Men, huh? Can't live with 'em. Can't strip 'em and spank 'em. Well actually, you CAN, in this little corner of cyberspace. Around here, fully grown males are at constant risk of humiliating bare bottomed correction - hence the 'humblings' of the title.

Saturday 29 January 2011

In The Back Room

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.

Thursday 20 January 2011

From This Day Forward - The Next Bit

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!


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.

Sunday 2 January 2011

New Year's Resolutions, Old-School Methods

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!