Underling's Humblings

Another Country - Part Two

2012-01-15T07:27:00.000-08:00

Way back in August, we left a guy called Richard standing naked in the African hotel room to which a young maid had just delivered the instrument of his correction. Now, even for a spoiled bigot like him five months is probably too long to be stood in the corner - so it's high time we found out What Richard and Emily and Dupé Did Next.

Before diving unprepared into this month's thrilling episode - actually, on re-reading it, it's something of a slow burner! - you might like to catch up on what happened in Part One.

Part Two

Dupé's mouth opened wide, but all that came out was a small, quiet "Oh." She glanced down at the limply held brush before relinquishing it to the woman, who turned it over and slapped its polished walnut back against her own palm with a satisfied smile.

"This is perfect, my dear - Dupé, isn't it?"

The maid turned her head slightly to acknowledge the question; but her eyes were already back on the shockingly naked figure in the corner, and now she found she could not look anywhere else.

"Of course you've met my husband, Richard," chuckled the Englishwoman, "although you may not recognise him from his bare backside."

The man said nothing, but stiffened visibly and seemed to press himself even further into the corner. "And I'm Emily Wallace," said the woman.

"Ma'am," was all Dupé could manage in response. She knew she was staring. But how could she not? In the nineteen summers of her sheltered upbringing, she could not remember having seen any man naked, even within her own village; and yet here was a pink-skinned Englishman stripped of all his clothes and deposited in a corner as though he were no more remarkable than a hat stand. Dupé stood transfixed.

"In or out, dear," Mrs Wallace was saying with a good-natured smile; and Dupé realised that, wavering on the threshold, she was blocking the door.

"If it helps," prompted the older woman, "and if you'd be so kind - I believe the bed needs to be remade."

Dupé knew without looking that the bed did not need remaking, that she had no reason to linger, that this was not her business. Two floors down - and yet a world away - the lobby mirror was still half covered in polish. Mr Mbulu, the housekeeper, was probably frowning at it now and wondering where Dupé was. She should get back to her duties. She should make an excuse. She should offer to come back later.

She took two steps forward into the bedroom, and Mrs Wallace closed the door behind her.

The room felt suddenly very small and very hot, and Dupé herself no longer an observer but an actress in a bizarre play that she had not rehearsed. As if in a dream, she made her way over to the couple's king-sized bed and began tugging ineffectually at the covers until Emily Wallace put a hand on her arm. "Don't worry about that, dear," she said, turning to lift a bag of market purchases from the chair next to the bed. "Please just make yourself comfortable for a few minutes. This won't take long, and then you can return the brush without the need for a second trip."

Dupé lowered herself uncertainly onto the chair - she was forbidden to sit down in the guest rooms - and waited with nervous anticipation while Emily Wallace, who was smiling and softly humming, busied herself removing more items from the bed and placing them out of the way on the floor. Dupé could only watch and wonder at the scene unfolding around her. The window was open, and she could hear one of the staff - probably William, the new boy - raking the gravel in the courtyard below while a dog barked in the distance. Just a normal afternoon, she said to herself: the staff doing their chores, the dog, and in here a man stripped and shamed in front of a servant. And made to stand just so: his outstretched elbows lifting his shoulder blades; his broad, muscular back giving way to a trim waist and then to the swell of smooth, pale buttocks untouched by the sun. His bare backside, Dupé repeated to herself giddily.

How could he just stand there, posed like a mannequin, with a strange girl in the room? His thighs were pressed tightly together as if trying to salvage some modesty, and Dupé had a startling and unbidden vision of herself stepping up behind him, delving between them and guiding them apart. If she did that, what would he do? If she... my God, if she were to turn him to face her... would he cover himself? Would he resist? The young maid pushed the thought from her mind. What had got into her? She felt a tense giggle building in her throat and bit down on her lip to stifle it.

Finally Mrs Wallace sat upon the bed, smoothed her skirt across her lap, peeled off her white silk gloves and picked up the brush once more. "Alright, Richard," she said briskly. "Let's have you."

The man flinched slightly at the sound of his name, but did not otherwise move. "With the maid here?" he said, into the corner.

"Certainly, with the maid here," replied his wife. "And if that notion embarrasses you, perhaps it will help you to think about how Dupé felt this morning when you belittled her in front of the whole restaurant."

"I'm sorry about that," mumbled Richard with obvious difficulty.

"What's that? Dupé can't hear you."

Louder this time: "I said, I'm sorry."

Emily Wallace looked sceptical. She studied her dim reflection in the varnished back of the clothes brush. "What do you think, Dupé? Do you think he's learned his lesson? Do you think after his behaviour this morning we ought to spare him the brush?" Dupé looked at the hard wood of the brush and then again at the soft white skin of the man's bottom. She remembered his explosion of rage at breakfast, how he had actually caught and held her by the wrist while he berated her over the spilled juice. Called her a little black bitch, in front of all those people. When she spoke it was as if she were listening to someone else reciting the words. "No, ma'am," she said; and then, having found her courage and unable to stop herself, "I think he should get the brush. I think he should have it hard."

The English woman laughed in delight. "Well, now. You're not such a timid little thing after all, are you? Did you hear that, Richard? Our sweet young maid believes you ought to have your behind blistered. And I'm not going to disappoint her. In fact, if you're still skulking in that corner by the time I count to ten, I'm going to invite her to come over and escort you from it."

Dupé's head swam at the very idea of fetching the man for his punishment. Her fingers gripped the arms of the chair, and she felt herself squeezing her thighs together beneath the prim uniform. Even as she told herself that she could never dare - that it was a ridiculous fantasy - she was already in her mind's eye standing next to the man, smiling at his embarrassment. She would take him by the wrist, yes, just as he had done to her not six hours ago; and he would meekly follow her to where his wife sat with the brush. And the other woman - so beautiful, so self-assured - would smile her approval.

Dupé held her breath as Emily Wallace began to count.

"One," she said. The man's knees flexed a little, but that was all.

"Two," said Mrs Wallace. "Three."

Dupé sat and bit her lip; wanting to look at the man, not wanting to look at the man. Suddenly willing the count to reach its conclusion before he gave in.

For his part, Richard Wallace's eyes were screwed tightly shut - so even had he turned his head he would have not seen the young girl's expression, somewhere between desire and disbelief, her mouth silently forming the same word over and over.

Ten.

Ten.

Ten.

Season's Beatings

2011-12-24T15:44:00.000-08:00

Yes, I am cutting it fine for a Christmas post - but hey, it ain't over 'til the final leftover turkey sandwich has been consumed, the decorations have gone back into the understairs cupboard, and you've vacuumed the last of the pine needles out of the living room carpet.

Now, part of me hopes you've all got better things to do at this time of year than visit the blog: but to those of you still surfing the net without Great Aunt Harriet and cousin Kevin looking over your shoulder, I just wanted to say thank you for another wonderful year in 2011. Your support has meant a great deal. And regardless of who's been naughty or nice, may you and yours enjoy a peaceful and happy holiday season.

Oh, I thought you might also like a glimpse of what I'd like my true love to be sending me this Christmas.

Zero Tolerance

2011-11-29T15:48:00.000-08:00

Evenin' all. Now this scenario is a little darker than most, so before you read on I thought I should make clear that I abhor all real-world abuse of power - yes, even by sexy female police officers. But in imagination? Well, bring it on...

Zero Tolerance
Fanta City, 2019. In the six years since its inception, the metropolis's now largest police department, F3M - popularly known as FemForce - had amassed an impressive record of success. Staffed exclusively by female officers, its origins lay in a 2013 initiative of recruiting and training all-women teams to defuse hostage and domestic violence situations. When not negotiating with criminals, the department had toured schools and colleges educating the city's youth about the perils of crime. 'Let's talk' had been its oft-derided motto, with firearms being rejected in favour of a less lethal combination of baton and extensive body armour for protection.

Meanwhile, massive budget cuts reduced traditional policing to a minimum.

F3M's original ethos was short lived: it turned out that the city's criminals were not open to reason. A more robust approach was called for, and with a track record of innovation FemForce was moved up to spearhead it.

The department's autonomy allowed it to evolve at a remarkable rate, unfettered by bureaucracy. Within three years it had outgrown its 'softly, softly' legacy and developed a fearsome reputation for zero-tolerance - some said outright ruthless - policing.

The standard-issue baton became the 'shock stick' with the addition of a cattle prod-like function, and many officers also began to carry a shortened version of the judicial cane recently introduced into men's prisons.

Over time reports began to emerge of summary corporal punishment being administered, often in front of bystanders, for petty offences like littering. Meanwhile it became routine for those arrested for more serious crimes to be publically stripped - 'to check for weapons' - before being cuffed, caned and escorted naked into the waiting police trucks; and, particularly in cases where female victims had been involved, those same trucks were taking ever longer routes back to the station.

Eventually the city mayor announced an investigation into F3M's methods, declaring them 'wholly unacceptable', but by then it was too late - the citizens, tired of rampant criminality, had already taken the new FemForce to their hearts thanks to its winning combination of efficiency, glamour and legendary exploits.

In 2017, the department's reputation had been cemented in the public consciousness by a TV news report on the apprehension of a suspected serial sex attacker. On hearing the distinctive banshee wail of F3M's sirens, the man had fled the scene and squeezed himself several feet into the end of a sewer pipe where, stuck fast and regularly doused in effluent, he had repeatedly offered a full confession in return for being allowed to give himself up to male officers. No such concession was made, and in fact it emerged later that Captain Helen Petersen had seen fit not to forward the request: her girls had worked hard to chase down their quarry, and she was not about to disappoint them by handing him over to another section.

Following a seven-hour standoff, the suspect had finally relented and let himself be extracted, stripped, hosed down and disciplined for wasting police time. His confession had come anyway, of course, so he could have saved everyone a lot of trouble - or so remarked Sargeant Lucy Wells to the assembled onlookers before she went on to administer the final 20 strokes to the man's already ravaged behind.

Rumour had it that there had followed a brief debate about who was to ride with the nude and chastened prisoner on the way to the police station, but this was unnecessary. Remarkably, once he was secured it turned out there was still enough room for a total of eight policewomen to accompany him in the back of the truck.

Perhaps it was the ensuing commotion that distracted the driver and caused her to make a series of mysterious wrong turns. It took the vehicle a full two hours to arrive at its destination.

The Worm That Turned

2011-11-26T07:11:00.000-08:00

Fellow Brits of a certain age will remember that national treasure of a comedy duo, The Two Ronnies. Perhaps some of my overseas friends will be familiar with them too - I'm not sure how well their TV show would have exported, given that much of the humour specifically poked fun at British manners, language and regional accents ("Fork 'andles?").

Anyway, for a while one of the programme's regular features was a daft but fun little mini-serial called The Worm That Turned. This was set well into the future - or as we now call it, next year(!) - in an England ruled entirely by women. Here the men have feminine names and are forced to wear dresses, and order is maintained by an all-female police force uniformed in improbably skimpy black vinyl. No, I'm not making this up.

Although it was played for laughs, you can probably imagine the effect that this show-within-a-show had on a very young, highly impressionable and already seriously kinked Underling - especially when (at about 4:40 in the clip I linked) the late, great Diana Dors actually ordered Ronnie Corbett to report for a state-sponsored spanking. Or at least the hint of one.

Now of course the writers of The Worm That Turned knew that part of its appeal was in catering to a certain kind of male fantasy. And although the fetish wear wouldn't have meant much to me - even then, my dream disciplinarians were everyday aunts, older sisters, teachers and nurses - it was startling to have my odd little obsessions acknowledged by a mainstream comedy show. I'd have been watching with my parents, feigning nonchalance but half expecting a big flashing arrow to appear above my head reading 'WARNING! UNHEALTHY FASCINATION!'

"Undy," my mum would have said - she never used my full name except when I was in trouble - isn't it past your bedtime?" And for once I'd probably have agreed with her, grateful to be alone with my confusing thoughts about Ms Dors, and replaying in my head those few moments of prime-time TV that still resonate to this day.

The bottom line on all of this is that I have a little illustrated fantasy, more than thirty years in gestation, to share with you shortly. It's a bit stronger than would have got past the UK TV censors in 1980, but its zero- tolerance policewomen are without question descended from those running around in The Two Ronnies - not to mention my fevered imagination - during my formative years.

Thank You For Asking

2011-11-25T03:00:00.000-08:00

Those nice people over at the Spanking Library have just been kind enough to publish an interview with your humble host, as part of their 'Wellred Weekly' newsletter. If you haven't heard of the site - and to be honest, I hadn't myself before RedRump had his own interview in the previous issue - then it's well worth a visit. Registering gives you access to a vast, catalogued resource of spanking stories, poems and articles - currently nearly seventeen thousand, and growing - not to mention a lively forum and chatroom. Some of the stories are even available in narrated form as audio files, which I thought was a lovely touch.

It's also one of the best run spanko sites I've come across, and has a real sense of community: I should think anyone who regularly comes here could also happily while away a few hours over there.

For impatient types, the interview itself is right here, but I do encourage you to check out the whole delightful facility via the main entrance. Just remember to keep the noise down. I've yet to come across a pretty, bespectacled, pencil-skirted, virtual librarian who paddles visitors for talking too loud - but wouldn't that be a nice touch?

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are! Love Our Lurkers Day 6

2011-11-10T04:56:00.000-08:00

So, here we are on LOL Day 6!

As per my last post, today's the day when we say a big hello to our lovely lurkers. That's those of you skulking around the dark corners of the site - and this site has darker corners than most - and eyeing the Post Comment button as though it might jump up and bite you :).

I promise it won't, and nor will I if you choose today to stand up and say, 'My name is Peter/ Annabel/ Fluffy/ EvilMistressOfPain, and I'm a spankoholic! And I like your art/ hate your art/ think you should post more often/ think if you ever post again it'll be too soon.'

Seriously, I do very much appreciate everyone who visits the site, whether vocal or not. It's just that my very favourite thing about this blogging lark is feeling a part of this wonderful international kinky community. And it's hearing from people like you that does that for me, and for every other blogger in the spanko world.

