Firm Discipline

"It's not about the money, Stuart. It's a question of trust."

Miranda Wells - fifty-two, sharply suited, severely beautiful - sifted through the collection of expense receipts before her.

"Lord knows," she continued, addressing the young man standing awkwardly on the far side of her desk, "on a good day you're already making more profit for this company in ten minutes' work than this little lot amounts to. You certainly have the talent. But then I think it's fair to say - especially at your tender age, especially at the start of your career - that I'm paying you handsomely for it."

Stuart Freeman - twenty-two, expensively coiffured, boyishly good-looking - said nothing. He studied the carpet at his feet with apparent nonchalance, although he was somewhat betrayed by the flush rising to his cheeks.

After a few seconds Miranda stopped shuffling and began to lay out the incriminating sheets of paper in a neat row, face up, with the solemn formality of a fortune teller dealing from a tarot deck. Each was turned towards Stuart as though to encourage him to think on his betrayal; each foretold a gloomy future.

Miranda carefully straightened up the last sheet. Then she leaned back in her padded leather chair, folded her silk-sleeved arms across her ample bosom, and let her cool gaze rest on her newest and youngest employee for a long, long moment.

"So," she said presently. "Promising future, enviable salary, and yet..." - she waved an elegant hand dismissively above the offending paperwork - "And yet, this. The question is, Stuart... the question is, why?"

Stuart's mouth tightened a little and he offered a small, apologetic shrug - a gesture that had served him well during the schooldays to which he felt himself suddenly transported.

Miranda waited. She studied her fingernails. She let the silence build. Then she sighed. "I have a theory, if you'll indulge me. It's not enough for you to be young and successful and rather pretty, is it? No, you're one of those young men who's happiest when he's breaking the rules. Playing the chancer. Being a bad boy. Are you a bad boy, Stuart?"

That produced something dangerously close to a smirk.

"I'd straighten that face if I were you, young man," said Miranda, "because otherwise I'll happily do it for you." She drummed her fingers briefly on the desk. "Oh, and I'm still waiting for an explanation, but since I've plenty of paperwork to do here then I'm also happy to keep you standing there all morning if need be. What's more - since it's company time you're wasting - every minute you do stand there is another minute you'll be sat at your desk this evening making up for it."

She peered at him over the steel frames of her spectacles. "Assuming, that is, that you're lucky enough to have a desk to go back to."

That, at least, had some effect. Stuart cleared his throat.

"Miranda, I..."

"...mmm sorry I falsified my hotel claims?"

"Well, yes, but I..."

"...never imagined I might get caught?" Miranda retrieved one of the receipts and glanced at it briefly before holding it out towards her young underling. "You know, considering how much Mummy and Daddy must have spent on your top-flight education, you can't spell for toffee. It's been a while since I stayed at the Hilton, but I'm pretty sure that the last time I did they were still only writing the name of it with one L."

Stuart's face reddened further. "I was going to say that I... made a mistake, it won't happen again. And I need to be getting on with that report."

Miranda continued to regard him evenly as though he hadn't spoken at all. Then she reached across, slid open a desk drawer and began to extract its contents. Stuart watched as a pen holder, a glass paperweight and a pocket calculator appeared on the desk before her.

"You know," Miranda was saying as she worked, "there are many different approaches to people management. Some bosses, for instance, are rather squeamish about discipline. Theirs is a warm, fluffy world where incentive is all about praise and reward - the proverbial 'carrot'. Personally, I've always been more of a..." - and here she retrieved what she'd been hunting for, and laid it flat upon the desk - "...stick girl."

Stuart gazed in confusion at the pale wooden paddle. It was about eighteen inches long, drilled with a neat grid of circular holes and coated in a thick varnish that gleamed under the flourescent light. It held his attention all the time that Miranda was uncrossing her long legs, rising from her chair and stepping out from behind her desk to stand behind him.

It distracted him so completely that he jumped a little when she spoke again.

"The fact is, I'd been thinking of awarding you a little bonus after the way you turned around the Williams account last month. But sadly it now seems rewards are not appropriate." She paused to pick a fleck of lint, real or imaginary, from his shoulder, and as she did so her mouth came within an inch of his ear. "No, it seems you've already been a greedy little donkey," she said. "No carrot for you."

Miranda took a step back and was busy rolling up her sleeve when Stuart summoned the courage to turn his head and glance behind him. Miranda caught his gaze and said, "Take off your jacket and hand it to me."

