Monday, 31 December 2012
...And A Slappy New Year
Friday, 9 November 2012
Rear Window - Love Our Lurkers Day 7
'That's a secret, private world you're looking into out there. People do a lot of things in private they couldn't possibly explain in public.'
That's Detective Doyle from the 1954 Hitchcock classic Rear Window, in which an invalided James Stewart passes the time by obsessively watching his neighbours from the back room of his New York apartment. That we're not repelled by his behaviour is partly down to the actor's everyman charm, but also surely because in him we recognise the voyeur - the 'lurker' - in all of us. Put yourself in Mr Stewart's shoes (or rather in his plaster cast and wheelchair) and you can well understand his temptation. Now add a small plot twist that substitutes a spanked husband for a murdered wife, and try to tell me you wouldn't peep - just a little.
It's fun to watch, and if you can do so unobserved then why not? I have hundreds of visitors pass through here every day, and only a very few of them stop to say hello. Today's the day - organised by the wonderful Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts - when we celebrate that silent majority of people across the world who keep our hit counters ticking over and make the effort of blogging worthwhile. Many, many spanking bloggers will be making special 'Love Our Lurkers' posts and I encourage you to stop by as many as possible.
Thank you all, sincerely, for your visits - whether or not you leave a comment. But if you've ever been looking for an excuse to contribute for the first time, then why not do so right now? I'd love to hear from you! Tell me a little about yourself, say what you like and don't like, ask me stuff - it's all good. Or just pop your head up and say 'hi'.
All you regulars are more than welcome to chip in as well, of course!
By the way, no doubt you're going to find today's animation something of a tease. But by way of incentive, I promise that if enough newbies say hello over the next few days then the light will be staying on in future! :)
Wednesday, 31 October 2012
The Magnificent Seven
Spanking bloggers are a marvellously supportive bunch, and none more so than the wonderful Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts.
Each year she organises 'Love Our Lurkers' Day, which on Friday 9 November will celebrate its seventh iteration. On that day I (and many, many other spanko bloggers) will make a special post in which we pay tribute to those ninja-like visitors who pass shyly through our portals without going near the Comment button - and encourage them, should they feel inclined, to say hello for the first time. Regular friends are also welcome to chip in, of course!
This will be Underling's Humblings' third LOL Day - to get a flavour of how it works, you can find previous years' posts here and here.
I'll look forward to seeing you on the day!
Oh, this picture is an oldie - although now in super-large, super-sharp png format. The post it originally belonged to got deleted somehow in a (thankfully rare) moment of Undy ineptitude, and since it's one of my favourites drawings I thought it would be a shame not to have it somewhere on the site. Sincere apologies to anyone who'd added comments to that original post!
Each year she organises 'Love Our Lurkers' Day, which on Friday 9 November will celebrate its seventh iteration. On that day I (and many, many other spanko bloggers) will make a special post in which we pay tribute to those ninja-like visitors who pass shyly through our portals without going near the Comment button - and encourage them, should they feel inclined, to say hello for the first time. Regular friends are also welcome to chip in, of course!
This will be Underling's Humblings' third LOL Day - to get a flavour of how it works, you can find previous years' posts here and here.
I'll look forward to seeing you on the day!
Oh, this picture is an oldie - although now in super-large, super-sharp png format. The post it originally belonged to got deleted somehow in a (thankfully rare) moment of Undy ineptitude, and since it's one of my favourites drawings I thought it would be a shame not to have it somewhere on the site. Sincere apologies to anyone who'd added comments to that original post!
Saturday, 29 September 2012
'This Is Not What It Looks Like...'
...except, of course, that it is. You know it, and they know it, and now you've got some 'splaining to do.
I think it's safe to say that nearly all of us have felt awkward about our kink at some point. For most of us it started as a closely guarded secret, and for many it still is.
After living with this peculiar obsession pretty much all my life, I'm still fairly private about it. I'm happily chatting, meeting and playing with like-minded people, but I'm by no means ready for that conversation with 'regular' friends and family - and it's quite possible I never will be. I guess realistically this only gives me an 'outed-ness rating' of about 10%, since being accepted by your fellow kinksters ain't too much of a challenge!
That said, there have been some close calls and minor revelations over the years, and that's the topic of today's post.
One event that comes to mind for me occurred not long after I'd started living with my first long-term girlfriend (cue wavy 'flashback' visual effect). Ours was a very 'vanilla' relationship, but fun and fulfilling - and I didn't want to scare her with this spanko stuff, so I kept it quiet and limited my indulgence to the occasional trading of playful swats. And 'normal' couples do that too, right? Anyway, early one morning I had an errand to run and I'd left her in bed. I'd also left, inadvertently, an erotic paperback book lying around that until that point I'd had safely hidden away. It was probably nothing that would shock today's '50 Shades' generation - just something from the top shelf of a rail station bookseller featuring, if I remember rightly, a girls' college where the young ladies were subject to the regular use of cane and strap by a cheerfully sadistic headmistress. Or some such improbable but delicious scenario.
I realised my indiscretion before I could get home, but was hoping I'd return to find my other half still snuggled under the duvet - which I did, but apparently she'd been up and about in the meantime.
'Hello,' says I.
'Hello,' says she. 'Interesting book you have there. You like that kind of thing?'
I'm quite sure I flushed a deep crimson, and I'm ashamed to say I think I may have blurted out that horrible old cliché about just being 'curious'. Of course that was never going to be sufficient explanation, but luckily kisses are a good distraction tool. I do remember that a minute later I was back in bed, engaged in the kind of vigorous lovemaking that is not only a lot of fun but encourages girlfriends to forget to ask any more needless questions about boring old books. As it happens, I also remember that as some of the best sex we'd ever had. Who knows - perhaps I did find it a turn-on to have been 'discovered'.