Now, if you're running Flash in your browser you'll notice that I've installed a little lurker bait specially for today. All I ask is that, after you've clicked on that enticing keyhole, you also come back and click on that scary comment button and say hi. Whether you're a regular or this is your first time, it would honestly make my day. :)

Here's Lurking At You, Kid!

2011-11-04T06:53:00.000-07:00

Lurking.

Kind of a sinister word, isn't it? It's what robbers and murderers and cave dwelling monsters do. It's what danger does.

It's also the term used for dipping in and out of websites without actually waving your virtual arms in the air and yelling 'Coo-ee! I'm here!' Now, I think there should be a different, less creepy word for this - just plain browsing, for example - but hey, I didn't write the Dictionary of Online Activity.

So 'lurking' it is, and Thursday 10th November (just next week!) is 'Love Our Lurkers' day. This annual event, now in its 6th year and organised by the redoubtable Bonnie, is the spank-blog community's way of celebrating the silent majority of people who waft in and out of our sites while giving the Post Comment button a wide berth - and encouraging them to go ahead, click on it and say a quick hello.

So on Thursday I and lots of other bloggers will be making our special LOL posts, and I hope as many of you as possible - both the regular commenters and the shy types - will stop by and leave a message. We would love to hear from you, and you can be as anonymous as you like - no need for an account to post here.

This will be Underling's Humblings' second LOL year, by the way. Here's last year's post to give you a feel for it.

Finally, apologies to Bad-Penny for using her comment from last year as my post title. It was too good to pass up.

See you on Thursday! :)

Another Country, Another Picture

2011-10-29T12:49:00.001-07:00

Some of you wanted an illustration for my story Another Country, so here it is. For those of you who didn't want an illustration, tough - here it is anyway ;).

This may well be my first 'historical' drawing. I hadn't really decided when the story is set and I've deliberately kept it ambiguous, but I thought a little period glamour might be nice for the picture.

In general my fantasies (and thus my works) are contemporary, because I find it easier to project myself into them that way.

I know some of my fellow artists, for example RedRump, have a thing for the fifties and sixties as a kind of golden age of spanking.

But how about your daydreams? Are you a modern day mistress/ miscreant, or a Victorian vixen/ victim? A wild west whipping boy? A medieval martinet?

Does period even feature in your fantasies?

By the way, this is the first time I've uploaded a picture as a .png. It might take a little longer to download, but I'm hoping if it keeps Blogger from compressing it to within an inch of its life it will be worth it!

Oh, and part two of 'Another Country' is almost ready. Hopefully it'll hit the blog in the next few days.

The Personal Touch

2011-10-15T05:17:00.000-07:00

Ah, Tumblr. What a fickle mistress you are.

If you're a user, tell me if this sounds familiar. When I came across my first spanking-themed Tumblr site I thought hmm, this looks interesting. Lots of pictures.

Then I noticed that all the visitors who'd 'liked' stuff on that site had links to their own, similar sites. And the people who followed those sites had their own sites too, and all of them filled with astonishing numbers of photos and drawings and little animated gifs. I gawped at the goods on display - June, 576 posts - July, 852 posts - like a kid in a sweet shop. On pocket money day.

Eventually, after gorging myself silly for a few hours - and thinking that this was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to me since the birth of the internet - I calmed down and began to wonder what this explosion of pure content meant for the average, old-fahioned blogger like me. Let's face it, if all you want is a heap of spanking pictures - and quite often, that's all I want - you can open a Tumblr page and fill your hard drive to bursting in the same amount of time that it takes you to get past this site's adult content warning. But never mind... wow, look at that. August - 987 posts!

At some point during that first orgy of browsing I spotted a familiar-looking thumbnail - a drawing of mine, scooped up and chucked into that month's bargain bin along with 986 others.

And it looked a little sad.

Now, don't get me wrong - I still got a kick out of seeing it, as I always do. But devoid of context, and swamped by its similarly cast-off neighbours, there was little sense of the amount of thought (well alright, procrastination) or the many hours of work that had gone into it. There was no sign at all of the carefully crafted story I'd written to go with it. A few people had 'liked' and reposted it, but mainly without comment. After all, there were hundreds more to get through.

And, much as I enjoy it, this is the flip side of Tumblr for me. Where once I scoured the web hoping to unearth an exciting new picture or two, Tumblr serves 'em up by the pound. It's impersonal, even cynical. It collects followers with the same ruthless efficiency as it does images, and typically doesn't really engage with any of them. And I think that's a shame.

Which brings me, in a roundabout way, to the real purpose of this post - inviting you to enjoy the very personal touch of some friends of mine who've recently opened their own spanking art blogs, if you haven't come across them already.

First up is OTTO, whose earlier work I knew from the now sadly inactive 'Over Her Knee' site. OTTO is a 3D computer artist: but post-production touch-up, along with expert use of light and shadow, gives his scenes a wonderful painterly look. He's no slouch, either - he's posting most days at the moment - and his work is always full of erotic intrigue.

Next is Banjo, who needs little introduction for anyone who's been collecting F/M artwork for a while. Recently back on the scene after a long hiatus, he was kind enough to email me and say I was one of his inspirations to start blogging again. Also working with 3D software, he produces delicious scenes of humiliation and punishment in largely domestic settings. He writes great stories too. Suffice to say, if you like what you see here then you'll also find much to enjoy there! Oh, he's prolific as well - kind of like Underling with a work ethic.

Very different in style,
RedRump produces hugely accomplished pictures - mainly pencil drawings, and many with a 1950s aesthetic. Indeed retro charm is the order of the day, with vintage photos and magazine scans supplementing his beautiful sketches of no-nonsense wives and hairbrushed husbands.

Each of these blogs is a refreshing antidote to your Tumblr hangover - with pictures in moderation, but warmth, wit and personality in spades.

What, you want to see these guys' work? Sadly, I promised myself way back when that everything I posted here would be self-made. So you'll just have to head on over to their sites, and don't forget to say hello while you're there. It's all about the personal touch!

One Hand Clapping

2011-09-30T08:46:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me recently that I haven't dedicated much blog space to that purest and most traditional of physical punishments, the hand spanking.

I guess it's a severity thing - I don't like my guys to get off lightly - but then again an experienced lady can deliver plenty of sting without having to wield an implement. And that's before we factor in the added humiliation - the maternal overtones, and the oh-so-intimate contact of her punishing palm on your hot, bare bottom.

And while it's true that hand spanking is relatively hard on the hand, I imagine it brings its own warm afterglow for the spanker that's a nice souvenir of the discipline she's just dished out.

Yep, all things considered: hand spanking - what's not to like?

Half A Mil, Half A Mil, Half A Mil Onward...

2011-09-28T07:13:00.001-07:00

A few days ago, Underling's Humblings received its five hundred thousandth page view since, well, whenever it was that Blogger started counting. While I don't expect Mark Zuckerberg to sit up and take notice any time soon, I'm sure my 'real life' friends would be impressed - if only they knew the site existed!

As it is, I'll just have to celebrate the occasion with you lot. ;) So thank you, sincerely, for all your visits through thick and thin (and I think the rate of posting lately probably qualifies as 'thin'!)

Here's to the next half mil. I'll do my best to earn them.

Another Country (Part One)

2011-08-31T15:15:00.000-07:00

It was an uncomfortable ride in every sense: hot, and jarring, and filled with foreboding.

Emily was wearing the low-cut navy dress that Richard liked so much, and he absently watched his wife's full breasts swaying to the rhythm of their ancient taxi as it bounced along the rutted track that led to the hotel. Emily herself stared dismissively out of the dust-yellow window: but from the set of her jaw, Richard knew that she was barely keeping her temper in check.

As they neared their destination, his wife finally turned her elegant face towards his. "How dare you?" she demanded. "First that poor young girl at breakfast, and then twice at the market this afternoon."

"I'm sorry, Em," Richard replied unhappily.

Emily returned her gaze to the African grassland scrolling past outside. "You can save that for when I get you indoors."

Richard shifted in his seat, as if anticipating further discomfort, and tried a meaningful glance to remind her they were not alone. "Darling, please..."

There was an audible snort from the front seat, and in the rear view mirror the driver's eyes signalled his amusement. That devil, thought Richard bitterly. All the bloody same. Couldn't speak a word of English when we asked him about the fare, but oh, he's having fun at my expense now.

He glared at the back of the man's muscular brown neck as the vehicle found another pothole.

"Slow down." The driver ignored him. "Nciphisa ijubane, you idiot!"

The man broke into a grin, but kept his foot down.

At last the Victoria Hotel swung into view within its oasis of palms. Its grandeur had faded since its Empire heyday, but even so the three-story white stuccoed walls gleamed imposingly in the afternoon sun. Richard peeled one sweat-adhered arm from the cab's leather seat cover and fumbled for his wallet in the pocket of his slacks. The smirking driver took the offered notes with a mocking "Thank you, boss." He made no attempt to open the doors - but in any case Emily was already gone, striding purposefully across the gravel driveway.

In the hotel foyer, 19-year old Dupé stiffened slightly as the well dressed English couple appeared through the revolving door. She used the mirror she had been polishing to smooth the black skirt of her maid's uniform and straighten her white lace collar - and also to steal a glance at the foreign visitors.
They looked to have had some sort of argument, she thought, and that was not surprising. In the two weeks since their arrival she had grown to like the woman well enough - but the man was a pig who just that morning had publically shamed her over a small accident.

Her face grew hot at the memory of the spilled orange juice, the man's snarl and public scolding - and the words he had used when his wife had told him to calm down.

The woman was retrieving their room key from reception while her husband stood grim-faced behind her. A thought seemed to strike her as she turned away from the desk: "Oh, and do you have a large clothes brush I can use?"

"Certainly, madam," responded the receptionist brightly. "I'll have the maid bring one up to your room. Of course, if you would prefer, we do provide a full laundry and valet service."

This offer brought a smile and a shake of the head. "Thank you. Just the brush will do nicely."

Ten minutes later, Dupé was riding the hotel's clattering elevator to the top floor with the requested implement in her hands. Although happy to escape her cleaning duties for a few moments, the young maid was apprehensive. She did not want to have to speak to the man again.

She paused outside the door of room 306, turning the heavy hardwood brush over and over in her hands. It occurred to her that she could simply leave it outside, knock quietly and be gone: by the time anyone answered she could be taking the elevator back to the safety of the ground floor. As she bent down to lean the brush against the door frame, she heard the English woman's voice through the heavy oak panelling.

"...nt to hear from you right now is 'yes ma'am or 'no ma'am.' If we're to have a lesson in respect - and believe me, we are - then you can start with me."

The man's response was barely audible: perhaps he was in the bathroom.

After a furtive glance along the corridor, Dupé rested one ear lightly against the door and waited guiltily for the conversation to resume. When it did not, she straightened, took another deep breath and knocked.

After a few seconds, the door swung open and the pretty English woman stood backlit by the afternoon sun from the window. When she saw the heavy brush that the maid was cradling, she smiled broadly. "Special delivery, Richard!" she called over her shoulder.

Following her gaze, Dupé saw that the man was not in the bathroom after all. He was stood in the far corner of the room with his face to the wall, his hands were clasped behind his head, and he was quite, quite naked.

Dinner And A Show - The Itch

2011-07-24T10:36:00.001-07:00

Finally! The second and concluding part of this story. It's quite a long one, and I've illustrated it, and I've animated the illustration (at the bottom of the post, if you're running Flash). I hope those factors go some way to excusing my tardiness.

If you haven't read Part One yet, it's just here. Probably worth a refresher even if you have read it before. It's been a long time!

********************************

Jeff Williams had enjoyed more relaxed restaurant dinners. Having spent much of the evening listening to his wife and her best friend Susan discussing how we was disciplined at home, he had finally persuaded them to leave The Queen Bee and had driven them back to the Williams' Springfield neighbourhood, where Susan was to be their overnight guest.

A light rain was falling as Jeff guided the black Subaru into the couple's driveway, echoing his damp spirits.

"Springfield House of Correction," giggled Susan as their three-storey property came into view. She'd found room for another three glasses of Chardonnay before leaving the restaurant, and had become a little more vocal with each. Although dreading their arrival back home, Jeff had been relieved at least that talk of his "well-earned whippings" would no longer draw stares from adjacent tables.

He watched as his wife eased herself from the car's passenger seat. "I'll put the coffee on."

"Lovely, Jen," said Susan. "And then down to business, eh, Jeffie?" She swung her long legs out and slid from the rear seat, her short skirt sliding up her thighs and drawing Jeff's helpless gaze.

"Gentleman avert their eyes, Mr Williams". And ladies don't show off their underwear, thought Jeff, but he actually heard himself mumbling "Sorry". Susan tilted her face towards his. "Oh, I think you're guaranteed to be, my dear."

Once indoors, Jenny busied herself at the stove while Susan ambled from room to room calling out her admiration for her hosts' latest decor and furniture.

"Love these new curtains!" she gushed. "And ah, this must be the flogging bench!"

"Well, most of the time it's just a regular coffee table," laughed Jenny, "but it does have its other uses."

A brief pause, and then Sue's voice again: "Jeff, sweetie, would you come here a minute? I want to show you something."

Jeff shot a hopeful look at his wife. "Don't you need help in here?"

"No. you run along and keep Sue entertained."

Traversing the hallway, Jeff saw that Jenny's thick leather razor strop was conspicuously absent from the hook that she'd had him fit under the stairs a few weeks earlier. With a sigh of trepidation he passed on through to the couple's well-appointed living room. There he was confronted by the startling image of Susan bent over on top of the coffee table, her knees spread wide to its corners and her skirt pulled right up to her waist. One hand supported her weight at the far end, and with the other she reached back to tap the wicked leather strap payfully against the taut seat of her pale pink cotton panties.

"Oh, Jenny, honey," she cooed over her shoulder as Jeff stared from the doorway. "I'm sorry I was a naughty boy. Please don't spank me any more. Please, no, I can't stand it!"

"Um," said Jeff.

"Ouch!" giggled Susan. She bucked her hips provocatively in time with the gentle rhythm of the strap. "Ooh!" She thrust her undeniably beautiful behind towards him, positively writhing in a pretence of agony.

