A One And Five Noughts

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

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?

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

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

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?"