Now this being real life, there was no glorious revelation that she too had only been waiting for the right moment to confess a similar disciplinary obsession. We weren't destined to grow old together while spanking one another silly. But nor did she threaten to call the police, or pack her bags, or move into the spare room. We simply carried on as before, until our relationship had run its natural course, and every now and again she'd tease me about my little predilection - but I never did reveal its full extent. I sometimes wonder how things would have turned out if I had. Certainly I'd never make the mistake again of hiding something from a partner that was such an important part of me.
So, that's me, but I'm sure lots of you have similar anecdotes about your little predilections first being revealed, or nearly being revealed, whether deliberately or by accident - and I'm hoping you'll share them. Was it to a friend, partner, colleague, family member? How did he or she react? Did you make excuses, cover it up, or come clean? And I guess most interestingly: did you regret it, or did it - as I'm suspecting is sometimes the case - turn out to be a huge weight off your mind?
I've done a little recycling to illustrate this post. The animation is an updated version of one I briefly had up a long time ago, to advertise a fun short film I was working on with a spanko sitcom theme. It doesn't 'do' anything yet, I'm afraid, so don't bother clicking around! :) I'm using it because it fits the topic and also because I've just returned to that project, this time determined to finish it - and I'm going to need some people to do the voices for Madeleine and Scott. My first choices would have been Angelina and Brad, but strangely their agents have yet to get back to me. So if any of you have voice acting skills and want to get involved, I'd love to hear from you.
Oh, and if you can't see the animation then you may need to go and get Flash.
I think it's safe to say that nearly all of us have felt awkward about our kink at some point. For most of us it started as a closely guarded secret, and for many it still is.
After living with this peculiar obsession pretty much all my life, I'm still fairly private about it. I'm happily chatting, meeting and playing with like-minded people, but I'm by no means ready for that conversation with 'regular' friends and family - and it's quite possible I never will be. I guess realistically this only gives me an 'outed-ness rating' of about 10%, since being accepted by your fellow kinksters ain't too much of a challenge!
That said, there have been some close calls and minor revelations over the years, and that's the topic of today's post.
One event that comes to mind for me occurred not long after I'd started living with my first long-term girlfriend (cue wavy 'flashback' visual effect). Ours was a very 'vanilla' relationship, but fun and fulfilling - and I didn't want to scare her with this spanko stuff, so I kept it quiet and limited my indulgence to the occasional trading of playful swats. And 'normal' couples do that too, right? Anyway, early one morning I had an errand to run and I'd left her in bed. I'd also left, inadvertently, an erotic paperback book lying around that until that point I'd had safely hidden away. It was probably nothing that would shock today's '50 Shades' generation - just something from the top shelf of a rail station bookseller featuring, if I remember rightly, a girls' college where the young ladies were subject to the regular use of cane and strap by a cheerfully sadistic headmistress. Or some such improbable but delicious scenario.
I realised my indiscretion before I could get home, but was hoping I'd return to find my other half still snuggled under the duvet - which I did, but apparently she'd been up and about in the meantime.
'Hello,' says I.
'Hello,' says she. 'Interesting book you have there. You like that kind of thing?'
I'm quite sure I flushed a deep crimson, and I'm ashamed to say I think I may have blurted out that horrible old cliché about just being 'curious'. Of course that was never going to be sufficient explanation, but luckily kisses are a good distraction tool. I do remember that a minute later I was back in bed, engaged in the kind of vigorous lovemaking that is not only a lot of fun but encourages girlfriends to forget to ask any more needless questions about boring old books. As it happens, I also remember that as some of the best sex we'd ever had. Who knows - perhaps I did find it a turn-on to have been 'discovered'.
Now this being real life, there was no glorious revelation that she too had only been waiting for the right moment to confess a similar disciplinary obsession. We weren't destined to grow old together while spanking one another silly. But nor did she threaten to call the police, or pack her bags, or move into the spare room. We simply carried on as before, until our relationship had run its natural course, and every now and again she'd tease me about my little predilection - but I never did reveal its full extent. I sometimes wonder how things would have turned out if I had. Certainly I'd never make the mistake again of hiding something from a partner that was such an important part of me.
So, that's me, but I'm sure lots of you have similar anecdotes about your little predilections first being revealed, or nearly being revealed, whether deliberately or by accident - and I'm hoping you'll share them. Was it to a friend, partner, colleague, family member? How did he or she react? Did you make excuses, cover it up, or come clean? And I guess most interestingly: did you regret it, or did it - as I'm suspecting is sometimes the case - turn out to be a huge weight off your mind?
I've done a little recycling to illustrate this post. The animation is an updated version of one I briefly had up a long time ago, to advertise a fun short film I was working on with a spanko sitcom theme. It doesn't 'do' anything yet, I'm afraid, so don't bother clicking around! :) I'm using it because it fits the topic and also because I've just returned to that project, this time determined to finish it - and I'm going to need some people to do the voices for Madeleine and Scott. My first choices would have been Angelina and Brad, but strangely their agents have yet to get back to me. So if any of you have voice acting skills and want to get involved, I'd love to hear from you.
Oh, and if you can't see the animation then you may need to go and get Flash.
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
I Believe You've Met My Sister
25 September 2012
To: Underling
From: Wanda.Ling@OSIRISTechWorks.com
Subject: Hi!
Hey there, Undypoo!
How's it going, step-bro? Sorry it's been a while, but things have been pretty damned busy here. Or rather, my little men have been pretty damned busy and I've been making pretty damned sure they stay that way!
Can you believe I've been with OSIRIS nearly two years already? Mind you, team lead after six months and department head less than a year later - not too shabby, is it? Of course, now I'm looking after Human Resources there's a whole heap of important decisions to make. Like, who gets promoted (pretty much the girls) and who gets their bare bottoms whipped (hmmm... oh yeah, the boys!)