Jeff had seldom felt an impulse as strong as the one he had now - to march into the room, snatch the strap from that woman and use it to turn her mocking parody into merciless reality. He knew from bitter experience that just one good stroke would wipe the smirk from her face. Christ, the consequences would be almost worth it. Almost.

Ever the mind reader, Susan smiled her slyest smile and said, "You'd love to, wouldn't you Jeffie?" Suddenly coy, she tugged her skirt back down, perched her now covered bottom on the edge of the table and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Sadly I'm not the one who gets spanked around here - speaking of which, I can hardly wait to watch you learning your lesson. I do hope Jen's not going to be a spoilsport - if I don't get to see a whipping, I'm going to have to stamp my foot. Or repeat to Jenny what you said to me just now."

"Said to you?"

"About what a bitch she's been lately. About how you're going to start putting your foot down."
Jeff snorted his derision, but at the same time he reminded himself how often his wife wielded the strap at the least provocation.

"I'd better be getting back," he said uncertainly.

"You better had. Don't want to keep the mistress waiting."

En route to the kitchen, Susan replaced the strap on its hook and ran a fingertip down the polished leather. "See you shortly," she said. "We're going to have some fun."

Jenny handed a steaming mug of coffee to each of them. "Take a seat, Sue. You too, Jeff - while you still can." Sue shot a glance at Jeff, who was flushing prettily at his wife's words. "I thought maybe you'd forgotten," she purred.

"Oh no, my dear," her friend assured her. "I never forget, and I never back down. If you promise punishment and don't follow through, they never learn."

"They?" Susan was more curious than ever.

"Well, let's see. First there was Tom, remember him? Wonderful guy, abs to die for, hung like a horse. But a little too alpha-male for my liking. He didn't take direction or correction too well, so I'm afraid that one was pretty short-lived. Shame, because I do miss the feel of that exceptional cock between my legs.

Then there was James, who was too far the other way - forever 'yes, ma'am-ing' and 'no, ma'am-ing' and generally enjoying being the subbie boyfriend rather too much. More or less creamed his pants whenever I raised my voice. In the end I let him down gently - told him if I'd wanted a devoted little puppy, I'd have gone to the pet store.

And then finally this one. Not such a bad catch, are you J? Can cook and clean and tie his own shoelaces, and for the most part does as he's told - in and out of bed. Looks pretty good too, especially with his face buried in my crotch or his bare butt nicely welted - preferably both!"

Jenny drained the last of her coffee and took the cups from the other two. "Speaking of welted butts, shall we retire upstairs?" No, Jeff wanted to say: but he went anyway, his wife leading and Susan at his back, studying his behind with a wry little smile. In the guest room, Jenny opened the base of the futon and withdrew clean bedding that she put to one side. Then she glanced around her. "Oh! We seem to have forgotten something."

"I'll fetch it," said Susan brightly, the hem of her flared little skirt swinging as she practically skipped from the room. She could be heard whistling to herself as she descended the stairs.

Jeff turned a forlorn face to his wife. "Please," he said.

"Please... publically whip some manners into you? With pleasure, my darling."

Sue reappeared at the door, carrying the dark leather strap that she then presented with a little curtsey to her grinning friend.

"Thank you, Susie baby." Jenny turned back to her husband who was standing, a picture of nervous apprehension, at the edge of the futon. He looked at her, his raised eyebrows asking the silent question whose answer he dreaded.

The corners of her mouth twitched as she held his gaze. "Every stitch," she said.

Sue's eyes widened. "Every stitch? Oh, my." And then, in reference to Jeff's suddenly scarlet complexion, "Sure is warm in here, hmm, Jeffie?"

For a moment the young husband stood paralysed, as if waiting to be released from a bad dream. He opened his mouth to speak, but his wife's crossed arms and raised eyebrows made him close it again. Then he bent, half-dazed, to untie his shoelaces with trembling fingers.

As he removed each item of clothing before the unabashed gaze of both women, Sue kept up an accompanying narrative. "Those socks have seen better days"... "Mmm, have you been working out?"... "Dig those tighty whities!"... and finally, as with a grimace he slid his underwear down and off, "Aww, look at his cute little pee-pee!"

Jenny allowed herself a smirk at her friend's comments, but said nothing until the moment that her husband was stood naked, hands at his sides as he had learned within the first week of their marriage. Then she simply instructed, "Over you go."

Susan's eyes followed the young man as he positioned himself at the back of the futon and leaned forward over it, placing his hands flat on the seat, his body already slick with sweat and the marks of the previous week's strapping still vivid across his muscular behind.

Jeff had never been a stoic under his wife's discipline. He knew from bitter experience that mute acceptance moved her precisely as much as sobbing and pleading; which is to say, not at all. Yet the sight of the gloating Susan, her head cocked expectantly and her hands resting lightly on her hips, made him bite down hard on his lip. He would give her as little satisfaction as he could - although, he thought grimly, having watched him strip bare and drape himself obediently over the futon she was already looking pretty pleased with herself.

Jeff closed his eyes as he felt the supple leather being tapped lightly across his cheeks: Jenny, lining up her aim. A moment later the strap was drawn back, and his wife's soft intake of breath made him squeeze his eyelids tighter and push his fingertips into the soft fabric of the futon.

With a practised arm Jenny went to work, slicing the air with the dark strap and snapping it noisily against her husband's drum-tight rear. It seemed to cling there momentarily, a black mamba delivering its venom, and left a bright red brand across both cheeks.

Jeff bore the first stroke well enough, although it hurt like hell. At the second he felt his eyes begin to prick, as though there were sparks being driven there from the fire building in his behind.

The third lash struck low and so painfully that a small groan escaped his lips before he could choke it off: this was met with a snort of amusement from Susan's direction.

"Something to say, Jeff? Smart alec remark, maybe? No?"

Jenny applied another stroke across the centre of his buttocks, and now his resolve began to break. He hissed through clenched teeth as the scalding sensation mounted. A single tear found its way between his lashes and rolled down his cheek. God, not already, he thought.

"Reckon he's feeling it?" chuckled Susan. She stepped around the edge of the sofa bed and leaned over, putting her face a few inches from Jeff's and providing him with a calculated view down the front of her top. "I'd say he is. Panting like an overheated puppy."

"Oh, I'm sure he is," responded Jenny, resting the strap on her shoulder once more in preparation for the next stroke. "But he'll feel it a lot more before we're done. After all, we're only just... getting STARTED!" She swung again, and the leather's bite forced Jeff onto his toes and produced an anguished yelp that Susan clearly found hilarious. Jeff rested his damp cheek on the sofa back and tried to ride the burning agony that threatened to engulf him. Just getting started, he told himself. Just getting started...

Two hours later - long after Jeff had begun pleading vainly for leniency in much the same way that Susan had parodied earlier that evening - all three retired for the night.

By then Jeff, forbidden yet to touch his ravaged buttocks, had stood hands on head in front of Susan to deliver a heartfelt apology for his behaviour at the restaurant. She had taken her time acknowledging it, all the while coolly looking the naked and chastened young man up and down. Eventually she had leaned forward, cupped his chin gently and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Apology accepted, little man. Don't let it happen again."

In the privacy of their room, Jenny now sat on the edge of the bed and hiked her nightdress up to her waist. She motioned her still-naked partner to his knees and guided his face between her thighs, smiling as he winced at the touch of his heels against his welted, scarlet buttocks. "Get to work, sweetheart. Nice and slow and gentle."

In the guest room, Susan lay restlessly on the futon over which she had so recently watched a good looking, naked young man bent to his wife's will. His really rather nice cock had been pressed into the back just here, while his beautiful bare behind had danced and squirmed under her friend's expert application of the strap. Susan rolled onto her belly and then lifted herself onto all fours, reaching between her legs to rub a fingertip against the crotch of her panties. There was an itch there that had been building since dinner. She had the rest of the night to attend to it.

The Honest Truth...

2011-06-30T13:19:00.000-07:00

...is that this is an emergency filler post, to avoid an ugly and accusing gap between May and July. I have been slack, haven't I?

It amazes me that I still get so many page views here when I don't post for weeks on end. So thank you, everyone, for continuing to stop by, and I promise things will pick up again.

I do actually have part two of 'Dinner And A Show' aaalmost ready to publish. So we'll be catching up with Jenny, Susan and the hapless Jeff in the next few days. I hope you'll find the new installment as deliciously squirmy to read as I did to write it!

Turning The Tables

2011-05-31T03:20:00.000-07:00

I mentioned a while back that I'd like to try my hand at some work featuring female spankees.

Now F/M is of course my first love, and it's relatively easy to be successful in that field because there's not so much of it around. But I do also love to see or read about naughty young (and not so young) ladies getting their bottoms warmed, and I know from previous polls and comments that many of you do too.

Tempting as it is to post F/F and M/F pictures and stories here - if nothing else, I think it would increase the number of female visitors - I've always wanted to stay true to the original, male-subjugating ethos of Underling's Humblings.

So the obvious solution would be to run another blog alongside this one (listen to me, talking like I 'run' this one when I've barely managed to post once per month lately)!

Still, please let me know your thoughts. If you do want to see a sister site to this one where the fairer sex are on the receiving end, tell me what would make it worthwhile for you. I'm keen to do something a little different in an already busy space.

On the other hand if you think I'm already spreading myself too thin and should stick to what I know, tell me that too!

Step Right In

2011-04-30T08:37:00.000-07:00

To: Underling
From: Wanda.Ling@OSIRISTechWorks.com
Subject: FoF! OMG!

How's it going, little bro? Nobody spanked at your office today? What a shame. A bit more encouragement for those guys on your development team - and maybe a hot bottom for you - and you might not have missed that deadline you were worried about. No such problems here at OSIRIS, of course. Funny how all of our projects come in on time, LOL!

Anyway, I know you're super keen to hear about how Frillies on Friday went. And it was a blast! Honestly, I've never seen so much pretty underwear on show, and all of it modelled by beautifully blushing men. We raised a ton of money and popped plenty of egos, so what's not to like?

There are some new nicknames floating around since the event too - you know I told you about Richard, the guy who'd been talking like he's God's gift to women? He's now answering to 'Dick Little'. Let's just say that pink stretch fabric fitted him much too well in front!

We actually had quite a bit of resistance this year - the girls tell me that there are always one or two of the men who think they can get out of it, but this time there were at least six or seven who turned up in their regular work wear. God knows what they thought was gonna happen - 'um, I've been told for weeks that I'm supposed to spend today in lingerie, but I thought it'd be ok if I just wore my suit as usual.' Think again, little man.

One of the recent recruits even tried shutting himself in the toilets - you can imagine how well that went down. I guess we did get a bit carried away, but my manager Sheila said he can pay to get the lock fixed out of his own salary since he shouldn't have been such a spoilsport in the first place. Anyway, needless to say none of these mini-rebellions lasted very long. There was some none-too-gentle help with stripping, some very enthusiastic penalty paddlings, and then of course the dressing up. For those who 'forgot' to bring their own, Sheila has a big box full of all kinds of gorgeous lingerie, and I think every bit of it got used at some point. Who'd have thought it'd be so much fun? Like having a living, life-size 'Sissy Barbie'. With realistic squirming action!

As for the toilet hideaway, we had to make an example of him of course - for his sins he's going to get pride of place on the cover of the OSIRISissies calendar, showing off his well-paddled behind in the little lace thong we finally put him in - that is, after we'd had him model a dozen other outfits. I'm not actually sure what made him blush more - parading for us in panties, or desperately trying to cover his cock during costume changes! I do know that he didn't take too well to having his bottom blistered, hence his new nickname - 'Sobbin' Robin'. Honestly, if he hadn't wanted us to give him such a hiding then he should have shown a bit more fundraising spirit from the outset. Some people are so uncharitable.

Anyway, that's all I have time for - just on my way out for a long lunch, and before I go I have to give William on my team a motivational spanking to make sure some paperwork is done by the time I get back. What can I say? It's tough work maintaining discipline, but somebody has to do it!

Love,

Wanda.

Now We Are One

2011-04-05T11:40:00.001-07:00

On 5th April 2010, I fired up Underling's Humblings by pressing the big orange 'PUBLISH' button for the very first time.

Twelve months on from that first post, here we all are, if not quite hurtling through cyberspace then at least still trundling along and enjoying the view and the conversation.

So far the journey has been pretty leisurely - I've posted around twenty drawings and a handful of stories and animations, and picked up a quarter of a million page views and a hundred or so fellow travellers.

I've also struck up online friendships with regular readers, fellow bloggers and even a few spanking artists and writers whom I view with the kind of awe that other people bestow on rock stars.

It's been fun, and I hope it always will be. And since the people who make any blog are its visitors, then I wish all of you
many happy returns!

Now, clearly a spanking blog's birthday merits a birthday spanking for the blogger. Much as I'd love to receive one, sadly current internet technology doesn't allow them to be delivered online - maybe someone will fix that in time for next year.

Meanwhile, here's my virtual whipping boy waiting to be hairbrushed on my behalf (you'll need to go and get Flash Player if you can't see him).

Obviously this young man is super keen for his spanking to get under way, but before that can happen I need to figure out how many swats a year-old blog ought to invite. I think tradition says one swat per year plus one to grow on. But two swats isn't any kind of a spanking, is it?

Anyone have any suggestions?

Faster, Higher, Stronger, More Severe

2011-03-30T14:00:00.000-07:00

An international outcry has greeted the Olympic Committee's last-minute decision to include competitive spanking at the London Games next year. Critics have said that the controversial move clearly panders to the host nation.

José Itentso of the Spanish delegation said, "It's like a bad joke, as if bullfighting had been added as an event just before the Barcelona Olympics. It's true some of us have a little prior spanking experience, but to the British it is pretty much a national sport. Not for nothing do they call it the English vice."

Hanna Zoff of Sweden, meanwhile, said: "as one of the first countries to ban corporal punishment we have been out of practice for decades. It's simply unfair that we should have to compete against a nation of perverts."