He opened his mouth to say something, to be the bad boy, but nothing came out of it. Instead he slipped the garment from his shoulders, passed it into Miranda's oustretched hand and watched as she deposited it on a coat stand in the corner of the office. As she turned to retake her position behind him he found himself unable to meet her eye, and faced the desk again. He felt a little dizzy, and pressed his fingertips against the cool wood to steady himself.

The paddle tugged at his gaze, but he made himself concentrate on a large painting hung behind the chair that he had never studied before. It featured a somewhat familiar depiction of a Biblical scene: to the left were Adam and Eve, falling prey to temptation; to the right, the same couple being banished from the Garden. "The Fall of Man, by Michelangelo." Miranda was at his ear again. "Somewhat appropriate, don't you think?"

She placed a proprietary hand against the small of Stuart's back, and used it for support as she leaned past him - one firm breast brushing his arm as she did so - to separate the papers on the polished walnut desktop. She arranged them in two columns, with a space between them the width of a man's torso. "As I'm sure you're aware," she was saying, "You're two weeks from the end of your probation period. And you were doing so well, too. I think it's possible you still have a bright future - yes, even in my employ. But that does depend upon us understanding one another."

Stuart braced himself as she leaned further, stretching to reach the paddle before turning it over appraisingly in her hand.

"It'd be a pity to lose you, Stuart," said Miranda.

Janine Peters - twenty-seven, bespectacled, vacantly pretty - sat at her computer in the outer office, ignoring the thirty-four unopened emails in her inbox but paying rapt attention to the telephone conversation she was having with a friend. She held the receiver expertly under her chin so that she could paint her nails while she talked. "Yeah, he's in there now... yep... oh, he said to discuss his salary. Yeah, he's a cocky one - told me he'd mailed Miranda this morning to set up a meeting - told her that she could either pay him an extra ten thousand or watch him walk. Funny thing is, I checked her calendar this morning? And he didn't make that appointment. She did."

She switched the receiver to her left ear and began to work on her other hand.

"What's that, Kel? Oh yeah, he's pretty cute. If he gets that extra ten thou then I might just let him take me out to... wait, hang on a sec."

Janine held her breath and listened, one nail half-painted, the brush poised in mid-air. Yes, there it was again - somewhat muffled by the thick office door, but unmistakable. Like a firecracker being let off in the next street.

Janine shifted her bottom on her chair, as if at some uncomfortable recollection. "Kelly," she said, "I have to go. No, I'll call you tonight. No, really. Kel... later. Later. Bye. Bye." Janine hung up the phone and cocked her head, mouth slightly open, for a few more seconds. Then she turned back to her computer and started to work, harder than she'd done in weeks.

Within the office, Stuart's customary smirk was long gone. Had you been able to see his expression - and you'd need to have positioned yourself carefully, since his forehead was pressed against the desktop and his formerly perfect fringe was in disarray around his eyes - then you might have called it a grimace.

Miranda's features, by contrast, were set in a serene smile as she drew back the paddle again and cast an approving eye over the tight trouser seat to which she had already applied it, five times, good and hard. Thirty years in executive roles had given her an appreciation of a well-cut suit.

"Burns rather, doesn't it Stuart?" she smiled. "At least, that's what they tell me."

Stuart said nothing, but panted his agreement. Sucking air through his clenched teeth, he lifted his head just far enough to allow a small double-nod - also just far enough for him to bump it against the polished wood as Miranda swung again, the shock of the impact propelling him momentarily forward onto his toes and taking his breath away.

Miranda watched patiently as he absorbed the agony, fingers clenching and unclenching, knees flexing unsteadily.

"I hope we've cleared up any misunderstanding," she said. "I employ you to take money from our clients. Not from me." Then she gently placed the paddle back onto the desk next to her prone employee. "Alright, up you get. You may go back to work."

When Miranda's office door opened again, Janine made sure that she could be seen tapping diligently at her keyboard. However it was Stuart who emerged, red-faced and somewhat dishevelled. Closing the door carefully behind him, and with the briefest of glances in Janine's direction, he made his way - somewhat stiffly - past her desk.

"Get that raise?" asked Janine, not too loudly, and with a barely suppressed smirk.

"She's... thinking about it," replied Stuart, a little more shakily than he'd intended. "She says I..." He stopped, for the door had opened once more behind him.

"Janine, while it's fresh in my mind," said Miranda, "I'd like you to make some adjustments to Mr Freeman's salary this month. One day's pay deducted... no, better make it two. Just add a note against the alteration - 'Company time and materials wasted'. Oh, and Mr Freeman's expense claims have been rejected for this month. All of them."