We're actually getting a new intake of female grads next week, so I've got my hands full organising induction and training sessions. Management 101 starts on Tuesday, but it's all a bit dull until we get to Day 3: Discipline. That's definitely my favourite part of the course - I love to see those girls' faces light up when they first get their hands on a cane, LOL!
Of course the guidelines say they have to practise on stupid stuffed dummies. Yaaaaawn! I'm badgering Head Office about that - it's not like there aren't plenty of live 'dummies' available - but in the meantime I have to entertain myself by dragging the odd team member into the sessions and scaring the living daylights out of him.
Last month it was Daniel - that beautiful young guy we took on last year? Timid as anything, and so damned diligent I thought I was never going to have a reason to bend him over my desk and bare that tight little tush :(. God, Undy, you should have seen him wriggle when I 'invited' him to watch the implement training. "Wanda, I have that deadline today"... "Wanda, I'm expected at the team meeting"... "Wanda, I'm a whiney little boy who's afraid of his own shadow"... Anyway, needless to say I insisted he come along. In fact, I made him stay all afternoon so he didn't miss a single stroke.
Well, he was white as a sheet by the end of it. Can't say I blame him, really - chief trainer Dana ('Dana The Caner Trainer', LOL!) likes to put on a good show, and once it's their turn those new girls do get a bit carried away. They scare me sometimes! Anyway, the best part is that I just found out Daniel did miss that deadline. I wonder how that happened, haha! So guess who's going to have an email in his inbox tomorrow morning, inviting him to my office?
Did I mention how awesome this job is?
Love ya. Be good!
Wanda. xx
P.S. Oh, I mentioned to Marilyn about your department downsizing. She said if they do lay you off I should forward your details - she's pretty sure she could find a spot for you here. You might even end up reporting to me! Wouldn't that be fun, sweetie? Well, wouldn't it?! ROFL!!!
Saturday, 15 September 2012
The Humbler Games
A couple of weeks ago - almost as though I were maintaining a real blog! - I posted about competitive spanking at London 2012. As in, there wasn't any. And now that the last race has been run and the final medal awarded, we're going to have to wait another four years to see whether there'll be any rump reddening in Rio. Meanwhile, since alternate world fantasy is what we do here I thought we could have a little fun imagining what might have been and even, in a small way, hosting our very own stadium spankings at home.
Now, visitors of a certain age may recall the birth of the athletics-themed arcade game Track and Field. This hugely popular button-basher first appeared in the early eighties, and as far as I know is still going strong - although recent incarnations have moved on a long way from the 8-bit retro charm of their ancestor. Less well remembered (mainly because I've just invented it) is the title's highly unofficial spin-off, Smack and Yield - the first and last videogame to actually feature mixed doubles spanking as an Olympic discipline (see what I did there? 'Discipline'? Never mind...)
I've embedded the app right here, for the entertainment of retro spanking game enthusiasts everywhere. I know you're out there!
To get started just click on, well, START. After that all you have to do is choose your country - or if yours isn't shown, someone else's - and then your team of characters from the huge range of, erm, four. There's a difficulty setting too, for the lightweights.
The rules: Each team's spankee goes across the lap of the opposing team's disciplinarian. After that it's just a question of 'controlling' your team's lady, in classic style, by hitting your LEFT and RIGHT cursor keys alternately as fast you can to reach and maintain maximum paddling speed. The winning team is the first one whose paddler delivers enough swats to get a submission. It ain't subtle. It ain't even that much fun - and I should know, having been forced to playtest it for hours on end!
It all takes place over three rounds, and with each new round the competition gets, um, stiffer.
Here's the list of athletes going for gold.
And here's the game.
CAUTION: Will likely cause repetitive strain injury to both computer hardware and body parts. Play at your own risk. Underling's Humblings accepts no responsibility for your cursor keys and/ or fingers falling off!
Oh, and if all you can see is a big white box then in order to play you'll need to install Flash. But if you're a regular here then you knew that already.
Now, visitors of a certain age may recall the birth of the athletics-themed arcade game Track and Field. This hugely popular button-basher first appeared in the early eighties, and as far as I know is still going strong - although recent incarnations have moved on a long way from the 8-bit retro charm of their ancestor. Less well remembered (mainly because I've just invented it) is the title's highly unofficial spin-off, Smack and Yield - the first and last videogame to actually feature mixed doubles spanking as an Olympic discipline (see what I did there? 'Discipline'? Never mind...)
I've embedded the app right here, for the entertainment of retro spanking game enthusiasts everywhere. I know you're out there!
To get started just click on, well, START. After that all you have to do is choose your country - or if yours isn't shown, someone else's - and then your team of characters from the huge range of, erm, four. There's a difficulty setting too, for the lightweights.
The rules: Each team's spankee goes across the lap of the opposing team's disciplinarian. After that it's just a question of 'controlling' your team's lady, in classic style, by hitting your LEFT and RIGHT cursor keys alternately as fast you can to reach and maintain maximum paddling speed. The winning team is the first one whose paddler delivers enough swats to get a submission. It ain't subtle. It ain't even that much fun - and I should know, having been forced to playtest it for hours on end!
It all takes place over three rounds, and with each new round the competition gets, um, stiffer.
Here's the list of athletes going for gold.
And here's the game.
CAUTION: Will likely cause repetitive strain injury to both computer hardware and body parts. Play at your own risk. Underling's Humblings accepts no responsibility for your cursor keys and/ or fingers falling off!
Oh, and if all you can see is a big white box then in order to play you'll need to install Flash. But if you're a regular here then you knew that already.
Friday, 31 August 2012
Spanking For Britain
Well, this is embarrassing.
Last year, yours truly drew everyone's attention to this report on the introduction of competitive spanking to the Olympic Games in time for London 2012. Now if you're anything like me - and come on, admit it, you are - then you were looking forward to this particular event more than any other. And yet it singularly failed to materialise.