With the committee refusing to reverse its decision, athletes across the world have had little choice but to initiate emergency training programmes. Many of these are being led by coaches specially flown in from the UK.

To find out more, we visited the newly constructed 10,000-seat 'disciplinarium' in East London to catch up with the British hopefuls as they honed their skills. We found 23-year old Londoner Willy Givin face down across teammate Helen Highwater's knee - so it fell to her to do most of the talking.

"Competitive Spanking has been a minority sport until now," explained the pretty 24-year old while dishing out blows with a small but mean-looking wooden paddle. "But its elevation to Olympic status is sure to generate a surge of interest."

So what's 'competitive' about it?

"Well, events exist for a variety of implements across two main - if you'll pardon the pun - disciplines. The first is freestyle, in which points are awarded for technique, aesthetic appeal and creativity. I think Will would agree that I do most of the work there - his main contributions are vocal reactions and facial expressions. But our real speciality is mixed doubles, where teams of different nations swap partners and compete in a simultaneous face-to-face "paddle-off". It's one of very few events where 'beating the opposition' means exactly that. A team is eliminated as soon as its spankee submits and uses the safeword, so it really is a test of both of our abilities - mine to break the will of our opponents' spankee as fast as possible, and William's to withstand punishment from their spanker until I've managed to do it. That really gets the adrenaline flowing for both of us, I can tell you!"

Asked about their background in the sport, Helen admitted that they do have something of an advantage. "As a couple, we've been enthusiastic amateurs for a number of years," she explained. "But we will of course need to up our game now that we're spanking for Britain."

Nor are the team underestimating the competition. "There are some impressive players out there," Helen told us. "I hear the Japanese spankee is a veteran of 'endurance' TV shows and has incredible staying power. And Tanya Hyde of the US is an ex-discus champion, and has a fearsome arm."

So how does Helen rate their chances next year?

"Our preparation is going well. I can now paddle at full strength for hours at a time - and that's toughened Willy's resolve, not to mention his behind, to a medal-winning degree."

"I did suggest some - ouch! - cross-training," gasped her red-faced, red-bottomed partner. "But our coach says that because the pairings in competition are F/M only, she doesn't see any benefit in Helen being on the receiving end."

"And since our coach is a former national champion herself," added Helen, "Will knows better than to argue with her."

Despite the sport's slightly saucy reputation, officials say they will be taking it very seriously in its first Olympic year. In addition to some key rules - all male competitors to be bare below the waist, and only standard Olympic-grade implements to be used - there will be random tests of spankees for banned substances including anaesthetic gels and arnica cream.

The British disciplinary duo are equally serious in their ambition to mount the podium next summer. "We're hoping it won't be just the cyclists and swimmers winning gold medals on home turf," panted Will, finally released from his partner's lap. "But we know other teams are working hard to get in shape. So we have another fourteen months of rigorous training ahead of us!"

"Speaking of which," chided his eager partner, "that's enough of a breather - we've got medals to win. Over you go!"

Five Little Words

2011-02-25T00:04:00.000-08:00

Some of you will remember a series of polls I ran back in July, inviting people to choose what they wanted to see in a new drawing. I really enjoyed that exercise, and I thought the resulting picture came out pretty well, but it was based on some seriously limited options.

I thought it'd be fun - and challenging - to really open up the field this time around. So for the next few days, I'm inviting brief suggestions from any visitor who wants to play. Is there an unusual implement, or a location, or an item of dress that you've always wanted to see in a spanking scene? Maybe you just have something wacky in mind that you just want to see if I can portray. Whatever it is, I'd like to hear it!

To try and keep some kind of grip, let's limit the suggestions to one idea per person, expressed in a maximum of five words. So 'mouth soaping' would qualify, as would 'spanking aliens from outer space'. But 'blonde woman in a green dress caning a man in striped pyjamas in a New York loft' would not. And I guess if you want to help me out (and why wouldn't you?) then you could scan through the comments before yours and try not to contradict them - for example, if someone's already provided a setting then you might like to consider some other aspect of the picture.

I reckon I'll draw a line - see what I did there? - when I've heard from ten people or so. For giggles, I'll then try to incorporate all your ideas into one drawing - hence the reason for keeping them simple. If it makes my brain hurt too much trying to squeeze them all in, I might spread them across several works (listen to me, talking like I churn one out every couple of days!)

Of course, I do want to keep everything within the spirit of the blog - that rules out depictions of anyone underaged, anything 'extreme' or gory, real people, and explicit sexual activity. Those are all the ground rules I can think of right now, but I may have to implement some emergency additions once the comments start coming in! ;)

For now, over to you... and feel free to be as creative, random and, well, challenging as you like!

In Case You Were Wondering...

2011-02-21T23:53:00.000-08:00

...I haven't been a total slacker these last few weeks. If you take yourself over to 'All Mine', you'll find the drawing I did for my wickedly wonderful friend Suzanne, who owns that blog.

While you're there, take the time to say hello and browse the rest of her posts. Fans of sissying, cuckolding and just good old fashioned femdom spanking will find much to enjoy! Do pop back here and tell me if you like the picture, but if you want to reuse it anywhere please be sure to ask Suzanne's permission since I drew it specifically for her.

By the way, you'll notice that Suzanne posts pretty often. Her prolificness makes me look pretty lazy by comparison.

I guess I am a total slacker after all!

Nice Work If You Can Get It... or... A Job With All The Frills

2011-02-12T14:37:00.000-08:00

I don't think I told you that my stepsister Wanda recently landed herself a 'dream job' with OSIRIS - you know, that firm where the managers are all women and they've a policy of corporal punishment for the male employees?

Anyway, since she joined I haven't stopped hearing about it - about the sixty-day annual female holiday allowance (and the five-day male allowance), and the weekly 'girls only' social events, and the women chatting over coffee for half the day, and the men lined up naked for their disciplinary interviews, and... well, you get the picture.

I haven't seen Wanda this excited since the day they made her a prefect at school. Not only do OSIRIS pay her handsomely for doing next to nothing, she also gets to indulge the sadistic streak she's had since we were kids. Barely two weeks in, she's already planning which of her cute male colleagues she can get into trouble so that they end up stripped and paddled before the month is out.

Wanda's ambitious, too - she reckons she'll be promoted within six months, which will also earn her paddling rights. This too makes her positively giddy with anticipation.

Just yesterday afternoon my heart sank when I opened my inbox to find yet another email from Ling, Wanda. After the usual preamble about how she'd spent the morning painting her nails, surfing the web and belittling the guy at the next desk, she drew my attention to an article that she'd forwarded from her company website. It advertises an upcoming fundraising event that... well, see for yourselves.

You couldn't make it up. Could you? ;)

In The Back Room

2011-01-29T13:25:00.000-08:00

Anyone here born within the last twenty years or so? Then let's try something. Shut your eyes a minute - actually, don't, because you'll need to read this - but imagine, if you can, a time when there weren't a zillion free spanking pictures and stories available at the click of a mouse. In fact, imagine a time when there wasn't even a mouse attached to your computer. In fact, imagine a time before there were any comput...

OK, I'm not actually that old. But I well remember the pre-internet days of spanking erotica. The furtive phone calls to premium rate numbers, to listen to recordings of bored housewives impersonating strict headmistresses. The reading and re-reading of punishment-themed passages in novels. The panicked fumbling for the VHS record button whenever I stumbled on a bit of televisual discipline. The poring over dictionaries - dictionaries, for God's sake ("verb. To strike with the open hand, esp. on the buttocks.")

Most of all, I remember occasional visits to the seedy back rooms of certain London bookshops. There I rubbed shoulders with fellow perverts (perhaps some of you among them!), all of us studiously avoiding eye contact while waiting with barely concealed impatience for access to the spanko shelves. And what treasures those shelves offered: glossy (if slightly thumbed) copies of Janus, Februs, Blushes, Kane, and as my F/M sensibilities developed, Obey, Goddess and Viper. Being specialist publications, the magazines weren't cheap, so there was the agony of trying to choose one or two that I could afford to buy. I would leave the shop with my purchases safely hidden in the classic brown paper bag, and a longing look back at those I'd had to leave on the shelves.

For those of you who are too young to remember them, these probably sound like dark times - and in some ways they were. But you know what? There was something special about those little excursions, and the scarcity of the material made it precious.

I don't know if any of those old magazines are still in print. Do any of you still buy them? Did any of my female visitors ever buy them - and if not, where did you get your kicks? It's hard to imagine there's a market for any new spanking magazine to start up now. I think that's a shame, so I thought I'd dream up my own. I had far too many ideas to fit on the cover of this one - so if you like it, maybe there'll also be a March issue :).

Finally, thanks very much to Ken and Cora for the use of their wonderful discipline slip design. It's far too small here to be appreciated - if you'd like to see the real thing, head on over to their most excellent blog. Ken is a lovely guy, and will happily email you a copy on request.

From This Day Forward - The Next Bit

2011-01-20T12:30:00.000-08:00

Happy, um, Thursday, everyone. By popular demand, here's part two of my romantic tale celebrating everyone's favourite event - a traditional wedding. Hopefully it has all the right ingredients - something old, something new, someone paddled black and blue.

If you haven't read part one yet, please go off and do that now. We'll wait!

PART 2

The wedding ceremony was all but concluded: there remained only the induction of Peter Harris into the disciplinary care of his new wife, Joanna.

Reverend Helen Green smiled warmly at the congregation. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're nearly done here - but I know that many of you have been particularly looking forward to the next part of the proceedings. Actually," she added with a twinkle, "perhaps that's just the ladies. But I'd still invite you gentlemen - for your own growth - to pay close attention." She lifted her chin towards the rear pews. "For anyone who doesn't have a good view, please don't be shy - feel free to come up to the front. Oh, and those of you with cameras, thank you for your patience. Now is the time to use them."

The guests gradually rearranged themselves, many of the women subtly vying for the best vantage point. Meanwhile the Reverend beckoned the main participants - with bridesmaids Hannah and Emma supporting Peter by his elbows, hobbled as he was by the tangle of clothing at his ankles - towards the stone font. "Equally good for christening church members and matrimonial paddles," she chuckled, as the group approached. Joanna was already getting the feel of the implement in question, smiling to herself as she whisked it experimentally through the air.

Watching her, Peter felt the same heady mix of desire and nervous apprehension that had possessed him since they had first met. It had taken him two years to propose: he would have done so sooner, if not for Joanna's repeated warnings about what wedlock would mean for both of them. On an early date they'd been watching a marriage-themed movie together when she'd leaned over to say, "I don't want to see you down on one knee until you're ready to stay that way for life." He had turned towards her, grinning at the joke, only to find her face serious.

In the months that followed, she had told him many times how such-and-such behaviour would earn him a whipping if they were married. Meanwhile she had habitually swatted him on the behind whenever she felt slighted, or mocked, or disagreed with. These were not the playful, good-natured taps familiar to many couples, but were delivered hard and without humour - in some cases, and much to his embarrassment, at friend's houses or out in the street.

He had finally gathered his courage one summer evening at the Queen Bee, where they often ate dinner. Producing the ring from his pocket, he pushed his own chair away from the table and adopted the time-honoured position beside hers. It turned out that one knee was not enough: before he'd been able even to ask the question, she reached over and gently applied pressure to the other one until he responded to the hint. Now he felt ridiculous - no longer chivalrous, but simply submissive - on both knees in the middle of a crowded restaurant, before a woman who even now was rising from her seat to increase her height advantage. Not knowing what else to do, he blustered on, trying to stay on script.

"Jo - sweetheart - will you marry me?"

Joanna did not reply for a full minute. She stood there gazing down at him, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth, while the diners at the other tables grew quiet. Finally she spoke, and Peter knew it was for the benefit of everyone present: "And everything that entails?"

"Yes. Yes, everything."

Still she did not answer, but her eyes flicked down to the carpet in front of him. Following her gaze, he saw that she had extended one pretty, sandal-clad foot. For a few moments he regarded it blankly, his head spinning.

Then, watched by the restaurant's entire clientele, he put his elbows on the floor and his lips to her bare toes.

Joanna left him in that position for a few more heartbeats, then reached down to take his arm and encourage him to his feet.

"Up you get, silly," she said. "Of course I'll marry you." Gripping his wrists, she pulled him to her and kissed him long and hard on the lips, drawing cheers and wolf whistles from the other customers. Then she firmly turned him around and delivered a hard slap to the seat of his jeans. "That," she said, "is for making me wait..."

"...Peter - your wife is waiting." Reverend Green's gently chiding voice brought the young groom back to the present: another crowd, another public humiliation. A draught of air sent a ripple through his dangling shirt tails. He desperately wanted to hold them down - but the smirking bridesmaids, now facing him across the wooden lid of the font, still had ownership of his wrists. Hannah leaned forward as she tightened her grip, her satin bodice revealing a generous amount of cleavage. Absurdly, Peter felt - dear God - an instant stirring between his legs. The thought of this being noticed was all the encouragement he needed to press the front of his bare thighs, and his now semi-hard penis, against the cold stonework. As he did so, the two women pinned his shoulders to the dark oak top so that his upper body lay flat and immobilised against it.

There was barely a sound in the church. Behind him, Joanna's dress rustled as she reached forward to stroke the back of his head. "My darling, I love you - and since today it's just for the ceremony, I'm going to go a little easy this time. But this time only." He felt the coolness of the church air as his shirt was rolled up his back and his naked behind fully exposed, prompting a flurry of appreciative female whispering and a whirring of camera shutters. The polished blade of the paddle was placed flat against both of his buttocks. A second later it was withdrawn, and he heard Joanna's slow intake of breath and the soft creak of a floorboard as she shifted her weight.

"Ready, sweetie?"

The crack of the paddle was like a gunshot inside the hushed church. It bounced from the whitewashed walls. It echoed up and down the bell tower. It made the women smile beneath their expensive hats, and their men wince in sympathetic discomfort.

For a split second, Peter felt only the shocking force of the impact. In the moment it took for the full burning agony to register, he opened his mouth to say something about "going easy." To his surprise, all that came out was an anguished yelp: he pressed his lips to his forearm to stifle it. "Hmm," murmured Hannah approvingly. "Ouchie," said Emma. "One," counted Joanna, and then, with a chuckle, "Join in, everybody."

