The Samantha Clause

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the shop
The workforce of elves had been toiling non-stop
To wrap up the presents and stuff them in sacks,
No time to make small talk, no time to relax.
For perched on a chair overlooking the scene
There sat a young woman in red velveteen.
Her garb was familiar, and trimmed with white fur
And being quite short showed a whole lot of her.
For those of you asking "Where's jolly St. Nick?
And who is this red-and-white minidressed chick?"
Well, Santa retired at the end of last season -
"Lumbago," he gave as the primary reason.
"Since I put me back out it isn't the same.
This sleigh-driving lark is a young Claus's game.
I've done it for hundreds of years, give or take -
It's time I clocked off for a well-deserved break.
I'll sit in my rocker, smoke pipes and drink beer.
My daughter Samantha can take charge from here."
When news of this handover got to the elves
Those mischievous minions had said to themselves:
"Thank God that old slave-driver's hung up his sack.
This Christmas we'll lounge and we'll slouch and kick back.
We'll tell our new boss she will have to play ball.
She's only a slip of a girl, after all.
We'll all get a helping of seasonal cheer
As soon as she sees who's in charge around here."
But looks are deceiving, and elves are not smart.
"There'll be no more slacking," said Sam, "for a start!
My management style's of a different sort
With visits to lap-land for those who fall short."
The elves had all chuckled and taunted "To where?
To Lapland, you say? But we're already there!"
But then their new boss put a stop to their glee
By putting the first of them over her knee!

Have a wonderful Christmas, everyone!

Thank You For The Music

One of the greatest rewards in keeping a site like this is having a fellow blogger spot something you've posted and share it with his or her own visitors.

Sometimes it's just a passing mention of a post. Sometimes it's the reuse of a picture for illustration. What doesn't happen so often is that someone records a song - yes, a song - inspired by one of your works.

In this case that someone is the charming, talented and really rather renowned author of spanking erotica, Devlin O'Neill. He liked this post from December 2011 so much that he decided to lay down his own version of The Twelve Days Of Christmas - or some of it, anyway - based on the accompanying drawing.

You can see Dev's post, and hear his recording, right here, and if it doesn't bring a seasonal smile to your face I don't know what will. It certainly did to mine - it was like, well, Christmas come early.

While you're over at Devlin's domain, do take the time to look around. It's a great, fun place to hang out.

Hats off to you, Mr O'Neill!

Rear Window Redux - Love Our Lurkers Day 8

Welcome, everyone, to LOL 8 - organised, as ever, by Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts (where you'll also find Bonnie's own LOL post, together with a list of all the participating blogs).

Those of you who've done this before - it's the fourth time that Underling's Humblings has had the pleasure - will know the score by now. For those who haven't, it goes a little like this:

Today's the day when we celebrate our 'lurkers' - the very many visitors who tiptoe through our sites and rarely, if ever, type stuff into the comment box that's tucked away under each post (look, look, there it is - down a bit, down a bit... there you go!)

Now, I really do appreciate every single person who stops by, enjoys the pictures and animations and stories and occasional ramblings, and keeps the hit counter ticking over. But what I really, really love is to hear from you lot - even if it's only to say hello. After all a hit count is just a number, but a comment is a person is a human connection in the vast and sometimes impersonal world of online kinkery.

So whether you're a regular chatterbox here or you've never commented before, it'd be wonderful if you chose today to pop up and say hello. You can say as much or as little as you like, and if you want you can be totally anonymous - no registration required! Tell me a little about yourself, what you do and (grits teeth) don't like about the blog, what your cat's name is, what you had for breakfast.

And while you're thinking what to write, enjoy 'Rear Window Redux' - the revisited and revised version of the nosy neighbour simulator I posted about this time last year. For the traditionalists among you, it now features actual spanking, prolonged but oh-so-tastefully silhouetted nudity and, um, completion of the domestic chores whose neglect got our hero in trouble in the first place.

Happy lurking... and if you feel like de-lurking, don't forget to say hi. It really will make my day. :)

All Lurk/ No Play

It's almost that time of year again when - thanks to the lovely Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts - we celebrate and salute the bystanders, the passers-through, the wallflowers... the 'lurkers'.