Did the IOC get cold feet? Were there too few countries able to field teams? Who knows? All I can say is that after scouring the schedules I could find no mention of it, and hours and hours spent glued to the TV yielded nothing more than the occasional friendly swat among the beach volleyball teams.
Even the opening and closing ceremonies made no reference to it. Nearly £30 million to tell the story of Great Britain, and absolutely no acknowledgement of its national kink. A cast of 7,500, and not one of them across another's knee!
Now, of course the Games were wonderful and spectacular and exciting and moving and astonishing. They just weren't very... spanko. I had thought maybe they were saving the OTK action for the Paralympics - for example, it would make a fantastic wheelchair-based event - but it's not looking very likely.
To those of you disappointed by the non-televisation of our favourite 'sport', I think I can help. Check back in a couple of days and I'll see what I can do. ;)
Last year, yours truly drew everyone's attention to this report on the introduction of competitive spanking to the Olympic Games in time for London 2012. Now if you're anything like me - and come on, admit it, you are - then you were looking forward to this particular event more than any other. And yet it singularly failed to materialise.
Did the IOC get cold feet? Were there too few countries able to field teams? Who knows? All I can say is that after scouring the schedules I could find no mention of it, and hours and hours spent glued to the TV yielded nothing more than the occasional friendly swat among the beach volleyball teams.
Even the opening and closing ceremonies made no reference to it. Nearly £30 million to tell the story of Great Britain, and absolutely no acknowledgement of its national kink. A cast of 7,500, and not one of them across another's knee!
Now, of course the Games were wonderful and spectacular and exciting and moving and astonishing. They just weren't very... spanko. I had thought maybe they were saving the OTK action for the Paralympics - for example, it would make a fantastic wheelchair-based event - but it's not looking very likely.
To those of you disappointed by the non-televisation of our favourite 'sport', I think I can help. Check back in a couple of days and I'll see what I can do. ;)
Tuesday, 31 July 2012
Another Country - Part Three
OK, it’s high time we caught up with our English tourists and their rather shy but curious maid.
If you haven’t read part one or part two yet, then please do – else you won’t have a clue what’s going on! **************************************************************************
Richard Wallace stood, stripped of all his clothes, with his nose in the corner of the hotel room while his wife counted to ten. The young African maid Dupé was counting too, silently. She had never seen a grown man spanked. She had never seen a grown man naked.
Richard's agitation increased with his wife's count. By the time she reached the number eight he had begun shifting from foot to foot, and Dupé thought for a moment - was afraid, she had to admit it - that he was about to give in, and she would be deprived of her promised role. But the man did not give in. He could not.
"Please, Em," groaned Richard in an anguished tone.
"Please, ma'am," his wife reminded.
"Please, ma'am," echoed Richard.
"Nine," said Emily.
Finally the Englishwoman, after an exaggerated pause that Dupé thought would never end, uttered a curt "ten". As she did so, the naked man's hands dropped suddenly to his crotch and he swivelled awkwardly on the spot, revealing a face the colour of chilli pepper and probably as hot, and he gingerly stepped forward towards the two women as though treading on broken glass.
Emily let him get all the way to the bed before lazily extending one hand and using a perfectly manicured fingernail to draw a semicircle in the air. Her husband stood uncomprehending for a moment before turning to face away from them once more.
"Back you go," said Emily mildly, and he did, reclaiming his position in the corner. "Hands on your head," she said, and a second later they were. "Now try again," said Mrs Wallace.
He really did look as though he was trying, thought Dupé, as Richard Wallace's hips twisted back and forth in an agony of conflict. It was as though he were tethered to the wall by the very part of himself that he was so reluctant to expose. Finally his wife exhaled noisily through pursed lips and said, "My patience is at an end, Richard. I suppose Dupé will have to fetch you after all, since you're being impossibly silly. I'm quite sure she has seen naughty bare boys before."
If only that were true, thought the maid, her heart would not be beating so hard. Still, she had already been given Mrs Wallace's blessing, and she was pushing herself to her feet almost before the older woman had said "Dupé, if you wouldn't mind..."
In a few strides she was standing just a foot behind the man - close enough to detect the faint smell of his perspiration, and indeed to watch a drop of it trickle down the small of his back and disappear between his bared buttocks. Close enough to touch him. And my God, she was actually doing it, her small dark hand reaching up and encircling his pale wrist. "This way, Mr Wallace," she had intended to say, but her mouth was dry and she knew that the tremor in her voice would betray her. So she simply applied a little light pressure, and almost miraculously the man turned as though released from a spell - turned and stood there fully exposed, defeated, with no more defence but to tell himself that this would all be over soon.
Oh Lord, thought Dupé. Nineteen years old and suddenly there is no more secret. So this is what it's like to see a man undressed. Then she walked him over to where Emily was sitting with a raised eyebrow and an undisguised smirk.
"Not such a big boy now, are you?" said Emily. Leaning forward to take both of his hands, she waited until he was forced to meet her gaze and told him, “I do love you, you know, in spite of your little tantrums and your antiquated world view. But we are going to drag you into the current century. Kicking and screaming as necessary.” Then she briskly tapped her thigh and instructed "Over you go."
The maid returned to her chair while Richard leaned forward and draped himself awkwardly across his wife's lap, the bedsprings creaking softly as he added his weight to hers and placed his hands upon the carpet. Dupé slyly attempted to catch his gaze as he positioned himself, but it was locked steadfastly on his splayed fingers and she knew he was trying to pretend that she was not there. And so she cleared her throat a little more loudly than was necessary, and then began to sing softly - perhaps to herself, perhaps to Emily Wallace, perhaps to the oh-so-haughty man now draped so humilatingly across his wife's lap - the lullaby her mother had taught her as a small child.