The second blow was delivered precisely on top of the first, adding fuel to the fire. "Two," declared Joanna, and a few others. This time Peter kept his mouth tightly closed, but could not prevent a muffled keening noise from escaping through his nose. Christ, it hurt. His legs were shaking.

Out in the aisle, the Joanna's mother glanced at her own husband, who was staring ruefully at his feet. "You know I said we didn't need to renew our vows? I've changed my mind. I think that's a wonderful idea." Then she turned her rapt gaze back to the daughter of whom at this moment she was so proud.

The four remaining swats were applied without hurry and without pity. Peter had abandoned his pride, and yelled unashamedly as each one was driven home
. Beyond the pounding in his ears he could hear feet drumming on the floor, and realised they were his own. While he writhed under his wife's ministrations - "like a worm on a hook," grinned Hannah, as she and Emma struggled to restrain him - the entire female audience now kept enthusiastic count until the final triumphant chorus of "Six!" gave way to cheers and applause.

Helen Green raised her voice above the hubbub: "Here endeth the lesson."

Joanna handed the paddle back to her bridesmaids for temporary safekeeping. "Thank you both so much - it's wonderful. I doubt we'll get a present that sees more use than that one." Then she crouched next to her still prostrate and half naked groom. "My brave boy," she said.

Minutes later, Peter was once more fully dressed and taking his turn to sign the marriage register in a shaky hand. Reverend Green had thoughtfully found a cushion for him, although he still placed himself upon it somewhat gingerly. She had also procured a tissue. "We can't have tears on your wedding photos. It's supposed to be the happiest day of your life. Oh, don't forget that we'll also need a signature here."

The young man stared at the indicated paragraph. He had seen the words before, during the rehearsal, but their meaning then had seemed unreal. Now the throbbing in his buttocks brought them into sharp focus. Submit... correction... chastisement... obedience... for as long as we both shall live.

Then, watched by the church's entire congregation, he put the pen to the paper, and himself in her charge.

New Year's Resolutions, Old-School Methods

2011-01-02T12:04:00.000-08:00

This one's for Red, who was leaving comments on New Year's Eve complaining that I hadn't posted any pictures for 2011 yet ;). Feel free to pop over to his (admittedly excellent) blog at Consensual Spanking, and give him some grief on my behalf.

Like Paul here, I've neglected to make any resolutions for this year. I find it helps to avoid the self-hatred later. Unlike Paul, no-one's going to try and force the issue in my case.

Carla's a very demanding lady, but at least she'll help this young man to feel good about himself by making sure he sticks to 'his' promises. I'd give him a week maximum before he needs his first reminder.

Have a fantastic '11, everybody!

A One And Five Noughts

2010-12-29T06:35:00.001-08:00

While I was away celebrating the yuletide holiday, one of you left me an extra Christmas present - the 100,000th visit to this blog's 'home page' since I started counting back in June.

Now this figure looks pretty puny in comparison to some sites out there. But it's still equivalent to the entire population of Grenada stopping by (or maybe just one scarily obsessive Grenadian visiting every 3 minutes for the last 6 months).

Nor is this the whole story. If I count views of all pages rather than just the main URL, then I'm averaging about a thousand per day when the blog is only ticking over - and double that on the days when I actually make the effort to post something :).

In one sense these are all just numbers - but they represent real people, the like-minded travellers who are the life blood of any site, and the fulfilment of an ambition I never knew I had. I didn't dream until recently that I might carve a little place for myself in this community - that people might end up collecting my work in the same way that I've greedily consumed that of other spanking artists over the years, and that some of those same artists I still hold in awe might be chatting to me by email!

So thank you for the hits so far - I'm already looking forward (if I live that long) to adding another zero!

By the way - there should be a little animation at the top of this post, in celebration of the 100K thing. If you can't see it and you want to, you'll need to go and get Flash Player. The movie includes a bit of sound that you can turn on and off - I've left it off by default, just in case you're browsing the site at work or something.

God, you're not browsing the site at work, are you? ;)

Red Butts Roasting 'Neath An Open Palm

2010-12-21T13:54:00.001-08:00

I must apologise for that post title. It's pretty terrible. If it's any consolation, I'd also considered 'Yule' Be Sorry, Season's Beatings and Rudeness Brings Red-assed Pain, Dear.

My excuse for all that punishable punning is of course that it's that time of year - and here's my slightly early gift to all of you. I would tell you not to open it before December 25th, but - oh, you already have.

I actually surprised myself by throwing this picture together over about three days rather than my usual several weeks: either it was the incentive provided by a looming date, or I'm starting to get the hang of this. Our heroine is in her panties again, I'm afraid (not that many of you seem to mind). I'm thinking if my underwear obsession gets any worse, I may have to rename the site Underling's Underthings!

Anyway, this seems a good moment to say a heartfelt thank you for your support in 2010. I've had a wonderful time keeping the blog, and I'm truly grateful for all the encouragement you've given me over the last ten months or so. If I can be allowed a little seasonal sappiness: I love you guys.

I'm not really one for new year's resolutions, but I will try to post more often in 2011. Meanwhile, to all you humble underlings, your overlords and ladies and loved ones, my warmest wishes for a fun and relaxing holiday. And may you get everything you've been asking for ;).

Straight To The Action?

2010-12-18T05:34:00.000-08:00

If you've ever said to yourself - and let's face it, who hasn't? - 'I wish I could see all of Underling's pictures in one place, instead of having to wade through the tedious ramblings in his blog' - then look no further than 'my' page on the Spanking Art Wiki. Most of my artwork ends up there at some point - and the best thing is, because those nice people at SAW are ridiculously generous with their bandwidth, everything I've uploaded to that site is completely uncompressed. That means the images are cleaner and sharper than the versions you'll see here on the blog - they just don't arrive there so soon.

Check it out, if you haven't already, but promise you'll come back when you're done because it'd get lonely here without you.

Anyway, while reviewing the wiki page an odd thing occurred to me. In the fourteen months or so that I've been creating pictures for the web, I reckon I've only produced thirteen 'proper' drawings. But shocking though that is, it's not the really suprising thing - you knew already what a slowcoach I am. No, what really struck me was that of all the pictures I've drawn, only two feature ACTUAL SPANKING. Have a look if you don't believe me.

Sure, there are plenty of red bottoms and faces, anxious expressions, evil smirks and brandishing of implements. But where's the action? The pop of the paddle? The swish of the cane?

Even the stories I've written tend not to dwell on the actual whupping. Some of them even end before it begins.

I think the real reason that spanking itself takes a back seat is that I'm so obsessed with everything that surrounds it - the ritual, I guess. I could look at a picture of nothing more than a woman flexing a cane with a particular expression on her face, or read a story consisting entirely of someone threatening a spanking, and still get massively turned on.

So am I alone in this? Are most people impatient to get to the action, or are there other particular little things about a scene that really push your buttons - maybe even more so than the spanking itself?

Do let me know!

From This Day Forward

2010-12-12T08:12:00.001-08:00

For the most part, it was a fairly conventional wedding. The promise of obedience, usually omitted from the modern day vows, might have raised a few eyebrows - especially as it was made by the groom - but it drew only approving nods from the female members of both families.

As the main part of the ceremony drew to a close, the Reverend Helen Green asked that children be escorted out of the church and driven ahead to the reception venue, while the remaining congregation turned to the backs of their service books. "These additional vows are not taken by all couples," she explained, "but I'm very pleased to see that they are gaining popularity."

Turning with a smile to the groom, she asked: "Peter, will you accept your wife's direction in all things? Will you patiently and without complaint submit to her discipline, however severe, and be always grateful for her loving correction?"

The young man's affirmation was loud and clear, although he could not quite keep a small tremor from his voice: "I will."

"Good boy," said the Reverend, prompting chuckles from the pews.

Addressing the bride, she asked: "Joanna, will you fulfill your wifely duty of teaching Peter right from wrong? Will you tirelessly and unflinchingly apply the rod of correction to encourage him along the righteous path?"

There was no tremor of uncertainty in the bride's response - in fact there was a distinct smile in her voice. "Oh, I will".

"Good for you," murmured the Reverend, with a wink, before once more turning to the assembled audience. "It only remains for Joanna and Peter to 'seal the deal', so to speak. Just as the exchanging of the rings symbolises their commitment of love, so this final little ritual demonstrates Peter's submission to female discipline within his marriage. Ladies?"

On cue, the two bridesmaids stepped forward and positioned Peter between them. Nimble fingers loosened his jacket buttons and his belt. Emma Mills had been in Peter's class at school and had not forgotten his relentless teasing - she firmly gripped his wrists behind him, and took the opportunity to whisper to him while Hannah Beale worked eagerly at his trousers. "Congratulations, Pete - you've got yourself exactly the woman you need. And I'm really pleased Hanna and I get to be first to hand over our present. It was the hardest, heaviest, stingiest one we could find." She leaned even closer, and Peter could feel her warm breath in his ear. "Ouchie", she said.

Hannah, after an unabashed peek into Peter's underwear, looked up with a grin. "Mmm. She's not done so badly herself, Em. I wouldn't mind spending my wedding night making use of this."

A few yards away, Reverend Green was presenting the matrimonial paddle, on its small blue cushion, to the waiting bride. "Good and hard, dear," she advised. "Start as you mean to go on. I should think six will be the right number - enough to keep your guests happy, but not so many as to keep them from their dinner. In any case," she said, "there's no need to overdo it today. You have the rest of your lives together."

Dinner And A Show

2010-12-05T09:05:00.001-08:00

Jeff gazed forlornly at the plate of linguine that was gently steaming on the table before him - as it had been, untouched, for the last five minutes. The waiter had already approached to ask if everything was alright with his order, and had left with a shrug. Sue and Helen, who sat with Jeff and his wife Jenny, were now lost in enjoying their own food and gossip; but they'd been puzzled by the exchange between the couple as the plates had arrived. His doubtful "Sweetheart...?" had been met with an equally cryptic response: "No, not just yet. I think you can give us a little head start, dear. You always wolf your food anyway - this way we can all finish together." And so Jeff had sat miserably listening to the chatter of the three female friends, imagining but not experiencing the taste of his rapidly cooling meal. He hadn't wanted to come to the restaurant anyway. He had little time for Jenny's companions - Helen, the well-meaning but airheaded neighbour, and Sue, the gorgeous but acid-tongued cousin who always seemed to delight in putting him down.

On and on the women's conversation went: scandals in the neighbourhood, plots of soaps, and, although Jeff tried hard not to listen, lascivious discussion of the cute boy who had recently joined his wife's firm and was working directly under her. "Really quite beautiful," Jenny was saying, "and the tightest little tush you've ever seen. I could spend all day just having him retrieve things from the bottom of the filing cabinet. Sadly he's also lazy as hell. Most of his time is spent pathetically flirting, and trying to get a glimpse up my skirt. If he doesn't buck his ideas up soon, he may just find himself draped across my knee."

"Seriously?" asked a wide-eyed Helen.

"No, silly. Oh, given the opportunity I would love to bare that pert little behind, but sadly I gather my employer frowns on that sort of thing. Thank God the rules are a little different at home - aren't they, Jeffie?"

Jeff managed a tight half smile, but felt his face flush crimson. He hated the childish pet name; he hated the fact that Jenny used it deliberately to belittle him; and most of all, he hated it when she brought up the topic of discipline in public. His eyes fixed on his forbidden food, he was aware even so that the women's chatter had stopped and all three were regarding him expectantly. Jeff's fingers twisted the hem of the tablecloth as he pleaded inwardly with his wife: just change the subject. Please, please, please let it go.

But of course she would not.

"Jeff, You've been sitting there like a sulky little boy since we got here. If you want to be allowed that pasta before dessert arrives, kindly have the courtesy to respond when someone tries to involve you in the conversation."

Jeff's eyes flicked up to meet her cruelly amused gaze. "Yes, dear. The rules are different at home."

"Indeed they are - as you'll be reminded as soon as we get there, since I don't like your tone. For now, you'd better start. And don't take too long," Jenny mused, scanning the menu. "We girls are looking forward to our tiramisu."

Helen could no longer contain her curiosity. "Jen, what rules? And why hasn't Jeff been eating?"

Oh Jesus, thought Jeff. He kept his head down, and busied himself shovelling lukewarm pasta into his mouth and chewing it with gusto. Anything to avoid having to take part in the coming discussion.

Jenny smiled mildly. "My husband is in disgrace, Helen. He contrived to stay out all night last week following an after-work drink. No phone call. No excuse. So this week he is learning that if he can't be trusted with adult privileges, those privileges will be taken away from him. Specifically, until the end of tomorrow, he must ask my permission before doing a lot of the things responsible grown-ups take for granted."

"He needs permission to eat?" Helen didn't look convinced.

"Until yesterday, no - only to watch TV, or use the internet, or get a beer from the fridge. Unfortunately there were some slips even with those simple limitations, so I've had to restrict him further. Just to reinforce the message."

"I still don't get it," Helen persisted, her brow knotted in confusion. "I mean, how can you even stop him?"

"Stop him? My dear Helen, the same way we stop any naughty boy from misbehaving if he doesn't respond to verbal correction."

Helen's mouth opened and then closed. She glanced from Jeff to Jenny and back again. "Oh, my," she said.

"Oh, my, indeed," chuckled Sue, whose eyes had been widening along with her grin. "Well, Jen - I knew you kept him on a short leash, but this is a fascinating revelation. No wonder he can't seem to sit still this evening." She leaned over so that even with his head down, Jeff had to acknowledge her. "Does little Jeffie get his little bottie warmed at home? Does his strict wife put him across her knee and give him a good smacking?"

Jenny laughed. "Only for the minor offences!"

"Well in that case, you must tell us about the major ones!"

"Jeff? Care to describe to Sue how we spent Saturday morning after you'd finally rolled home?"

"Not really."

"Oh, come on, now. I'm sure it's still fresh in your mind. That was you, wasn't it, stripped bare, on all fours on the coffee table, with your knees spread nice and wide? Tail on fire? Sobbing please, honey, no more? I doubt you've forgotten that strapping already, given that I had you squealing loud enough to wake the dead."