Every day hundreds of you brave souls click on that scary big red button - the one that says 'I UNDERSTAND AND I WISH TO CONTINUE' - but most of you are less inspired by the altogether more benign blue one under the comment box marked 'Publish'.

Love Our Lurkers Day - it's on Tuesday 12th November - is your chance to try out that blue button for size and say hello. Actually, whether you're a first-time commenter or an old hand, it'd be lovely to hear from you on that day - and all the other bloggers taking part would welcome your participation too.

If this is all new to you and you want to get a bit of a flavour, feel free to check out Bonnie's post, or my LOL post from last year, or this post from the year before, or this post from the year before that!

What do you mean, I'm just trying to boost my hit count?!

Well, maybe a little... :)

Look forward to seeing you on the 12th.

Remote Control

Most anyone who's been married, or lived with a partner or a housemate or a sibling, is familiar with the war that can develop over possession of the TV remote.

Of course, in a female-led household the conflict is pretty short-lived and the outcome a foregone conclusion. The question isn't whether you'll be watching her choice of programme - it's whether or not you'll be sitting comfortably to do it, or indeed standing up and making yourself useful while she does.

Today's drawing illustrates the result of one such domestic skirmish. It also happens to be blog visitor Elbo's prize for coming first in the Word Search competition back at the end of July. He came up with the scenario, too.

Nice work, Elbo - hope you like it!

Excuses, Excuses...

Well, it's that time of the month (i.e the final hours of the final day), and I've nothing concrete ready to post - no story, no drawing, no animation - which is pretty slack, and for which I apologise profusely. Things have been super busy on both work and home fronts, but I've several blog-related projects on the go so I'm hoping there's going to be a flurry of activity in the near future.

Luckily I'm far from the only person out there producing all kinds of spanko goodness, so I can use this opportunity instead to recommend someone else's work - a pair of eBooks by Lucy Appleby (who you may also know as flopsybunny, one of the organisers of the rather wonderful and formidably stocked Spanking Library).

First up of Lucy's recent books is The Bad Boy Story Book 2, a collection of F/M tales featuring all kinds of no-nonsense disciplinarians and their (un)fortunate charges. Any fan of my fiction should find plenty to entertain them in there. Did I mention that its cover also features artwork by the remarkable RedRump? What's not to like?

Second on the list, also by Lucy, is Horrible Aunt Harriet & her Nephew, a comedic (but nonetheless erotic!) story featuring the titular tanner and her brother's grown-up but irresponsible son. Expect paddlings aplenty from a guardian of the old school.

Enjoy, and I promise I'll be back before too long with something of my own.

More Than Words

Ever noticed how much we spanking enthusiasts seem to have in common? Sure, we each have our own predilections for certain gender pairings, relationship dynamics, positions, implements... but for me these are just the proverbial tip of the iceberg. I still think it surprising that, spread across generations and cultures and continents as we are, we nevertheless seem to share so many touchstones. It's almost as though the spanking gene - if such a thing exists - carries with it a kind of species memory. I have like-minded friends in their early twenties who have grown up with barely any reference points for real-world corporal punishment, and yet whose fantasies are the same as mine. We share the same 'triggers' too - images, and especially words, that bypass the 'vanilla' brain entirely but set our spanko senses tingling.

Mention to another spanking-lover that your early interest had you poring over punishment-themed words in the dictionary, and you'll almost certainly get a flash of (possibly guilty) recognition - perhaps even an 'I thought I was the only one who did that!' - in response.

Words are powerful things, aren't they?

Which brings me on to the topic of today's post, in which once again I try to inject a little kinky goodness where by rights it shouldn't belong. Today we turn our attention to the Word Search, a staple feature of wholesome magazines everywhere. My version, at the top of this post (you'll need to be running Flash to see it) works pretty much as they all do - words are hidden, going across or down, in a grid of otherwise random letters. The only difference is the words themselves, which are all related to the Underling universe and hopefully have a special place in your hearts. To make things a little more challenging I won't tell you what they are, but I will tell you:
1) There are nine words altogether, six of them the names of implements.
2) All the words are labels used for posts on this blog. You can see the complete set of labels listed under 'LOOKING FOR SOMETHING?' at the top-right of the page.
3) Some words may intersect with other words.

It's easy to play (I hope!)