The jackal and the lioness both sit beneath the sun
But he must watch and wait while she devours the wildebeest
If he should try to eat before the lioness is done
He knows the lioness will gladly add him to her feast.
They say the male, he rules the world as far as he can see
But she has all the power that her lion mate possesses
A man is not a lion 'til he proves himself to be
And many men are jackals, and must yield to lionesses.
Mrs Wallace smiled absently and traced slow, careful circles over her husband's pale pink buttocks with the back of the clothes brush while Dupé sang. She seemed in no hurry, and Dupé was sure that - unlike her ignorant pig of a husband - she knew enough of the language to pick up its meaning.
When the song reached its end and the young girl looked shyly up at the beautiful Englishwoman, Emily said "Shall I tell you something funny, Dupé? On the dresser at home I keep a big, heavy hairbrush of which I'm very fond - Richard rather less so. It hasn't been used to brush hair in fifteen years, but it still comes in handy at least once a month. Richard assured me that I wouldn't need to pack it, which is why we've had to rely on your services this afternoon." She reached over to stroke the back of her husband's neck, almost affectionately. "Just think, sweetheart," she said with mock regret, "If you hadn't persuaded me to leave her at home it'd be just you, me and our old friend Betty Blister about to have this little discussion. It's really your own fault that we're having to improvise - and thus that we have company."
For the second time Dupé wondered if she shouldn't be somewhere else. "I should go, ma'am," she offered, but without conviction. "Not at all," smiled Emily, transferring her hand to the maid's bare arm where Dupé could feel the dampness of the man's sweat upon her fingers. "In fact, I forbid it. We've spent two weeks enjoying your wonderful African traditions, and it'd be a terrible shame if you were to miss out on one of ours."
Dupé suspected she was being teased a little, although not unkindly. "You don't mean that all..." she giggled.
"Well, not in every household," smiled Emily, "more's the pity. There are a good many English men who would benefit from some old-fashioned discipline, even if they're think they're too big for it - which, of course, they usually do until they're shown otherwise. Make no mistake, Dupé - Richard would like to believe he outgrew this kind of punishment thirty years ago. But that only makes it all the more effective. As you're about to see."
Emily raised the brush to shoulder height, and her husband's glistening bare bottom tensed visibly as if in anticipation. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and turned her head towards the maid, an amused smile playing across her lips. "Do you know what makes for a good, memorable spanking, my dear?"
Dupé would have replied had she not been so intently holding her breath. She shook her head, no, but the other woman had already turned her gaze back to the soft flesh presented for her attention. Emily's mouth tightened in concentration and she slowly drew in her breath. "It has to really, really hurt," she said.
And then she began.
If you haven’t read part one or part two yet, then please do – else you won’t have a clue what’s going on! **************************************************************************
Richard Wallace stood, stripped of all his clothes, with his nose in the corner of the hotel room while his wife counted to ten. The young African maid Dupé was counting too, silently. She had never seen a grown man spanked. She had never seen a grown man naked.
Richard's agitation increased with his wife's count. By the time she reached the number eight he had begun shifting from foot to foot, and Dupé thought for a moment - was afraid, she had to admit it - that he was about to give in, and she would be deprived of her promised role. But the man did not give in. He could not.
"Please, Em," groaned Richard in an anguished tone.
"Please, ma'am," his wife reminded.
"Please, ma'am," echoed Richard.
"Nine," said Emily.
Finally the Englishwoman, after an exaggerated pause that Dupé thought would never end, uttered a curt "ten". As she did so, the naked man's hands dropped suddenly to his crotch and he swivelled awkwardly on the spot, revealing a face the colour of chilli pepper and probably as hot, and he gingerly stepped forward towards the two women as though treading on broken glass.
Emily let him get all the way to the bed before lazily extending one hand and using a perfectly manicured fingernail to draw a semicircle in the air. Her husband stood uncomprehending for a moment before turning to face away from them once more.
"Back you go," said Emily mildly, and he did, reclaiming his position in the corner. "Hands on your head," she said, and a second later they were. "Now try again," said Mrs Wallace.
He really did look as though he was trying, thought Dupé, as Richard Wallace's hips twisted back and forth in an agony of conflict. It was as though he were tethered to the wall by the very part of himself that he was so reluctant to expose. Finally his wife exhaled noisily through pursed lips and said, "My patience is at an end, Richard. I suppose Dupé will have to fetch you after all, since you're being impossibly silly. I'm quite sure she has seen naughty bare boys before."
If only that were true, thought the maid, her heart would not be beating so hard. Still, she had already been given Mrs Wallace's blessing, and she was pushing herself to her feet almost before the older woman had said "Dupé, if you wouldn't mind..."
In a few strides she was standing just a foot behind the man - close enough to detect the faint smell of his perspiration, and indeed to watch a drop of it trickle down the small of his back and disappear between his bared buttocks. Close enough to touch him. And my God, she was actually doing it, her small dark hand reaching up and encircling his pale wrist. "This way, Mr Wallace," she had intended to say, but her mouth was dry and she knew that the tremor in her voice would betray her. So she simply applied a little light pressure, and almost miraculously the man turned as though released from a spell - turned and stood there fully exposed, defeated, with no more defence but to tell himself that this would all be over soon.
Oh Lord, thought Dupé. Nineteen years old and suddenly there is no more secret. So this is what it's like to see a man undressed. Then she walked him over to where Emily was sitting with a raised eyebrow and an undisguised smirk.
"Not such a big boy now, are you?" said Emily. Leaning forward to take both of his hands, she waited until he was forced to meet her gaze and told him, “I do love you, you know, in spite of your little tantrums and your antiquated world view. But we are going to drag you into the current century. Kicking and screaming as necessary.” Then she briskly tapped her thigh and instructed "Over you go."
