair enough punishment. Imagine how she would feel being stuck in the dining room after school surrounded by a load of third and fourth formers, with like as not one of her prefect mates acting as detention monitor?
The head didn't seem to realise the power of the humiliation that the detention alone would provide as a deterrent, so they hammered out the agreement of four strokes of the cane and a weeks detention.
So that was it, all decided for her by the head and her father. All that was left now was to find who would be the executioner of her sentence. So, the head got all of the female staff together; I jumped at the chance to dish out a caning rather than be on the receiving end!"
2 comments ·
Views: 276 · Added: 30 days ago
Once upon a time
there was a little lass
Who always made me laugh
With her little acts of sass.
She said her name was Crimson
Which seemed to fit her fine
In fact I could aptly see that color
right on her behind.
She had a list of chores
like many young girls do
And yet they never seemed to get done
and away the time just flew.
Her texting, emailing, and gaming
The excuses went on and on
Pleading her many tales of woe
She was sometimes up till Dawn!
But you can bet HER butt this Friday,
Fussing and resisting to The SHED then we will go
and if that SHED isn't spotless clean
Both her panties AND her spirits will be low.
She has been spanked before you see
and warned a bunch of times
But stubbornness and procrastination
are for sure, two of her worse crimes.
So certainly it's up to me
To take her in my hand
and let her learn a lesson
Which her bottom will fully understand.
And .. if by chance.. that SHED is clean
and no spanking is even due
no other chores, nor naughty deeds,
oh how could that be true?
I say I spank her 'Just Because'
as a Gift... from me to you! :)
Views: 268 · Added: 31 days ago
February 19 marked the beginning of the Chinese New Year - a very important festival in China and in other parts of the world with large Chinese populations. Chinese New Year is an occasion for families to get together for the annual reunion dinner, and in the days and weeks preceding this holiday, some 700 million people — twice the entire population of the U.S. — cram onto trains, buses, planes and boats to go home. This mass migration is the largest annual movement of humans in the world! The holiday typically lasts a week.
Some other traditions at this time are to thoroughly cleanse the house in order to sweep away any ill-fortune and to make way for the incoming good luck. Homes are decorated with red and gold lanterns, paper cuttings and couplets (red paper with Chinese calligraphy). Popular themes are "good fortune", "happiness", "wealth", and "longevity". Other activities include lighting firecrackers and giving money in red paper envelopes.
The Chinese Zodiac is based on a twelve-year cycle, and each year in that cycle relates to an animal sign. For this “Year of the Sheep”, if you were born in 1943, 1955, 1967, 1979, or 1991, you are: tender, polite, clever, and kind-hearted. You have special sensitivity to art and beauty, and a special fondness for quiet living. “Sheep” are wise, gentle, compassionate, and cope with business cautiously and circumspectly. In daily life, you try to be economical, although you enjoy the finer things in life. You are willing to take good care of others, and should avoid pessimism and hesitation.
I’ve always been fascinated by the Chinese culture - the history, food, music, art, poetry, language, people, etc. I’ve even been told by a few Chinese friends that I would make a good Chinese person, although my appearance is quite the very opposite. :-) Even though it was only a one-night stopover, I consider myself lucky to have visited Hong Kong. The best part of the stay was taking the Star Ferry from Kowloon across the harbour to Hong Kong Island. We crossed at night and the view of the crowded skyline and Victoria Peak in the background was spectacular. We also saw several junks (ancient Chinese ships). Once we disembarked, we walked around in the bright and bustling shopping district for about an hour before taking the ferry back again. I even got to try out a bit of Mandarin from a course I had taken!
Anyway, one of the best parts of Chinese culture is the food - dim sum is one of my favorite meals. I also saw Peking Duck being served in a restaurant, and I finally got to try it on my birthday a couple years ago.
Peking Duck is the most famous gourmet cuisine of Beijing (formerly known as Peking), and one of the most popular foods in China, with a history dating back more than 600 years. The preparation and cooking of the duck is a painstaking and long process that includes glazing and cooking in hanging ovens so that the fat between the meat and the skin drains out. This also allows the entire surface of the skin to crisp. The skin is coated with maltose syrup, which makes it extra crispy and flavorful, as well as giving it a tempting, shiny brown color.
Serving Peking Duck is a bit unusual. In some restaurants, the chef will bring the hot, roast duck to the table and carve it in front
of the diners - an essential part of the feast due to the showmanship. The customer typically assembles the meal which includes the following ingredients: thin, crepe-like pancakes, tender meat, crispy skin, spring onions, cucumber sticks, and several sauces of your choice, including hoisin. The pancake is wrapped or folded and then eaten by hand. Sometimes the Peking Duck is served in pillowy, white, steamed clamshell buns, similar to the pork bun variety.
The second course is usually a duck-meat stir fry (with noodles or rice). Then for the third course, the remaining fat, meat and
bones are made into a soup.
Most restaurants require that you place your order for Peking Duck 24 hours before you arrive, unless they specialize in it and serve it daily. It is a unique feast for special occasions; usually the best part of the meal is considered to be the delicious, crispy, fat-free skin!
Has anyone eaten Peking Duck? Did you like it?
Another great part of Chinese culture is the poetry.
Here’s one of my favorites:
TEN THOUSAND FLOWERS IN SPRING, THE MOON IN AUTUMN
BY WU-MEN, 1183-1260
Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn,
a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter.
If your mind isn’t clouded by unnecessary things,
this is the best season of your life.
On a similar topic (haha), I’ve often thought of getting a very small tattoo of some Chinese character. Hmmm, what should it be? Any suggestions?
Thanks for reading this blog. Sorry about the lack of spanking!
P.S. I still can't single space a poem or highlight it in red! :-(
15 comments ·
Views: 276 · Added: 31 days ago
I am really into giving out spankings. I especially like giving out spankings to men that are Doms, Tops, HOH, or Daddies. I have these type of men contacting me all the time for safe - secret - spankings. The ones that I have spanked, no one will ever know about it. That is why they come to me. So anyone on here that i play with all the time, I have not spanked. I don't like it when people find out who i have really spanked. Thank you! To the Queen of ST who tells me who is who. But I got you. I just like making these type of men know that i am here if they ever need a spanking. But people REMEMBER anyone i have spanked. You will never see me talking about it. These type of men need someone that they can turn their ass cheeks to when they need discipline as well. That is what I am here for. FYI! I will be coming out with a new Video really soon! All of the men that I spank are called Michael in my videos, since it is a common name. Let me know if you live in TN and want to get things started!
Views: 199 · Added: 31 days ago
With this frigid cold snap still persisting and keeping me indoors I have been finding different cardio workouts to do indoors. I found two I did yesterday evening and today with the same man in them. It was refreshing to watch him struggle like I was and to be sweating like I was too. Most exercise videos are made with tiny girls that do not break a sweat during the workout. I always feel like I must be doing it wrong given that I end up with sweat dripping and my muscles feeling like jello. With these few I have found I look and feel like him! I am doing it right!!
I hope to get outside to run tomorrow. BackonTrack has been keeping me going so far so good. He was being a tease when he said I could warm up with slate cleaning if I needed. I just give him a smiling angel face and say no need. Fear of what may come is good enough for me.
The closer it gets to the race day the more I am doubting myself. My stride is wrong I sound like a Clydesdale on the treadmill and I scared the owners granddaughter while I was running on it because my breathing is so loud.
My I think I can is becoming i hope i can. I just need it to warm up so I can run.