Janine shot a glance at the young man, who had stopped in his tracks. He did not return her gaze.

"Oh, and Stuart," Miranda continue from the doorway. "If I have to do this again... bare bottom next time."

Miranda made to turn back into her office, but was struck by another thought. "Oh, and Janine - the phone bill arrived this morning. I'd have thought you'd remember our little discussion about private calls on company time. But if not, I'll be happy to repeat it."

Then she turned on her heel, leaving her employees to exchange astonished looks, and closed the door behind her.

Spanks A Million!

Well, what do you know? I opened up the blog yesterday morning to be confronted by the Big Kahuna of hit counts - the magic million! By way of a thank you to everyone who's helped rack up all those page views - and alright, to give me a bit of a boost towards the next milestone - I thought we could have a little retrospective of some of my personal favourite, and not-so- favourite, posts of the last (nearly) three years. Ready to follow a few links? Then let's go...

Rear Window
I'm really rather proud of the animation in this post (all the more so because it's interactive). We'll gloss over the fact that I promised to extend it to include the actual spanking and I haven't done it yet. I will at some point - no, really! I remember spending half the night and most of the following day desperately trying to get this finished in time. It's amazing what a LOL day deadline and ten cups of strong coffee can do for productivity. Of course I was very late into work as a result, but we'll gloss over that too. I've more than made up for it since.

The Magnificent Seven
I think this may still be the picture I consider my most successful, even though there have been many that were more ambitious. I was really pleased with her pose as she turns to pick up the brush, and I liked the eroticism of his arm being held fast between her thighs. I also enjoy its simplicity - it's a challenge to add enough background detail without cluttering things up, and I've got it wrong sometimes. This picture was the result of a series of polls in which visitors voted for the different elements. Hopefully the final result was cohesive enough that it doesn't show!

The Humbler Games
My first (and so far only) spanking game was a big hit, and again I was really happy with the way it turned out even though its production was a nightmare. The deliberately pixellated style was a lot of work, and there's a whole heap of messed-up Flash code behind it that would make any self-respecting programmer throw up his or her hands in horror. I hope I never have to touch it again! Typically for me, I'd left things too late to quite hit my target date, which would have been during the Olympics - but I think the Games were still sufficiently fresh in the public consciousness that I was able to get away with it. One disappointment was that my dreadfully punning athletes' names didn't generate many comments. Yves N Ardere - that was my favourite. ;)

Something Old, Something New...
Commissions are always a double-edged sword. It's great to be asked to produce something that matches someone's fantasy - and it's also horrible to have to try and meet their expectations. Here's one I did for QBuzz's wedding - luckily, he loved it! Most of the ideas in it are his - only the arrangement of those ideas and the actual drawing are mine. Q now has his own blog, by the way. Check it out if you haven't already!

Dinner And A Show
Dinner And A Show got its title from a comment made by one of my visitors, Shannon, on another post. I liked the way I told the story (part one is somewhere around too), but like many of my tales I think it turned some people off because of the excessively cruel female characters. I'm gradually learning to rein that in somewhat, and I think my latest work is the better for depicting ladies who are loving disciplinarians rather than outright man-hating sadists! I was super-pleased with the animated version of the picture, though (at the bottom of the post). It's more realistic than my usual efforts, and there's something about a woman rubbing herself through her panties... or maybe that's just me. Whatever, it makes my toes curl - and apparently hers too!

Step Right In
This one is mainly for those 'special girls' and sissies who make up quite a few of the blog's members. I don't personally wear panties for pleasure, but I can understand the fantasy appeal of being forced to do so by a group of rowdy females. My real-life cross-dressing activity is limited to modelling women's clothes as a reference for my drawings, but as a result I have done rather a lot of it. In fact, scary as it may sound there's a little bit of me in each of the four ladies in that picture!

Red Butts Roasting...
When it comes to seasonal posts I have to mention this one if only for the title, but I think she's kind of cute too. Panties and a Santa hat - what's not to like?

To Have And To Scold
I'm kind of a fan of the picture here as well, because sometimes the simplest ideas are the best. Mind you, with the length of time it took me to render that virtual cross- stitching I think it might have been quicker if I'd embroidered the damned thing in real life and taken a photo.

Another World
Speaking of photos, there's only one on the whole of the blog - and even that in reality is just a scan of a sheet of newspaper that I then used as a background for a couple of spoof OSIRIS job adverts. It made me chuckle when I realised I could draw the usual Underling logo in the style of a biro doodle. These are the things that make me go 'Yeeessss!'