The maid returned to her chair while Richard leaned forward and draped himself awkwardly across his wife's lap, the bedsprings creaking softly as he added his weight to hers and placed his hands upon the carpet. Dupé slyly attempted to catch his gaze as he positioned himself, but it was locked steadfastly on his splayed fingers and she knew he was trying to pretend that she was not there. And so she cleared her throat a little more loudly than was necessary, and then began to sing softly - perhaps to herself, perhaps to Emily Wallace, perhaps to the oh-so-haughty man now draped so humilatingly across his wife's lap - the lullaby her mother had taught her as a small child.
The jackal and the lioness both sit beneath the sun
But he must watch and wait while she devours the wildebeest
If he should try to eat before the lioness is done
He knows the lioness will gladly add him to her feast.
They say the male, he rules the world as far as he can see
But she has all the power that her lion mate possesses
A man is not a lion 'til he proves himself to be
And many men are jackals, and must yield to lionesses.
Mrs Wallace smiled absently and traced slow, careful circles over her husband's pale pink buttocks with the back of the clothes brush while Dupé sang. She seemed in no hurry, and Dupé was sure that - unlike her ignorant pig of a husband - she knew enough of the language to pick up its meaning.
When the song reached its end and the young girl looked shyly up at the beautiful Englishwoman, Emily said "Shall I tell you something funny, Dupé? On the dresser at home I keep a big, heavy hairbrush of which I'm very fond - Richard rather less so. It hasn't been used to brush hair in fifteen years, but it still comes in handy at least once a month. Richard assured me that I wouldn't need to pack it, which is why we've had to rely on your services this afternoon." She reached over to stroke the back of her husband's neck, almost affectionately. "Just think, sweetheart," she said with mock regret, "If you hadn't persuaded me to leave her at home it'd be just you, me and our old friend Betty Blister about to have this little discussion. It's really your own fault that we're having to improvise - and thus that we have company."
For the second time Dupé wondered if she shouldn't be somewhere else. "I should go, ma'am," she offered, but without conviction. "Not at all," smiled Emily, transferring her hand to the maid's bare arm where Dupé could feel the dampness of the man's sweat upon her fingers. "In fact, I forbid it. We've spent two weeks enjoying your wonderful African traditions, and it'd be a terrible shame if you were to miss out on one of ours."
Dupé suspected she was being teased a little, although not unkindly. "You don't mean that all..." she giggled.
"Well, not in every household," smiled Emily, "more's the pity. There are a good many English men who would benefit from some old-fashioned discipline, even if they're think they're too big for it - which, of course, they usually do until they're shown otherwise. Make no mistake, Dupé - Richard would like to believe he outgrew this kind of punishment thirty years ago. But that only makes it all the more effective. As you're about to see."
Emily raised the brush to shoulder height, and her husband's glistening bare bottom tensed visibly as if in anticipation. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and turned her head towards the maid, an amused smile playing across her lips. "Do you know what makes for a good, memorable spanking, my dear?"
Dupé would have replied had she not been so intently holding her breath. She shook her head, no, but the other woman had already turned her gaze back to the soft flesh presented for her attention. Emily's mouth tightened in concentration and she slowly drew in her breath. "It has to really, really hurt," she said.
And then she began.
Friday, 29 June 2012
Are We Done?
Those of you who look in here from time to time and find yet another filler post (of which this is one, of course) could be forgiven for thinking that Underling's
Humblings is not long for this world - that the well of stories and pictures is about to cease its trickle and finally run dry.
Not so!
I actually have all manner of little projects on the go.
For example, there's this:
and this:
and this:
and what's this all about?
and of course, not forgetting this:
"...Richard leaned forward and draped himself awkwardly across his wife's lap, the bedsprings creaking softly as he added his weight to hers and placed his hands upon the carpet..."
You see, starting stuff is easy. Finishing is my problem - always has been.
There will be more finishing, I promise. No, really!
Not so!
I actually have all manner of little projects on the go.
For example, there's this:
and this:
and this:
and what's this all about?
and of course, not forgetting this:
"...Richard leaned forward and draped himself awkwardly across his wife's lap, the bedsprings creaking softly as he added his weight to hers and placed his hands upon the carpet..."
You see, starting stuff is easy. Finishing is my problem - always has been.
There will be more finishing, I promise. No, really!
Thursday, 31 May 2012
Ah, Yes! I Remember It Well
You might not guess it from my here's-another-picture/here's-another-story approach to blogging, but I'm curious to know more about you lot than what you think of my latest effort.
So here's a question for those of you who actually do this thing we do (or have it done to them) - do you remember your first time? What prompted that initial collision of palm and derriere? Was it spontaneous, planned, paid for? Was it all you'd dreamed of and more, or were you left wondering what all the fuss was about?
I'll go first to break the ice. Barring some half-hearted horseplay with former girlfriends that doesn't really count, I managed to make it to the cusp of my forties unspanked. Having realised that life was too short not to spend at least an hour of it across someone's knee, I did a little, ahem, online research and arranged a meet with a very nice dominant professional lady. Several sleepless nights and one fidgety train journey later, I suddenly found myself in the passenger seat of her car on the way to confront my destiny. The thing is, that car ride was the oddest part of the whole day. It felt giddily surreal to be chatting with someone about the walloping she was about to give me - indeed to be chatting openly about spanking at all, after decades spent biting my lip.
About the session itself, there's not much to say except: a) I didn't know people spanked so hard outside of cartoons. b) the whole experience was somehow exactly as I'd imagined it, like coming home. And I wondered why on earth I'd waited so long.
Now, I'm half afraid that admitting having simply paid money for your first adult spanking is a little like confessing that the first music gig you went to was by Boney M rather than, say, The Smiths. I wish I had a tale to tell about my beautiful but stern boss bending me over the photocopier without warning for a paddling - but I don't. Perhaps, however, you do!