Sue sighed theatrically. "And to think my only entertainment that morning was watching reruns on TV. I really must pop over more often." She reached over and gripped Jeff's hand in mock conciliation. "Did it hurt quite terribly, Jeffery? Being whupped, I mean? Being thrashed good and hard by your wife? Waggling that saucy, red raw bottom in the air?"

"Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom."

"I'm sorry?" Sue was warming to the theme. "I think you meant to say: Jenny, my loving disciplinarian, may I please leave the table to go pee-pee?"

Even Helen giggled at this, although a little uncomfortably, while Jenny guffawed in delight. "Susan Harris, we really must get you paired up one of these days. You'll make someone a wonderful wife. Jeff, I'm tempted to make you sit there and hold it, but we don't want any accidents. You can go..." - Jeff began to stand - "...after you've answered Sue's question."

Jeff forced himself to look straight into Sue's beautiful but wicked face: head cocked, one eyebrow raised, lips pursed into a mocking smirk. "Yes, Sue. It hurt like hell, and still does. Thank you so much for asking." Then he turned on his heel and stalked away from the table, leaving an ominous silence in his wake.

Alone in the bathroom, Jeff locked the door behind him and put his back against it. He was dizzy with humiliation. This is the point in a movie, he thought, where the hero makes his escape by squeezing through the window and sprinting off into the night. But that hero is the victim of kidnappers, on a quest to evade his captors, double back and rescue his imperilled girlfriend. He is not a pussy-whipped husband whose wife keeps a well-oiled razor strop hanging under the stairs. Gingerly he ran a finger across the seat of his chinos. He swore he could still feel every welt from Saturday. It was a relief just to be standing up for a few minutes. He used the urinal, splashed water on his face, slicked his hair down, adjusted his shirt collar. When he could delay no longer, he made his way back to the table. His wife and the hateful Sue were once again in animated conversation, but Helen was nowhere to be seen.

"She had to head off," explained Jenny coolly. "Suddenly remembered something she has to do before tomorrow. And Sue has just realised she's had one glass of Chardonnay too many, so we'll leave her car here and she can stay with us for the night. You can pull out the futon in the guest room and she can sleep on that. Oh, that will be after you've bent yourself over it, so I can demonstrate to my cousin here how bare bottomed young men are taught manners in our house. Lucky there's no work tomorrow, because I think it's going to be a late night for all of us."

Across the table, Sue rested her chin on her hands and watched Jeff's expression with shining eyes. "What a naughty girl I am, drinking too much to drive home. Whatever is to be done with me? It's a good thing I'm Jenny's cousin and not her husband, or I might be the one sleeping on my stomach tonight!" She stuck out her bottom lip in a pretence of hurt feelings. "Oh Jeff, why the long face, sweetie? Anyone would think you didn't want me stopping over. But it would be a pity to end the evening so early, wouldn't it? This way I get to finish the day in my favourite way," she said. "Dinner and a show. Now - who's for tiramisu?"

Meet Diana - Desktop Disciplinarian

2010-11-07T07:54:00.000-08:00

If you've visited some of the same dubious websites as me - and I bet you have, you naughty people - you've probably seen advertisements for virtual women who 'strip' on your computer desktop. Now I've never been tempted to download any of those animations, but I thought I'd try and produce something along the same lines for the spanko computer user in all of us. If your browser is running an up-to-date version of Adobe Flash Player, hopefully you're looking at her right now in all her panty wearing, paddle wielding, cartoon glory. If all you can see is a big blank space, sorry - it's probably because you're not running Flash.

Truth be told, Diana doesn't do that much yet but I hope you'll enjoy her just the same - and I hope you'll suggest how I might develop her further. Maybe we ought to expand her wardrobe for a start! By the way, I know she's pretty small. If you right-click over the animation you should be able to zoom in for a better look.

What's that? You want to put your desktop disciplinarian on your desktop? Well, it can be done if you're running certain versions of Windows, including XP (apologies to users of other systems). But there are a few steps involved, so I'll save that for another post. If anyone does want a Desktop Diana in a hurry, let me know and I'll forward you some guidelines.

Meanwhile, since we're on the topic of corrective cartoon characters - are there any who you think would make good spankers? I'm struggling to come up with them.

Marge Simpson? Nah, she's more of an appeaser.

Wilma Flintstone, maybe.

Ooh, what's the name of that girl in Futurama? The one with a single eye in the middle of her face? I can definitely see her dishing it out. Ohh, yeah.

Definitely.

Love Our Lurkers Day 5

2010-10-20T17:20:00.000-07:00

Today is LOL day!

Organised by Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts, it's an opportunity to honour our 'lurkers' - the many visitors who tiptoe in and out of our sites unannounced - and at the same time to encourage them to be a bit less, well, lurkery. :)

I really do appreciate all the visits I get here. It's great to think that hundreds of people pass through every day from all over the world. But best of all is opening up my blog and finding a comment or two, or a new follower - it's the difference between having a pretty girl smile at you on the bus, and having her sit down next to you and say hello.

So whether you're a long term visitor or this is your first time, I'd love it if you took the opportunity to speak up by adding a comment to this post.
A blog is nothing without an audience, so tell me what you like and don't like, and help shape the future of the site - or just say hiya, and let me know you're out there!

You can be as anonymous as you like - you don't need an account to contribute here - but please do sign off with a first name/ nickname/ pseudonym so that I can send a hello right back atcha. Of course all my regular contributors are also encouraged to join in the fun.

Thank you, and welcome! :)

Lurkers, Feel The Love!

2010-10-17T03:47:00.000-07:00

Many of you will already be familiar with My Bottom Smarts, one of those spanking blogs that seem to act as hubs for the entire community. Bonnie, who runs MBS, hosts a huge blogroll and is a tireless promoter of other people's sites. She also provides regular features like her Spanko Brunch, a weekly virtual gathering of bloggers and visitors where a given topic is thrown open for discussion.

Bonnie's piece de resistance, however, is the organising of the 'Love Our Lurkers' day, in its 5th iteration this year and thus known as 'LOL V'. LOL is dedicated to the huge silent majority of people who regularly visit spanking-themed blogs, but rarely (if ever) leave a comment or otherwise make themselves known. We'd love not only to thank our lurkers, but also to 'meet' as many of you as possible, by having you comment on or become followers of our blogs on or around LOL day - it's Thursday October 21st. All participating bloggers will make a special post on that day inviting lurkers to introduce themselves - and Bonnie will link to those posts.

So please don't be shy - drop in and say hello next week, and meanwhile check out Bonnie's post for more details.

Since this is Underling's Humblings first year, this is as new to me as it will be to many of you. Should be fun!

To Have And To Scold

2010-10-11T04:24:00.001-07:00

I was thinking about how the act of marriage has moved on over the last few decades. We have gay weddings, which were long overdue. We have dog weddings, which probably were not. People get married in hot air balloons, dressed as Star Wars characters, under water (although seldom all at the same time). Why not an 'official' wedding ceremony for female-led relationship lifestylers?

And then I realised there's really no need for one. After all, once the necessary legal stuff is covered off couples don't have to limit themselves to the traditional vows - many write their own.

So let's imagine that you're going to tie the knot with an FLR partner - or for those of you already married to one, that you're going to do it again. And let's say (just because we can) that all of this is viewed as perfectly normal, and even Great Aunt Harriet will be smiling approvingly throughout the proceedings rather than fainting on the spot.

How would you adapt the marriage vows to reflect your relationship? What changes would you make to the wedding ritual? Oh, and what would be on your gift list? ;)

Round Numbers

2010-09-26T13:37:00.000-07:00

Just a quick post to say I noticed today that I've had 50,000 hits to this main page alone, since I started counting in June. So thanks, everyone, for all your visits. I honestly never thought the blog could do so well.

I suppose properly I ought to wait until 100,000 to celebrate, but you know, any excuse for a party.

Now imagine if I got a couple more followers to make that up to 50. That'd present a nice symmetry, don't you think? Come on now, don't be shy! I had thought about offering a prize to the 50th follower. But then nobody would want to be number 49. :)

Do I Really Believe In This Stuff?

2010-09-25T03:58:00.000-07:00

We all know that not everything on the web is what it seems. Boys pretend to be girls. Girls pretend to be boys. Some of them probably blog about spanking partners that don't, strictly speaking, exist. And you know what? I think that's cool. Fantasy is what I do.

But I don't want to mislead anybody here. While 'Underling' inhabits a universe ruled by paddle-happy women, his real world alter ego - yours truly - has a more mundane existence. God knows I love to spend an hour or two bare bottom up over a female lap, and I'm no stranger to the slipper, strap and cane. I'm a card carrying, bona fide F/M discipline addict and I've had the bruises and welts to prove it. Yet I'm not in a regular DD relationship, and I don't think I want to be. Although I salute those of you who are, and who are making it work, I'd guess - and this is purely a personal thing - that I'd last maybe a day in that kind of situation before getting stroppy and saying it wasn't funny any more.

Nor am I actually pushing any kind of political or social agenda. While I'm genuinely fascinated by the themes depicted in my artwork and writing, I hope it's no surprise that I don't really think men should be routinely stripped or spanked without their consent - not in real life. Believe it or not, I'm an equality-loving, abuse-hating, 'normal' kind of guy who happens to find the idea of a female-dominant society incredibly erotic. And I hope, whether you're male or female, gay or straight or bi, tranvestite, transgender,living the dream or happy with the dream itself, that the material I share here pushes your buttons in the same way as it does mine. That really is the only connection I ask, and it's what this blog lives for.

So, on to the results of last week's poll which asked which spanking pairings were of interest to you. More than two hundred of you took part, for which I'm very grateful. Sadly, but as predicted, only a small minority of those were ladies - but on the bright side, I still had more female participants than I'd expected. I'm assuming that all of you 'special girls' with cocks under your frocks - yes, I see you lurking over there in the 'Followers' section! - voted according to your physical appendages rather than the content of your wardrobes. ;)

Overall I was quite surprised by how F/M-biased most of the readership is. While there's certainly some interest in other pairings - especially where the dominant party is still a woman - I'd have guessed tastes would be more wide ranging than they actually are. One thing that's abundantly clear is that (unlike me) very few of you are fans of mano y mano discipline. It'd be interesting to see what the results would be if a similar poll was run on an M/F site, or better still a gender neutral one. Perhaps if you own such a site you'd like to oblige!

By the way, one of the reasons I ran the poll was that I've been thinking about doing a little artwork featuring female spankees. It won't appear on this site - that would be sacrilege :) - but if I do, I'll let you know where to find it!

Questions, Questions, Questions

2010-09-18T04:48:00.000-07:00

Two posts in two days. Almost like a real blog!

I don't want to distract you from voting in yesterday's polls (over on the right), so please do keep doing that. The figures are shaping up to be very interesting already. But I did want to refer you to an interview that Carmenica Diaz were kind enough to do with me recently. For anyone who's curious to learn a bit more about my artwork, you might find it interesting.

Please do take the time to browse the site and say hello to the owner while you're there.

The interview is right here.

Enjoy!

Boys Who Beat Girls who Beat Girls Who Beat Boys

2010-09-17T00:11:00.000-07:00

Now I know you lot are into F/M spanking, otherwise you wouldn't be here - unless you've accidently stumbled across this site while looking for something completely unrelated, in which case I can only apologise and suggest you keep hitting the 'back' button until you make it to safety.

Still there? Good. OK, what I'm really curious to know is which other dominant/ submissive pairings you like, and how they reflect your own gender (if at all). So it's poll time!

Please pick all the options that apply to you. I'm not asking about any relationship you currently have - rather, which couplings push your buttons.

I have a feeling the polls will show that the vast majority of visitors are male, but beyond that - who knows?

I'll kick things off to break the ice. I'm male, and although F/M is my first love I enjoy all the other pairings too.

The polls are there on the right. Over to you!

Table Service

2010-09-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

Conversation had ceased among the diners at the 'Queen Bee'. Even those patrons who had missed the spilling of the wine, and the outraged protest of Emmeline Hathaway - the restaurant's most prestigious client - had finally been distracted by the unmistakeable sound of a spanking in progress, and thence by the astonishing sight of its half-naked and cringing recipient.

It was only Tony Mendez's second week as a waiter, but already he had earned a reputation for clumsiness and a number of very public tongue lashings from head waitress Julia Mills. This latest incident - especially since it involved such a well known and highly valued customer - had stretched her patience to breaking point. Within moments the young man had found himself stripped of his apron, trousers and underpants and ordered to face the table with his elbows clasped behind his back.

Julia spanked hard and without pause, raising her voice over the sound of the slaps so that she could be heard at every table.

"I'm afraid we're just beginning, Anthony. We're going to get this bottom at least to the colour of the expensive claret you managed to throw over Miss Hathaway's dress - both of which, of course, you'll be paying for out of this month's wages. When we're done here - and we won't be until Miss Hathaway says so - you can spend the rest of the night washing up where you can do less damage. I'm going to stand you in front of the sink exactly as you are now, and I'll have a wooden spoon to hand in case I think you're not being careful enough."

At a nearby table, Helen O'Leary watched the proceedings with an approving smirk. "This reminds me, Peter," she said to her fidgeting companion. "Did you clean up the house today as I asked? Or is another naughty boy going to be having his bare bottom warmed when we get back?"

Peter O'Leary squirmed in his seat. He had been about to ask for the bill, but suddenly he was in no hurry. He had little appetite for the dessert awaiting him at home.

You Asked For It!

2010-08-14T16:21:00.001-07:00

And, finally, here it is - literally by popular demand - a custom drawing based on the results of all your diligent voting last month.

Hopefully everyone will agree that I've played fair and the fundamentals are all here - the bedroom setting, the hairbrush, the naked man and fully clothed lady, check, check, check. You also wanted the participants to be a bit older than I've typically depicted. I hope a hint of grey hair and a few wrinkles are enough to put these two in their forties - it's not subtle, but it's all I've got!