Caught Peeping
Caught Peeping featured a well-received drawing that I'd almost forgotten about until I started writing this. I think I made a decent fist of the sunlight and shadow, and let's face it - interesting lighting isn't my strong point in general. I must try to be a little bolder on that score. Quite why the woman has her bra on show isn't made clear except that, well, it's a nice bra.

Clearing Out My Closet
This was one of my first posts but is still, after all this time, among the most viewed. I think it must be something to do with the search terms appealing to Google, and it's a bit of an embarrassment to me because the Office Discipline picture now looks very crude to me. It's a nice enough fantasy - it's just that the drawing is a bit crappy!

If you've managed to make it this far without getting bored, I hope you enjoyed it. And thank you everyone, sincerely, for the visits. It was a bit of a thrill to see all those zeroes, and I appreciate every one of those million little clicks!

Sore Losers

'And the Triple Word Score makes it thirty-three,' said Peter, nudging the last of his letter tiles into place.

'Funny,' mused Alan from the other side of the table as he studied the playing board. 'When I was at school, zero was zero whether you tripled it or not.'

'When you were at school multiplication hadn't been invented,' retorted Pete, despite the fact that at forty-two he was barely three years younger than the other man. 'In any case,' he continued with exaggerated patience, 'I'm not tripling zero. I'm tripling eleven.' He tapped each letter in turn. 'Three, four, eight, nine, eleven.'

'I can see the numbers,' said Alan, 'and I can see the letters. What I'm not seeing is any English word that exists outside of your wishful thinking.'

'Let it go, Alan,' said his fiancée Lucy - lightly, but with just a hint of warning in her tone. Although she enjoyed having her friend Jenny visit, the childish sniping between their menfolk was always wearing and tonight it had reached fever pitch.'We don't have a dictionary to hand, so you boys are just going to have to play nicely and give one another the benefit of the doubt - for once. Which would be a welcome change, wouldn't it Jen?'

'A welcome change and a bloody miracle,' replied her friend wearily. 'I don't know that word either though, Pete. You sure it doesn't have an A after the O?'

Her husband scowled.

'Jesus, Jenny. Whose side are you on?'

'Mine, sweetie. Last time I checked, this wasn't a team game - if you're losing then it's all your own work. And if you're going to sulk about it, then we'll be having a little discussion regarding that when we get home.'

Peter's mouth opened but then shut again, and he coloured visibly. A moment later he reached out to retrieve two of his letter tiles and closed the gap to form a shorter word.

Alan studied his rival's offering with a smirk of derision. 'C-O-N, con - how appropriate - and worth a frankly underwhelming six.' He retrieved the pencil from the centre of the table and neatly wrote the figure under Peter's name, overscoring it several times for emphasis. 'Not exactly a winning word, ladies and gentleman - but at least this time he had some kind of a clue how to spell it.'

'Here's a clue for you,' muttered Peter evenly, as he reached for the bag to replenish his pieces but found it empty. 'This one's two words. Starts with 'f' and ends in 'uck you'.

For a moment nobody spoke. Then 'Enough,' said Jenny, pushing her chair back from the table and turning to her friend. 'Lucy, honey, do you have somewhere private I can take my husband for a few minutes?'

Peter blanched. 'Ok, sweetheart,' he said quickly, his hands raised in a gesture of supplication. 'Forget I said that. I take it back.'

Jenny placed her own palms flat on the tabletop and bent so that her face was level with his. 'I'm not your sweetheart right now, and you're certainly not mine. And it's a little late for you to be taking anything back, but just exactly the right time for me to be taking something down. Lucy, sorry to be a nuisance...'

'Not at all,' said her friend with a small shake of her head that made her pony tail bounce. 'You can use our bedroom, second on the right. There's a straight-backed chair in the corner that tends to come out when necessary.'

'Ooh, that sounds perfect. And I don't suppose you have a...'

'Top drawer of the dressing table,' said Lucy. 'Always close to hand.' She laced her fingers beneath her chin, rested her bare elbows on the table and cocked an eyebrow at Alan. 'Isn't it, young man? Needed it quite a lot lately yourself, haven't you?'

Alan, apparently absorbed, slid his letter tiles carefully from side to side while he studied the tabletop. 'Mm-hmm,' he said.