So let's hear about your first real-life, grown-up spanking experience - and if you've yet to have one, let's hear about how you fantasise that it will pan out. Adults only, of course, no kids' stuff - them's the rules around here. ;)
So here's a question for those of you who actually do this thing we do (or have it done to them) - do you remember your first time? What prompted that initial collision of palm and derriere? Was it spontaneous, planned, paid for? Was it all you'd dreamed of and more, or were you left wondering what all the fuss was about?
I'll go first to break the ice. Barring some half-hearted horseplay with former girlfriends that doesn't really count, I managed to make it to the cusp of my forties unspanked. Having realised that life was too short not to spend at least an hour of it across someone's knee, I did a little, ahem, online research and arranged a meet with a very nice dominant professional lady. Several sleepless nights and one fidgety train journey later, I suddenly found myself in the passenger seat of her car on the way to confront my destiny. The thing is, that car ride was the oddest part of the whole day. It felt giddily surreal to be chatting with someone about the walloping she was about to give me - indeed to be chatting openly about spanking at all, after decades spent biting my lip.
About the session itself, there's not much to say except: a) I didn't know people spanked so hard outside of cartoons. b) the whole experience was somehow exactly as I'd imagined it, like coming home. And I wondered why on earth I'd waited so long.
Now, I'm half afraid that admitting having simply paid money for your first adult spanking is a little like confessing that the first music gig you went to was by Boney M rather than, say, The Smiths. I wish I had a tale to tell about my beautiful but stern boss bending me over the photocopier without warning for a paddling - but I don't. Perhaps, however, you do!
So let's hear about your first real-life, grown-up spanking experience - and if you've yet to have one, let's hear about how you fantasise that it will pan out. Adults only, of course, no kids' stuff - them's the rules around here. ;)
Monday, 9 April 2012
Something Old, Something New, Someone Belted Black And Blue
Those of you familiar with the agonisingly slow pace of my output won't be surprised to hear that commissions are not really my thing. It's pretty much all I can do to maintain this blog - or pretend to - without making promises to produce other stuff on the side.
So when regular visitor QBuzz asked me about the possibility of drawing something to order, my initial reaction was, reluctantly, to decline. However, when Q further mentioned that it was to mark his upcoming wedding, the culmination of a blissful spanko relationship with his fiancee - and because he came across as such a damned nice bloke - I found it harder to resist.
Q sent me a wish list of elements to include, but was kind enough not to be too prescriptive - so I got to have some fun exercising my imagination too.
Now, like many spanking artists this isn't my first wedding - but I liked the idea of this one because it involves real people, fellow kinksters among them. The bride, the groom, their mothers and the maid of honour hopefully all bear some resemblance to their real-life counterparts. The situation, to the best of my knowledge, played out only in Q's imagination!
Warmest congratulations to both of you, QBuzz - hope you like the picture.
Saturday, 31 March 2012
For Your Consideration
Part two of the meme I mentioned in my Februrary post was the nomination of some versatile blogs and their talented owners - which I'm intrepreting to mean, blogs that I like and that you may like too. I'm going to cheat a little and limit my selection to four, else we'll be here all day - and in any case, many of my favourites had already been tagged. I hope you enjoy these, and don't forget to say hello while you're there!
First up is Contemplating The Divine, run by Servitor. In the somewhat crowded field of captioned photos, he stands out for me mainly because of his exceptional wit. It's hard to be both sexy and funny, but he pulls it off - if you'll excuse that expression - with verve. If you've ever thought to yourself, what's so clever about captioning pictures? - head on over to his blog and find out. And if you happen to share his Anne Hathaway obsession, then you're in for a treat!
Next is Rohrstock-Palast, run by Ludwig and his partner Kaelah. Not only is it unusual in that you get to see both halves of this spanking couple - but each of them writes regularly too, which makes for a suprisingly different dynamic. Their posts are fascinating, thoughtful and refreshingly frank, and they always take the time to engage with visitors and reply to comments at length.
Third is Another Country, whose owner OldFashionedGirl - let's call her OFG for short - benefits from being a professional writer. OFG's blog is unassuming and yet hugely engaging, as she muses warmly and wittily on - well, on lots of things that, if they don't already have a spanko theme, seem magically to develop one within the space of a few well-chosen words. She's also a huge fan of historical periods (the 'other country' alluded to her in the name of her blog), and is writing a novel that I'll definitely be looking out for.
Finally we've got Au fil des Jours...', which my schoolboy French sadly doesn't translate for me. But no matter - owner Stan E is perfectly bilingual and always happy to chat to British readers. He was also, I think, the first blogger ever to publish one of my pictures (along with a French version of the text); so he must be some kind of visionary ;). But seriously, he has an eye for a striking image and many of those he posts I've never seen anywhere else - which when you think about it is a rare thing. He's also an artist himself, and every now and again will treat us to one of his own works.
Now, I know what you're saying: 'Recommending other blogs is all very well, Undy. But when are you going to do some more drawing?' Well, I am - and just to prove it, here's a tiny taste of some work in progress.
What do you suppose these two women are finding so wickedly entertaining? Find out soon(ish)!
First up is Contemplating The Divine, run by Servitor. In the somewhat crowded field of captioned photos, he stands out for me mainly because of his exceptional wit. It's hard to be both sexy and funny, but he pulls it off - if you'll excuse that expression - with verve. If you've ever thought to yourself, what's so clever about captioning pictures? - head on over to his blog and find out. And if you happen to share his Anne Hathaway obsession, then you're in for a treat!
Next is Rohrstock-Palast, run by Ludwig and his partner Kaelah. Not only is it unusual in that you get to see both halves of this spanking couple - but each of them writes regularly too, which makes for a suprisingly different dynamic. Their posts are fascinating, thoughtful and refreshingly frank, and they always take the time to engage with visitors and reply to comments at length.