Some of you may spot the influence of your specific comments:

Ken, I've added just a suggestion of glamorous lingerie in honour of you and Cora.

Scally, I hope the brush meets your size requirements!

HerKnee, you got your wish for a skirt. Sorry (and to you, Rogue) that our victim has his pants all the way off - I just thought to have them pulled partway down would have added too much clutter since he's already mostly obscured. Oh, hang on - now I look at it again, we can pretend that his underwear is halfway down his thighs.

JayJay, I've had a little fun with your request that his behind should be higher than his head :).

I had a lot of fun with this. Thanks again for voting!

Another World

2010-08-07T08:50:00.001-07:00

Film and literature are full of fantasies in which people like you and me suddenly find themselves transplanted to unfamiliar worlds: The Time Machine, Planet of the Apes, Gulliver's Travels, Buck Rogers in the 25th Century. Typically these settings are far removed from what we know. We're in the distant future, or everyone else is the wrong size. Or the monkeys are in charge and, in the shape of Helena Bonham Carter, weirdly attractive. Or everyone wears a white stretch jumpsuit, and midget robots are called Twiki.

As entertaining as these stories are, I like my fantasies a little closer to home. If a guy were to fall asleep and wake up in Underling's Alternate Reality, things might at first seem perfectly normal. He reads the newspaper over breakfast, before taking the train (not a hovercar) to work. While there he sends the wrong document to a client, and in the process loses business for his company. He leaves the office at the end of the day, and stops for a drink with colleagues on the way home.

But look closer - things are different.

The paper advertises jobs at firms where all the managers are female, and motivate their male staff through the routine use of corporal punishment. Indeed this morning, on arriving late to work yet again, our hero is called into his boss's office where she delivers six firm swats of the paddle to aid his timekeeping.

Later that day, she learns of the lost contract and repeats the process at greater length.

Boarding the train that evening, slightly tipsy, he fails to move along the carriage and make space for an older lady behind him. She loudly rebukes him and slaps him, hard, on the behind. There are some smirks among the other passengers, but no-one is taken aback. He mumbles an apology and hides his scarlet face behind his evening paper, in which there is a report on the outcome of a corruption trial. The defendant was found guilty, and Judge Judy Sheindlin has sentenced him to a hundred hours of community service and fifty strokes of the cane. The date of the flogging has yet to be set, but the article mentions that it will take place in the evening so that it can be televised live on the Justice Channel after the watershed.

Finally arriving home, our guy is met at the door by his wife. He is two hours late, dinner is cold, and the hairbrush is already in her hand.

So that's the world I'm offering. It's still Earth, in the early 21st Century. Nobody gets to fly around in spaceships. But ladies, you do get to exercise your spanking arm with every man who steps out of line. And gents, you get your bottom warmed wherever and whenever you need it - at home, at work, at the doctor's office, at the supermarket, at the drop of a hat. Doesn't that sound more exciting than white spandex, and an annoying robot going 'bidi-bidi-bidi'?

Miss Scarlett, in the Library, with the Candlestick

2010-07-24T02:00:00.000-07:00

Or actually, the mid-forties lady, in the bedroom, with the hairbrush.

All this polling malarkey over the last couple of weeks has been a good way for me to make lots of posts without actually doing any work - but now the voting is over, and I have to make good and come up with my resulting Frankenstein's Monster of a picture. I will try to stitch the parts together without the joins being too obvious!

It's going to take a while and I have other drawings nearer completion, so it probably won't be the next thing I post. But I'll let you know when it's ready.

Meanwhile it's probably worth summing up the results, because I think they're fascinating. There's been a lot of vying for position in some of the categories, while others have had clear leaders from the start.

In terms of implements, the brush - which I hope you all took to mean 'hairbrush' rather than, say, 'toothbrush' - proved hugely popular. I'm not suprised by this since I think it's the ultimate F/M implement - inherently feminine, equally good at driving out tangles and bad behaviour, and capable of delivering a wicked sting. Next up, but a long way behind, was the good old paddle. Nice to see that everything got at least one vote, and apologies again that I forgot to include the hand - I'm sure that would have had a lot of support.

For dress, you generally like your extremes. Although a fair few people wanted the lady to take at least something off, most of you thought she should be fully clothed. Less ambiguity when it comes to her victim - a huge majority want him bare naked, but with enough votes for underwear that I'll bear that in mind for a future pic. I didn't word this poll too well, but I'm going to assume that those clamouring for nudity won't mind a bit of clothing so long as it's pulled well down - especially since there was some specific mention of that in the comments.

Moving onto ages, it looked for a while as though you wanted the lady to be a little older - but this has gradually flattened out. For the men, it's striking what an even spread of votes we have. There's actually a dead heat between the two most popular age ranges, so I'll just have to choose one. I was pleased to see a few votes for sixties and seventies, since I'm sure many visitors are in those age groups - and 'silver spankos' are not well represented in artwork.

Thank you again for all the votes, and keep an eye out for the finished product!

Mix Your Own - Setting The Scene

2010-07-16T03:29:00.000-07:00

Happy Friday, everyone!

We've had lots of votes for customising my forthcoming picture. Thank you so much for those - it's been fun watching the trends take shape.

The final piece of the puzzle (you may be relieved to hear!) is a setting for the spanking. This is the hardest element to construct a poll for - do we base it on location? Period? Circumstances? I've decided to go for the first option as the simplest, but even so I'm sure I've missed out many possibilities - sorry about that.

Anyway, please place your votes, and feel free to drop me a line if you want to get more specific. Oh, I'll be away over the weekend - apologies if you have to wait a couple of days for me to publish and reply to comments.

Mix Your Own - Clothing, Or Lack Thereof

2010-07-15T06:17:00.000-07:00

I'm half afraid my blog is going to collapse under the weight of active polls, but we're almost at the home straight.

Please vote for how you'd like both the disciplinarian and the disciplined to be (un)dressed in my drawing.

Got particular outfits in mind? Then don't be afraid to leave a comment. This one is all about you, so I'm open to suggestions!

Mix Your Own - Not Too Old To Go Over My Knee!

2010-07-14T04:57:00.000-07:00

Ok, it's time to vote for which age ranges you'd like to see represented in my 'Mix Your Own' scenario. Please vote for both spanker and spankee.

Now I know that relative age will be important for some of you, but honestly I don't think I can factor that in without things getting completely out of hand :).

Mix Your Own

2010-07-11T15:09:00.000-07:00

Anyone up for a little experiment?

My curiosity's been aroused by a post on 'Her Paddle', in which the blogmaster mentioned that most spanking art isn't quite to his taste.

This has got me wondering what are the optimal 'ingredients' of a spanking picture that would best suit the collective preferences of UH's visitors. So I'm going to run a series of polls for the next week or two to allow you to vote for your favourite implement, age groups (18+!) of spanker and spankee, state of undress, and setting. Then, based on the results, I'll draw something that may please everybody, or nobody :). Either way, I hope it will be interesting!

Let's start with implements. I've tried to make the list pretty comprehensive: if your favourite isn't shown, I apologise. Someone's already pointed out that I've omitted one of the greatest 'implements' ever - the hand. Unfortunately I can't now edit the poll. However if you don't see your weapon of choice here, feel free to leave a comment instead of voting, and I'll factor it in.

The poll's over there on the right.

Come On Back, Y'all

2010-07-08T10:32:00.000-07:00

Just a brief post to celebrate the first 10,000 visits to this blog since I started counting last month. Thank you to everybody who's stopped by, and especially those of you who've taken the time to say hello.

I'll do my very best to keep things interesting around here, and you keep coming back.

Deal? :)

Caught Peeping

2010-06-29T14:35:00.001-07:00

Another fortnight-and-a-bit, another new picture. I'm not being too tardy, am I?

By the way, if I seem to have developed a bit of a lingerie fetish recently, well - there's actually nothing recent about it! All I can say in my defence is, it's hot work thrashing a deserving young man on a summer's day.

I've noticed that while I quite like the stronger, darker colours I've used here, Blogger's image compression doesn't like them one bit - hence all the ugly 'noise' on the large version. I'll see what I can do to make a nice, clean copy available to everyone.

Are You Sitting Comfortably?

2010-06-18T13:10:00.000-07:00

Then I'll tell you a story that I wrote a while back to accompany this picture (yes, that picture again!)

It's not new to the web, but I hope it is to some of you....

LATE HOME
Even before the wedding, there had been signs. Jim already knew that Alice's delicate looks disguised a strong-willed, no-nonsense fiancee - she'd been raised that way by her mother Harriet, whose own husband had died soon after Alice was born. And it was typical of the older woman that she'd stood up to make a speech at the reception dinner, delighting the guests by declaring that she was "not losing a daughter, but gaining a son - and a seriously spankable one at that!"

Two months later, with Jim on a short leash and Harriet Beyer a frequent occupant of the couple's spare room, the young husband made his first serious mistake. Having overrun his curfew by several hours, he had hoped to creep into the house and slip into bed beside his sleeping wife - but Harriet had been waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

The ensuing lecture brought a bleary-eyed Alice to the bedroom door. In one hand she held the alarm clock from the bedside table: in the other was the heavy, polished walnut hairbrush that Jim recognised as a gift from her mother, famously handed down through generations of the family's women.

"What time is it, Jim?", Alice purred with a dangerous smile, directing the clock face towards his as if daring him to deny his guilt.

"Um. It's ten to four, sweetheart. I got..."

"...so what is it time FOR... SWEETHEART?"

Harriet Beyer provided the answer to that one: "A little lesson in responsibility, I think."

The three of them filed back into the bedroom, Harriet pressing rather too close behind her son-in-law as though to discourage any thoughts of escape - "in my own damned house", thought Jim bitterly, although he made no attempt to resist. He saw that Alice had already dragged the big round pouffe from its usual place under the dressing table to the foot of the bed. Now she made herself comfortable upon it, and in spite of himself Jim felt a twinge of arousal as the thin yellow nightdress rode up her spreading thighs. If she was aware of this distraction, Alice did not acknowledge it. "Shoes. Socks. Jeans. Right now."

His face burning, Jim removed each item in turn under the unabashed gaze of both women. Then he stood before them shifting his feet, his hands fluttering vaguely in front of his crotch.

"I think we'll have those off too", said Harriet matter-of-factly. Jim stared at her dumbly for a moment. "Your UNDERPANTS, little man; I'll take care of them for you. When we're done here you can ask me nicely for them back, and if I think you're sorry enough then maybe I'll let you have them." Jim shot a pleading look at his wife, but got only a smirk of approval in response. With a strange sense of detachment, he slid his briefs down and off, and placed them in Harriet's outstretched hand.

"Now that", said Alice, almost merrily, "looks like a young man ready for his spanking. Over you go."

As Jim lowered himself awkwardly across the soft, warm lap of his beautiful wife, he felt more miserable than at any other time he could remember. If only he'd come home early. He should have been pressed up against Alice in bed right now, instead of draped half naked and humiliated across her knee with the gloating Harriet looking on and offering direction: "Further forward, Jiminy, and up on your tippy toes. I think you've done enough backsliding today already, don't you? Let's have that bare little bottom nice and high - a lady can't blister what she can't see. Alice, shall I position him properly?" And to his horror Jim felt firm hands groping beneath his hips, uncomfortably close to his groin, as he was guided into place.

"There", said Harriet, stepping back to admire the scene. "That's the perfect position for any man who needs to learn respect for a woman."

"If you're quite done, mother", Alice smiled with mock impatience, "may I discipline my husband now? I'm itching to put this hairbrush to use."

"Just one second more, darling", replied Harriet, re-positioning herself at Jim's head and firmly gripping his chin to lift his face towards hers. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to watch the lesson sinking in."

And so, for ten long minutes the disgraced husband was forced to look into his mother-in-law's shining eyes while the hot bite of the hairbrush made him gasp and twitch and squirm. For her part, Alice loved Jim dearly - but did not, and never would, hold back from delivering a full-force spanking to remind him of his place in the world. She continued to pepper the reddening skin, laying bruise upon bruise, long after Jim's tears had begun to run down his face and over her mother's hand.

Jim did not get his underwear back that night. Once Alice had become tired and returned to bed alone, Harriet had escorted him back to her own room - "for a nice intimate chat, just the two of us" - where he would learn that his wife, despite being a formidable disciplinarian, was not the most severe of the Beyer women. Harriet had firmly shut the door behind them, and sat upon the bed coolly regarding the fidgeting young man as he tried in vain to stretch the hem of his t-shirt low enough to recover some dignity. "I don't need to tell you how proud I am of my little girl. She's grown into a proper Beyer wife. But still, she doesn't have QUITE the stamina yet to deliver the kind of incentive you so obviously need, and I'm going to start addressing that now." She eyed him patiently until his gaze met hers. "Oh, and let's not have any distractions. Take off that shirt."

Moments later, a fully naked Jim was bottom up across Harriet's lap on the guest bed, and the antique hairbrush was back at work with even greater vigour than before. The older woman showed no sympathy or concern for the already ravaged state of his bottom - in fact, she seemed to relish the bucking and squealing that the brush produced when it found a particularly tender spot. "Oh, is that super-sore, little boy? Then perhaps another... few.... swats.... right... there!"

The punishment continued for a good quarter hour before Jim was allowed a brief respite. "Perhaps I shouldn't have taken that afternoon nap", mused Harriet, who had paused to trace a fingernail across her son-in-law's scorched behind, "because now I don't feel the least bit sleepy." Jim only groaned into the tear-soaked pillow gripped between his teeth - Harriet had warned him against any yelling that might reawaken his wife. He tensed as the probing finger stroked inside his upper thigh and then followed a path back up between his swollen, trembling cheeks. "Alice and I had quite a chat while you were out for so many hours, young man. It's becoming clear that you can't be trusted by yourself, so I've offered to move in here while she's on that business trip next month."

Jim's anguished expletive was deadened by the pillow, but made Harriet smile mildly.