'Speaking of which,' said Jenny, 'I believe it's your turn to play, Luce. And you can take your time. There'll be no rush.' She reached over and used two fingers to issue a brisk tap to the back of Peter's wrist. 'Follow me, mister,' she said. Turning on her heel, she strode purposefully from the room. Peter sat frozen for a moment until Lucy caught his eye. 'Off you go, little boy, and get your medicine,' she chided, and he reluctantly stood and made his way out. Moments later there was the sound of the bedroom door closing softly behind him.

For almost five minutes Lucy sat studying and rearranging her letters while her fiancée fidgeted in his seat and their guests were occupied down the hall. One might have expected the noise issuing from the couple's bedroom - the lengthy scolding, the muted apologies and the eventual rhythmic thwop of hairbrush against bare skin - to spoil her concentration. Yet it only seemed to inspire her. A small, amused smile played across her lips whenever the brush found a spot that produced a muffled yelp from the other room. 'Con,' she half-sang under her breath as she considered her move. 'Con, con, con...' Finally she sighed happily and began to transfer her tiles to the board, appending them to the three that the luckless Peter had already put down. 'T - R - I - T - I - O - N,' she recited. 'That makes twelve altogether, plus the fifty point bonus for using all of my letters at once.' She sat back and regarded Alan with a satisfied expression. 'Bingo,' she said.

A few moments later their friends reappeared, Jenny with a contented glow and Peter looking red-faced and flustered. His arms were held stiffly at his side and his fingers waggled involuntarily as though he were fighting the urge to rub his behind. He spent an agonised few seconds lowering himself back onto his chair.

Retaking her own seat, Jenny looked over the board. 'Ooh, you are a clever old thing, Lucy. That's a great word.'

'Glad you think so,' smiled the other woman. 'It's one of my favourites.' She turned to her fiancée, who seemed to be taking surprisingly little pleasure in the other man's discomfort. 'Your turn, Alan,' she said.

'But the game's over,' he replied a little uncertainly. 'You've won.'

'Oh, I'm not talking about the game,' said Lucy.

'I had a hunch,' chuckled Jenny, 'so I've left everything out for you.'

'Thanks, Jen,' replied her friend with a wink. 'The only question is - shall I make coffee now, or after we come back? I have a feeling we may be some time.'

Equipment Failure

I've been meaning to follow up this post in which my stepsister Wanda was going on about the disciplinary training at her office - and now I have! :)

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Kevin Peters could scarcely remember spending a more uncomfortable morning at OSIRIS. Wanda, his overbearing and frankly sadistic line manager, had insisted he facilitate that day's course - Disciplinary Techniques - for the new female intake. Given just a day's notice Kevin had booked the training room, printed and bound manuals, sourced equipment, attached diagrams to whiteboards, and sent out invitations. With an empathetic shudder he had secured two well-used caning dummies - stitched and stuffed, he knew, by inmates of the local men's prison - to heavy tables.

Finally satisfied, if more than a little apprehensive, he had waited at the door to distribute the course books and the long, whippy OSIRIS-issue canes to the arriving trainees. Here they came, giggling in anticipation, one or two of them taking the opportunity to upbraid him for no good reason - trying out their newly-appointed roles as managers of men.

The air of expectation only increased with the entrance of Dana 'The Caner Trainer' Balewa. The statuesque and beautiful Nigerian, five-inch heels clacking on the linoleum, swept through the doorway and homed in on Kevin without breaking stride. Leaning so close that the heady mix of her perfume and her warm breath made his head swim, she reached around the bundle of canes in his arms to straighten the knot of his tie.

'You're one of Wanda's, aren't you?' she mused as if to herself. 'Yes,' said the young man; and a moment later added a hurried 'ma'am', in response to an almost imperceptible raising of her eyebrow.

Sliding one of the wicked implements from his grip, the tall woman flexed it appraisingly until it formed an almost circular frame for her steely gaze. 'I just met her in the canteen. She said she'd be along shortly to see how well you've done. Or... not.' She approached one of the dummies and, frowning, traced a long fingernail over the threadbare fabric stretched across its rump. 'This naughty boy's seen some action, hasn't he? I'd say he's just about to go pop!' She leaned over to examine the other dummy. 'And if anything, this one's even worse. You do have replacements lined up, I take it?'

Kevin felt his face flush crimson and his jaw slacken. There was no chatter in the room now, and one or two of the delegates were openly smirking at the exchange. His mouth was still working ineffectually several seconds later when Wanda appeared at his shoulder. 'All set?'

'I... think so,' faltered Kevin. 'Shall I just leave these things here? I do have that report to be getting on with.'