Third is Another Country, whose owner OldFashionedGirl - let's call her OFG for short - benefits from being a professional writer. OFG's blog is unassuming and yet hugely engaging, as she muses warmly and wittily on - well, on lots of things that, if they don't already have a spanko theme, seem magically to develop one within the space of a few well-chosen words. She's also a huge fan of historical periods (the 'other country' alluded to her in the name of her blog), and is writing a novel that I'll definitely be looking out for.
Finally we've got Au fil des Jours...', which my schoolboy French sadly doesn't translate for me. But no matter - owner Stan E is perfectly bilingual and always happy to chat to British readers. He was also, I think, the first blogger ever to publish one of my pictures (along with a French version of the text); so he must be some kind of visionary ;). But seriously, he has an eye for a striking image and many of those he posts I've never seen anywhere else - which when you think about it is a rare thing. He's also an artist himself, and every now and again will treat us to one of his own works.
Now, I know what you're saying: 'Recommending other blogs is all very well, Undy. But when are you going to do some more drawing?' Well, I am - and just to prove it, here's a tiny taste of some work in progress.
What do you suppose these two women are finding so wickedly entertaining? Find out soon(ish)!
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
It's All About Me(me)
Nearly three whole months ago, the lovely Kaelah at Rohrstock-Palast was kind enough to mention this blog and its owner - hey, that's me! - as part of her contribution to the Versatile Bloggers meme. The idea of the meme is that you reveal seven little-known facts about yourself, and also nominate fifteen other blogs that impress you. Now, I'm not sure how quickly you're supposed to respond to these things, but I suspect that after three months the moment has probably passed. However since I did start to write a post at that time, and since I do need a little February filler, I thought I'd share my seven bits of Underling trivia regardless.
1. I'm a chronic insomniac and all-round night owl, and much of my drawing and writing happens at stupid o'clock. Going to bed is one of my least favourite things to do - I can easily stay up for 36 hours at a time.
2. As a kid, I used to watch Wonder Woman on TV. Even though I thought the show itself was girly rubbish, I was transfixed by the combined power of Lynda Carter's golden lasso and spangly blue hotpants. Another early crush was Lindsay Wagner, aka Jaime Sommers, aka The Bionic Woman. As a bonus, Ms Sommers was a teacher - I used to fantasise about her keeping me after class and bending me over that bionic lap. Wow, imagine a spanking from a bionic woman. That has to hurt!
3. I don't actually have any transvestite leanings, and yet I own several items of women's clothing. I've worn them all at various times as a reference for drawing. So, at the risk of puncturing any fantasies - you know those stern, hot women that populate my pictures? Every so often, that's me in a padded bra and a frock.
4. I'm musical, writing and recording songs by myself and with friends. If I ever get around to producing a full-length animation, it'll have an Underling score.
5. For my first 'proper' adult spanking, I put myself in the hands (and over the knee) of a professional - the rather wonderful Miss Shanelle. This will be news to her, since at the time I hadn't yet started blogging. Subsequently the job of warming the Underling fundament fell to enthusiastic amateurs - but you never forget your first time, and I'm glad I chose such a likeable and understanding disciplinarian. Shan, if you're reading this - thank you!
6. Since starting this blog, I've actually been spanked twice by men. And I liked it. I doubt I'd do it again, but then I'm in no hurry to be spanked again at all. Because...
7. ...finally, but perhaps most importantly - insert deep breath here - in recent weeks I've discovered the joy of The Dark Side. That's right - I have had a lovely lady across my lap, on more than one occasion. And you know what? It's wonderful. K, if you read this - thank you for showing me what I was missing. Everyone else, don't worry - I'm not about to abandon the blog for good. I love F/M art and stories, and I always will. But going forward, expect the tables to be turned every now and again!
1. I'm a chronic insomniac and all-round night owl, and much of my drawing and writing happens at stupid o'clock. Going to bed is one of my least favourite things to do - I can easily stay up for 36 hours at a time.
2. As a kid, I used to watch Wonder Woman on TV. Even though I thought the show itself was girly rubbish, I was transfixed by the combined power of Lynda Carter's golden lasso and spangly blue hotpants. Another early crush was Lindsay Wagner, aka Jaime Sommers, aka The Bionic Woman. As a bonus, Ms Sommers was a teacher - I used to fantasise about her keeping me after class and bending me over that bionic lap. Wow, imagine a spanking from a bionic woman. That has to hurt!
3. I don't actually have any transvestite leanings, and yet I own several items of women's clothing. I've worn them all at various times as a reference for drawing. So, at the risk of puncturing any fantasies - you know those stern, hot women that populate my pictures? Every so often, that's me in a padded bra and a frock.
4. I'm musical, writing and recording songs by myself and with friends. If I ever get around to producing a full-length animation, it'll have an Underling score.
5. For my first 'proper' adult spanking, I put myself in the hands (and over the knee) of a professional - the rather wonderful Miss Shanelle. This will be news to her, since at the time I hadn't yet started blogging. Subsequently the job of warming the Underling fundament fell to enthusiastic amateurs - but you never forget your first time, and I'm glad I chose such a likeable and understanding disciplinarian. Shan, if you're reading this - thank you!
6. Since starting this blog, I've actually been spanked twice by men. And I liked it. I doubt I'd do it again, but then I'm in no hurry to be spanked again at all. Because...
7. ...finally, but perhaps most importantly - insert deep breath here - in recent weeks I've discovered the joy of The Dark Side. That's right - I have had a lovely lady across my lap, on more than one occasion. And you know what? It's wonderful. K, if you read this - thank you for showing me what I was missing. Everyone else, don't worry - I'm not about to abandon the blog for good. I love F/M art and stories, and I always will. But going forward, expect the tables to be turned every now and again!
Sunday, 15 January 2012
Another Country - Part Two
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.
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.