"I KNEW you'd be pleased. Won't it be fun playing house for two weeks, just you and I? We are going to get to know each other much, much better; you can depend on that. I'm afraid you're going to have to cancel any plans you might have had outside of work - you're going to be spending your evenings and weekends either completing the chores that Alice tells me you've been neglecting, or right here across my knee learning to be the husband my daughter deserves. Alice's father, rest his soul, was twice the man you are - but even so, he was no stranger to the business side of the brush. David's discipline was the key to a loving, happy marriage and you can count on Alice to do the same for yours. Still", mused the older woman, "that's for the future. Right now", she said, once more picking up the hairbrush, "we have the rest of the night ahead of us." Briefly, she stroked the back of the brush in circles over Jim's bottom, and the cool touch of the wood was almost soothing - but she soon tired of this tease, and again raised the wicked implement above her head.

Across the landing, Alice smiled in her sleep as a muffled, rhythmic tattoo gently invaded her dreams. The soothing beat seemed to signal that all was well with the world: and it went on, and on, and on, carrying her towards the new day.

After The Spanking

2010-06-13T07:10:00.000-07:00

Here's the new picture I promised last week - only one day and one post late, so please don't spank me too hard :).

This one's a custom drawing for ajr, since he won the challenge way back in April to correctly identify the change I'd made to this picture. His spec left plenty to my imagination, but I really liked some of the ideas - her satisfied smile; his exhausted sobbing; the proprietary hand resting on his bottom.

Hope you like it, ajr!

I Start Counting

2010-06-12T10:02:00.000-07:00

I finally got around to adding a visit counter.

Now, I've never been the type to crave attention - but like most bloggers, I guess, I occasionally worry that I may just be posting into a vaccum; that Underling's Humblings is off the beaten track; that when I'm not looking, cyber tumbleweeds blow across the screen. Of course polls help, and I'm almost embarrassingly grateful for every comment that appears. But judging from my own surfing habits, I'd guess that only a tiny fraction of people who drop by actually get around to casting a vote or saying hello.

Anyway, I just wanted to point out the fact - before you all go 'Hur-hur, Underling's only had like 3 visitors EVER' - that I've just added the counter today. And while I was given the option to start the tally at whatever value I wanted, I've resisted the (terribly tempting!) urge to award myself 10 squillion hits up front.

I'm not doing any kind of fancy analysis, by the way - I don't care so much where in the world people live, or which link they followed, or what keywords they used to search for the site. I'm only keen to reassure myself that there are actual people, and not just tumbleweeds, blowing through here. :)

Drawn Out Musings On Drawn-In Bruisings

2010-06-08T11:17:00.000-07:00

Thanks for all your contributions to my last post ('What Is It About Spanking Art?'). Some really interesting stuff there.

Consensus seems to be that abstraction is a big part of the appeal. By removing the real models from a scene, we allow the viewers to put themselves into it or to build their own landscape around it. I think in that sense artwork has more in common with writing than it does with film.

BOB suggested that since the artist's work is so personal, its erotic appeal for him or her also transfers to the observer. I think that's very true - what's on the page is as close as the artist can get to the fantasy in his or her head - every element has meaning.

And I loved jm's description of the artist meeting the audience halfway, with both contributing equally to the overall experience.

I think all of your comments ring true. Much as I love spanking photos and videos, I'm distracted by the knowledge that there are cameras and light stands just out of shot (when they're not carelessly left IN shot!) I know that once the shoot is complete everyone will drop their roles, and sit around joking and drinking tea. Oddly, for me the characters in drawings are MORE real. None of them are playing a part, or following a script or a director's instructions. It's as though you're spying on a parallel world that, when you close your browser, happily carries on regardless!

I think the other thing about artwork, for me at least, is that it has nostalgia value. I guess many of us first noticed our strange little obsessions in response to illustrations in books or comics, so they continue to have a special kind of power.

OK, that's more than enough waffle from me. Next time, pictures!

What Is It About Spanking Art?

2010-05-28T00:43:00.000-07:00

I like spanking photos. I like spanking stories. I like spanking videos (especially those old Nu West/ Leda ones in which merciless prototype soccer moms hairbrush their hubbies in grainy black and white).

But most of all, I like spanking art - making my own, looking at other people's, and then looking at it some more. Although Sardax is a personal favourite, I find I get a kick out of just about anybody's F/M work - even, and in fact sometimes particularly, where it wouldn't be regarded as technically great.

Hopefully, since you're in here, you also get something special out of the medium - and can help me figure out what it is that gives us that extra little frisson when we come across it.

I have some ideas, but I'm hoping you'll indulge me by letting me know yours first.
Do you have a special preference for artwork? If so, why do you think that is?

(Black and) Blue Landslide

2010-05-16T08:40:00.000-07:00

Wow. The shock result from this particular election was that it attracted more votes in the first 24 hours than my previous poll managed over the course of a week! Either visitors have been particularly fired up by the topic, or - and this is my preferred explanation - more people are actively keeping an eye on the blog :). Either way, thanks so much for taking the time to place your virtual crosses.

So, to the results: it's a massive majority win for Tori Wright (Tory? Right? See what I did there?) So I guess we have a large number of true blue visitors, or the people like the paddle, or blondes really do get more votes. Coming a distant second is Lee Burr (Leeburr? No? Never mind). Now I had thought her steely glare might have put her on top, but I dunno. Maybe her long skirt didn't do her any favours.

And finally, trailing just behind, poor Libby Demme. I feel guilty about Libby because I didn't really think I'd done her justice. To paraphrase Jessica Rabbit, she's not a bad politician - she's just drawn that way. I did consider trying out my powers of spin by giving her an emergency makeover halfway through the week, but never got around to it. The other problem might be her weapon of choice. I'm a big fan of the strap, but it's a bit of a minority implement, isn't it?

Anyway, Ms Wright will soon be taking her place in the House, and the troublemakers in her constituency will be taking THEIR places over the paddling bench. Don't ask me how this local system of justice squares with the nationwide abolition of corporal punishment. I'm making this stuff up as I go.

Actually I do have another theory about Tori's popularity, which is that she subliminally evoked the image of a young and better looking Margaret Thatcher - regardless of her policies, the only Prime Minister to date who registers as a blip on my kink radar. In fact, wasn't there a comic song out years ago explaining her appeal in terms of her domina persona? Or was that just some dream I had?

The Politics of Spanking

2010-05-09T07:37:00.000-07:00

So it seems that we can't even manage to run an election in the UK these days - hundreds of people were left still queueing outside the polling stations last Thursday evening when the clock struck ten and voting closed.

For the unfortunates who missed out on the day, I bring you Underling's Second Chance Election. Admittedly this is a very localised affair: all three ladies are standing in the little-known constituency of Pantsdown & Redbottom, where the hot political issue is the anti-social behaviour blighting the area.

Please be a good citizen and use your vote to decide who ought to be in charge. The poll's over there on the right. You can choose according to your party leanings, or which candidate you think is best equipped to do the job. For those of you who didn't get the result you wanted last week, this is also a chance to try your luck again. Best of all, you can vote from the comfort of your own home, there's no queueing, and polling is open for a whole seven days. Heck, you don't even need to be British to take part.

Now, I have tried hard to make this as like the real thing as possible. For one, there's little to choose between the candidates - all three are bringing similar policies to bear - and secondly, whatever the outcome, eventually the constituents are going to end up getting spanked. In fact whichever of these ladies is elected to parliament, I predict fewer safe seats all round!

Madeline's Paddlin's - Actors Needed

2010-05-02T08:54:00.000-07:00

Voice actors, that is. I want to make one or more short animated cartoons with a humorous tone and, you guessed it, an F/M D/D theme.

The image at the top of the page - if you can't see it, chances are you need to install the latest version of Flash Player - is just to give you a flavour and to introduce you to my protagonists. There's Madeline (she does the paddlin') and Scott (whose bottom gets hot :)).

I'm looking for a game gal and guy to voice these two. In my head they are American, but that needn't be the case. And while ideally this would
be a gig for people who already have some experience, I'm sure there are plenty of talented newbies out there. You need to be over 18, of course (and if you're not, what are you doing in here? Shoo!)
You also need the ability to speak some scripted dialogue in a natural style, and to make a good recording of your own voice to wav or mp3 which you'd then send back to me to work into the movie.

If you think you might like to give this a go, just fire off an email to the address in my profile and I'll send you the script to have a look at - maybe even a draft of the (silent!) movie if it's ready. By the way, we're not talking epic here - probably less than a minute long, and no more than 20 lines of dialogue.

OK, stuff I should make clear: this is for fun, and to promote the blog. I won't make any money from it, so I'm afraid nor will you! And while nobody needs to know your real name or face - including me - your vocal performance might of course end up anywhere on the web, so bear that in mind if you're the shy type. Still, if a friend or family member were to recognise your voice in a spanking movie, well - I guess they'd also have some explaining to do! :)

Polling is closed...

2010-04-23T10:00:00.001-07:00

...and while 23 is hardly a massive turnout, I don't think it's too bad for a, erm, humble and recently founded blog like this one :). So thanks for voting, and thanks especially to Bonnie at MBS whom I'm sure has sent some new visitors in this direction.

The best news was that all three pictures got some votes, so each of them must have pushed somebody's buttons! Of course now I'm curious to know what it is that made 'Late Home' the winner. Is it the family dynamic? Is it the caption? Do some of you have a particular thing for hairbrushes (God knows I do!)?

Do let me know.

Oh, and a big hi to my new followers. It's great to see you. :)

Spankings For All

2010-04-17T04:41:00.000-07:00

In general I have pretty old fashioned views on copyright. I think, if you like a movie or a piece of music enough to want to own it, then you have a moral as well as a legal obligation to pay its creators their due.

On the other hand, the drawings and stories I'm posting here aren't my livelihood - I produce them for my entertainment and yours, and in the original spirit of the internet they belong to all of us. Coming across my work unexpectedly on another site is flattering, and I still haven't quite got used to it. Even the thought that somebody liked something enough to save it for his or her collection is a thrill!

So please feel free, always, to help yourselves and to reuse anything that appeals to you. All I ask is that you don't compress pictures to the point where they look horrible, nor remove the signature logo. And a credit or a link, if you have space for it, is a welcome bonus! :)

Clearing Out My Closet

2010-04-16T05:01:00.001-07:00

These images have been kicking around for a while, and I decided I ought to just throw them out there and force myself to finish off some new work.

'Office Discipline' (aka 'Discipline Friday') was the first drawing I had posted on the web. It depicts a couple of unfortunate employees at OSIRIS, where the women have dream jobs and the men have to perform flawlessly if they want to sit comfortably. I've since discovered that, not surprisingly, my fictional firm shares its name with a number of real ones - so I feel compelled to point out that any similarity etc. etc. I'm sure all the genuine OSIRIS companies out there treat their male staff very much better than mine! The truth is that the name suggested itself through Sardax's 'Slaves of Isis' illustrations - and I needed an 'O' at the beginning of the word so I could incorporate the female gender symbol into the logo.

'Medical Mischief' is set in the same universe - male OSIRIS employees have to undergo rather thorough physical exams, and Mr Phillips has just been learning what happens when the nurse doesn't get the co-operation she needs. Will he now see sense, or will Thandiwe have to carry out her threat? I'll leave it up to your imagination. :)

Like Mother, Like Daughter...

2010-04-13T07:28:00.000-07:00

Here's my first picture post. I call this one 'Late Home'.

I've always been a sucker for a wife/ mother-in-law spanking double team. Possibly because I've never had a real world mother-in-law! :) There's just something appealing to me about that female-led disciplinary tradition passed down through generations of the same family.

Clicking on the pic will give you a bigger version, although I'm still trying to figure out how to make the completely uncompressed images available through Blogger - once I do, I'll update all my posts. Meanwhile if anyone wants a copy of the super sized original, feel free to email me and I'll happily forward it as an attachment (as long as there aren't too many requests). Needless to say, I will NEVER share anyone's email address!

You might have seen this drawing before - I'm afraid I'm going to have to rely partly on my back catalogue for a little while, although there is lots of brand new stuff in the pipeline. This was first published on a couple of blogs some months ago, but I have at least made a cheeky tweak in the meantime. If you're up for a game of spot-the-difference, go and hunt down the original for comparison. First visitor to leave a comment or email me correctly identifying the change wins a custom picture drawn to his or her specifications - um, when I get around to it.

Glad You Could Make It...

2010-04-05T09:48:00.000-07:00

Welcome, all!

Pull up a well-padded chair, and make yourself as comfortable as any recent blisterings will allow. Hope you like the place. I've just started decorating, in my own amateur style, and I'll be continuing to do so - somewhat gradually - over the coming months.

Many, many thanks to the illustrious bloggers who've given me temporary accommodation in Kinkland up until now - particularly CJ , Stan E and HMP. I thought I ought to be grown up and get my own pad now that I've collected (just) enough items with which to furnish it, but I hope to continue turning up at those other sites for as long as I'm welcome.

I guess I ought to show you around, so here goes.

What you'll find here:

Drawings of fantasy men being VERY firmly dealt with by no-nonsense women.
Captions and stories with that very same theme.
The ramblings of your host about the material presented, and his twisted imaginings in general. I apologise in advance for these, but we have to pad things out somehow.
Hopefully, a community of wonderful people adding their own comments to the posts, voting on what they like and don't like, and suggesting scenarios they'd like to see depicted in the future.

What you WON'T find here:

Kids. Here comes the serious bit - there'll be strictly no depiction of, nor reference to, the punishment of minors on this site. That also applies to any comments you might like to post, please.
Whip wielding, leather clad dominatrices from hell - just not really my scene, man. My favourite fantasies are populated by regular people like you and me, just trying to get along (albeit at opposite ends of a paddle). I'll also leave the 'extreme' stuff to others - nobody here will be inserting anything into, or cutting anything off, anybody else!
A ton of pictures from elsewhere. There are plenty of other sites collating images from the farthest reaches of the interweb, and thank the Lord for them - but I don't think I need to provide another one.
Daily updates. I should say up front that I work at the pace of a snail whose fellow snails are forever telling him to keep up. So rather than being one of those bloggers that start with a bang and fizzle out over time, I'm aiming to start with the fizzle and maintain it as best I can.

I would LOVE to hear from you. So please don't be strangers!