Wanda wagged a finger in mock rebuke. 'Before we've even started? Which part of 'facilitate' don't you understand, Mr Peters? No, you can stay put for the duration. You have the whole evening to make sure that document's on my desk first thing tomorrow.'

And so Kevin did stay put, as Ms Balewa laid stroke after laser-guided stroke across the first dummy's bulging behind while her awestruck students watched and learned and eagerly awaited their turns.

When the time came, some of those young women were suspiciously adept. Others were hopelessly off-target. All were wildly enthusiastic, and every one of them terrified Kevin Peters. Gradually the damage to the dummy's rear became untenable. Kevin watched, dismayed, as a tiny opening appeared in the tortured material and a single white feather worked its way through it and floated ominously to the floor. It only took another two strokes for the fabric to split completely, disgorging its downy contents into the air and prompting a triumphant cheer from the assembled women.

And Dana Balewa had been right about the other dummy - it didn't even survive her second demonstration, bursting at an overstressed seam as the cane thudded home. This time the applause was short-lived, the trainees sensing an early end to their entertainment; and as it died away Kevin became aware that Wanda was speaking into his ear in the sing-song stage whisper she reserved for such occasions. 'Oh dear, Kevin. A little lacking in preparation, wouldn't you say? We have the whole afternoon reserved for practice, and nothing to practise on. Do you have any suggestions?' She leaned a little closer, and used the palm of her hand to deliver two sharp swats to the seat of his trousers.

'Any ideas, Kevin?' she said. 'Any ideas at all?'

...And A Slappy New Year

So, just an hour or two short of 2013 - and I haven't even got around to wishing you all a Merry Christmas yet! I hope you and yours had a peaceful and suitably festive time. And if you happened to unwrap something that suggested your name had come up on the naughty list - well, at least it's better than socks again. Isn't it?

Thanks so much to everyone, whether a regular or occasional visitor, for your support during the last twelve months. And may the new year bring you all the slappiness you deserve!

Rear Window - Love Our Lurkers Day 7

'That's a secret, private world you're looking into out there. People do a lot of things in private they couldn't possibly explain in public.'

That's Detective Doyle from the 1954 Hitchcock classic Rear Window, in which an invalided James Stewart passes the time by obsessively watching his neighbours from the back room of his New York apartment. That we're not repelled by his behaviour is partly down to the actor's everyman charm, but also surely because in him we recognise the voyeur - the 'lurker' - in all of us. Put yourself in Mr Stewart's shoes (or rather in his plaster cast and wheelchair) and you can well understand his temptation. Now add a small plot twist that substitutes a spanked husband for a murdered wife, and try to tell me you wouldn't peep - just a little.

It's fun to watch, and if you can do so unobserved then why not? I have hundreds of visitors pass through here every day, and only a very few of them stop to say hello. Today's the day - organised by the wonderful Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts - when we celebrate that silent majority of people across the world who keep our hit counters ticking over and make the effort of blogging worthwhile. Many, many spanking bloggers will be making special 'Love Our Lurkers' posts and I encourage you to stop by as many as possible.

Thank you all, sincerely, for your visits - whether or not you leave a comment. But if you've ever been looking for an excuse to contribute for the first time, then why not do so right now? I'd love to hear from you! Tell me a little about yourself, say what you like and don't like, ask me stuff - it's all good. Or just pop your head up and say 'hi'.

All you regulars are more than welcome to chip in as well, of course!

By the way, no doubt you're going to find today's animation something of a tease. But by way of incentive, I promise that if enough newbies say hello over the next few days then the light will be staying on in future! :)

The Magnificent Seven

Spanking bloggers are a marvellously supportive bunch, and none more so than the wonderful Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts.

Each year she organises 'Love Our Lurkers' Day, which on Friday 9 November will celebrate its seventh iteration. On that day I (and many, many other spanko bloggers) will make a special post in which we pay tribute to those ninja-like visitors who pass shyly through our portals without going near the Comment button - and encourage them, should they feel inclined, to say hello for the first time. Regular friends are also welcome to chip in, of course!

This will be Underling's Humblings' third LOL Day - to get a flavour of how it works, you can find previous years' posts here and here.

I'll look forward to seeing you on the day!

Oh, this picture is an oldie - although now in super-large, super-sharp png format. The post it originally belonged to got deleted somehow in a (thankfully rare) moment of Undy ineptitude, and since it's one of my favourites drawings I thought it would be a shame not to have it somewhere on the site. Sincere apologies to anyone who'd added comments to that original post!