When you think you've spotted a word, click on each of its letters to light them up in a nice, healthy, just-spanked pink. If you click on a letter by mistake, just click on it again to deselect it. If you want to deselect everything and start again, hit the 'RESET SELECTIONS' button.

When you think you have all nine words highlighted, click on 'SUBMIT SELECTIONS'. Be warned that you're in for a stern look if you've made any mistakes or if you haven't highlighted all the words - the adjudicator doesn't like having her time wasted!

Now here's the fun part - there's a prize. As soon as you've correctly identified all the words, the adjudicator will give you a password as a reward. The first person to include that password in a comment on this post wins the prize. What's the prize? Well, I'm not sure yet - but 'custom drawing' comes to mind, and it's pretty much all I have to give. :)

Out Of Bounds

An interesting phenomenon happens around this time every year. With the Wimbledon Tennis Championships in full flow, London's public parks - not to mention those across the rest of the country, and presumably the world - begin to echo with the rhythmic thwock thwock thwock of people at play. And that's not just couples taking advantage of the summer sun to indulge in a little outdoor discipline - it's friendly rivals swinging racquets on the municipal courts, too, inspired by the prowess of their televised idols.

Now, if I'm honest my interest in tennis is limited to the sexiness of it - the toned limbs, the athletic grace, and yes, alright, those wonderful panty-revealing little skirts and dresses. My interest in al fresco spanking, on the other hand, is a whole lot more hands-on. I've only spanked outside on a handful of occasions, but those of you 'in the club' will know what I mean when I say it's quite a unique experience - a heady mix of giggly pleasure, excitement and the fear of discovery by unwitting passers-by. My lovely naughty girl and I go to great lengths to avoid being stumbled upon - neither of us wants to subject other people to our kinky shenanigans - but I daresay there are situations where one or both of the participants is not so shy. I'm sure there's the odd strict lady who regularly warms up her boyfriend's bottom and doesn't care who sees it - especially when his humiliation will be at the hands of the lithe young woman she'd caught him ogling a few minutes earlier!

How about you lot? Are you into the tennis, and if so is it for more noble reasons than mine?

And does anyone have a true tale of denuded derrieres in the great outdoors?

The Games People Play

The new picture I'd hoped to publish this week is sadly still on the drawing board - so here's a small substitute post to avoid an ugly little gap for the month of May.

And since my not-quite-finished drawing has a game-related theme, I thought it might be fun to ask you this - how many of you spice up traditionally 'vanilla' leisure activities at home by giving them a spanky twist?

An example: keen-eyed visitors may know that some while back I met a very special lady whose deliciously kinky tastes are easily a match for mine. And since we both liked Scrabble as well as spanking, it wasn't long before we came up with our own version of the rules for the former so that we could combine the two. In our adaptation, a player has to lay words that are in some way related to the smacking of bottoms. 'Slap' would qualify. So would 'ouch', 'implement', 'redden', 'bending', 'discipline' and... well, you get the picture. If the player can't make a demonstrable connection and has to use an unrelated word instead, then there's a penalty - a number of swats equal to the total score from the offending turn.

Now, as you might imagine it's not always easy to come up with a word that fits the theme (and indeed it wouldn't be half as much fun if it was). As a result there is usually plenty of defaulting to be dealt with - and this generates a lot more physical activity than the basic rules of Scrabble normally allow. High-scoring matches can make for quite a workout!

Other board games seem to lend themselves even better to the concept of alternative forfeits. Take Monopoly - what if, rather than pay rent when alighting on owned property, a player could opt to take a spanking instead? And what if some of the Chance and Community Chest cards were altered to indicate panties rather than share prices coming down? And wouldn't it be more exciting if you could only get out of jail free by taking a paddling in lieu of a prison term?

Even if we leave the games cupboard alone, communal TV offers many options. In my youth my friends would warm up for a night out by watching soap operas and downing a measure of Tequila every time one of the characters performed a particular action. I see no reason that drinking games couldn't be modified into spanking ones - you'd only have to trade swats for shots.

I'm convinced that lots of you have this sort of fun at home. If you do, I'd love to hear about it!

Firm Discipline

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That produced something dangerously close to a smirk.

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

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

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

"Miranda, I..."

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

"Well, yes, but I..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spanks A Million!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sore Losers

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her husband scowled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Equipment Failure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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