Hello, Sailor

In the navy
Yes, you can sail the seven seas
In the navy
Yes, girls will put you 'cross their knees...

So sang The Village People - well, nearly - way back in 1978.

Quite how much a cowboy, a construction worker, a biker, a soldier, a native American and a motorcycle cop actually knew about maritime military tradition is open to debate - the largely female crew of HMS Martinet, on the other hand, are well versed in it and are dedicated guardians of one aspect in particular: discipline.

Of course, it's not all about standing to attention and saluting - when a vessel is going to be at sea for weeks at a time there have to be opportunities to let off steam, and things can get a little boisterous. For the junior male ratings there are occasions when full uniform won't be required, as young Seaman Staines here - stop sniggering at the back - is just in the process of finding out. And since he's going to be stuck in the middle of the ocean with these ladies for the next month at least, he may just have to accept that some 'traditions' are newer than others.

So, any takers for a post aboard the Martinet? The crew are looking forward to giving you a warm welcome. All together now...

They want you, they want you,
They want you as a new recruit!

Surprising Santa

Hello, everyone. At last, a new picture - albeit of a cartoony sort.

Wishing you and yours a very happy and peaceful Christmas. May you all have a wonderful time.

And, unlike young Annabelle here, may each of you get exactly what you've been asking for - one way or another!

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!

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.

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.

Step Right In

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Wanda.

Faster, Higher, Stronger, More Severe

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what's 'competitive' about it?

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

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

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

So how does Helen rate their chances next year?

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

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

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

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

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

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

From This Day Forward - The Next Bit

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

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

PART 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jo - sweetheart - will you marry me?"

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

"Yes. Yes, everything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready, sweetie?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A One And Five Noughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red Butts Roasting 'Neath An Open Palm

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

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

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

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

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

From This Day Forward

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meet Diana - Desktop Disciplinarian

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

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

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

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

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

Wilma Flintstone, maybe.

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

Definitely.

Love Our Lurkers Day 5

Today is LOL day!

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

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

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

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

Thank you, and welcome! :)

To Have And To Scold

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

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

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

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

What Is It About Spanking Art?

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

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

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

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

The Politics of Spanking

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

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

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

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

Clearing Out My Closet

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


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


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