Over To You

Geoff had many reasons to regret his outburst at the breakfast table that morning. Which was the worst part of the outcome had been open to debate, but here in this moment, he knew.

It wasn't so much the fire in his bottom invoked by his wife's long and hard warm-up slippering - although that was bad enough, especially considering what was to come.

It wasn't so much the fact that before that he'd had to take off every stitch of clothing in front of her visiting mother, Helen, even "those cute little-boy underpants" - although that was a humiliation straight out of his worst anxiety dreams.

It wasn't even the cruel glittering in Helen's eyes as she invited him over her lap for the "main event" with her polished hairbrush - although her eagerness seemed to promise the hiding of his life.

No.

What bothered Geoff the most was his involuntary erection. He often developed one while being spanked by Annie, but he was dismayed to find the effect undiminished by having Annie spank him in front of her domineering and oddly alluring mother.

Geoff had managed, more-or-less, to cover his crotch while he clambered awkwardly off Annie's knee. Now, however, he was sure he was going to have to move his hands - even if Helen didn't make him do it, which it seemed likely she would.

And then she would see, and that would be that. Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Amazon Delivery

Yes, it has been more than six years. No, I'm not dead! :)

Of course it hardly makes up for such a long absence, but I'm posting two separate images today.

The first one is a cover for an imaginary Men's Adventure magazine, inspired by similar publications that had their heyday during the fifties and sixties. Those vintage magazines often featured drawings of scantily clad damsels being tied up or threatened or tortured, and sometimes all three at once. The women's fiendish abusers were typically Nazis or crudely stereotypical East Asian villains. In the background of many of the artworks, a burly male Caucasian hero was shown about to effect a rescue. It was all terribly predictable, and very much of its time.

Occasionally the victim in these pictures would instead be a man, and his tormentor a woman - but I don't recall ever seeing one in which the rough-and-ready rescuers were female. And that, dear visitors, is where we come in - because we have a serious thing for assertive and powerful Amazonian women, don't we? We don't just want them to cruelly punish us. We want them to carry us, naked and helpless, out of captivity. And then we want them to celebrate by having wild, passionate sex - not with us, but with each other.

Ok, it's still pretty sordid. But at least it's not racist.

Now, if I were to make wholly inadequate excuses as to why it's taken literally years to post this new work, they might sound something like this...

When I'd nearly completed the cover art way back when, I showed it to my girlfriend and asked what she thought was happening in the picture. I was a little dismayed to find that her interpretation was quite different from what I'd intended. Since I've always prided myself on telling a bit of a story with my artwork, I decided I'd better go back to the drawing board and produce some additional illustrations for a page of the story itself, to give the cover image some more context. Of course, mainly due to my glacial working pace, that took forever.

Anyway, here we are, finally.

To view the pictures at a decent size, you may find you need to click on one, then right-click the popup version and choose to open it in a new tab. If you have any issues, do give me a shout and I'll be happy to assist.

As far as I know, none of those old pulpy magazines from decades ago were called "Men in Peril" - but my imaginary one is. I hope you enjoy this view of it.

In At The Deep End

Just when you thought I'd sunk without trace, another picture trundles slowly into view... not quite a year on from the last one.

Hello, everyone!

There is a backstory associated with this drawing, and I'll post that in the next week or two (no, really!)

In the meantime, feel free to make up your own. :)

Do Your Bit If You Want To Sit

Those of you who remember me (because, yes, it's been quite a while!) may also remember my stepsister Wanda Ling, who's now been working at the female-led OSIRIS company for almost six years. When I say 'working', of course, it's in the loosest sense of the word - having risen through the ranks of OSRIS's all-woman management team, from what I can gather Wanda still spends most of her day dishing out any real work to her male underlings, and dishing out discipline to those of them who don't come up to scratch. It's clear from her emails that the latter is still her favourite part of the job, but no surprises there - she always did have an unashamedly sadistic streak.

Apparently progress has been slipping of late and a couple of projects have gone over budget, so things have been hotting up somewhat for the male employees while the plans are brought back on track - all of their Christmas leave was cancelled and there's now some serious micro-management going on, including unannounced spot checks and plenty of at-desk motivation provided for those who need it.

Not that Wanda minds putting in the extra effort, of course - she's always happy to swing into action, so long as it's a disciplinary implement that she's swinging. She's been sending weekly slogans to her team, too, by way of encouragement: 'When productivity drops, trousers are sure to follow'; 'Missed deadlines lead to hot cane lines'; and finally, 'Do your bit if you want to sit'. I think that last one might need some work, but I'm not about to tell her that - I'm meeting her for lunch next week, and I'm not keen to have my behind slapped in public. Again.

Anyway, Wanda's even shared her latest poster with me, and asked whether I'd feel inclined to work harder after seeing it.


I had to admit I would. Wouldn't you?

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!

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!

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! :)

*********************************************************************************

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?'

...And A Slappy New Year

So, just an hour or two short of 2013 - and I haven't even got around to wishing you all a Merry Christmas yet! I hope you and yours had a peaceful and suitably festive time. And if you happened to unwrap something that suggested your name had come up on the naughty list - well, at least it's better than socks again. Isn't it?

Thanks so much to everyone, whether a regular or occasional visitor, for your support during the last twelve months. And may the new year bring you all the slappiness you deserve!

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! :)

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!

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!!!

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.

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.

Season's Beatings

Yes, I am cutting it fine for a Christmas post - but hey, it ain't over 'til the final leftover turkey sandwich has been consumed, the decorations have gone back into the understairs cupboard, and you've vacuumed the last of the pine needles out of the living room carpet.

Now, part of me hopes you've all got better things to do at this time of year than visit the blog: but to those of you still surfing the net without Great Aunt Harriet and cousin Kevin looking over your shoulder, I just wanted to say thank you for another wonderful year in 2011. Your support has meant a great deal. And regardless of who's been naughty or nice, may you and yours enjoy a peaceful and happy holiday season.

Oh, I thought you might also like a glimpse of what I'd like my true love to be sending me this Christmas.

Zero Tolerance

Evenin' all. Now this scenario is a little darker than most, so before you read on I thought I should make clear that I abhor all real-world abuse of power - yes, even by sexy female police officers. But in imagination? Well, bring it on...

Zero Tolerance
Fanta City, 2019. In the six years since its inception, the metropolis's now largest police department, F3M - popularly known as FemForce - had amassed an impressive record of success. Staffed exclusively by female officers, its origins lay in a 2013 initiative of recruiting and training all-women teams to defuse hostage and domestic violence situations. When not negotiating with criminals, the department had toured schools and colleges educating the city's youth about the perils of crime. 'Let's talk' had been its oft-derided motto, with firearms being rejected in favour of a less lethal combination of baton and extensive body armour for protection.

Meanwhile, massive budget cuts reduced traditional policing to a minimum.



F3M's original ethos was short lived: it turned out that the city's criminals were not open to reason. A more robust approach was called for, and with a track record of innovation FemForce was moved up to spearhead it.

The department's autonomy allowed it to evolve at a remarkable rate, unfettered by bureaucracy. Within three years it had outgrown its 'softly, softly' legacy and developed a fearsome reputation for zero-tolerance - some said outright ruthless - policing.

The standard-issue baton became the 'shock stick' with the addition of a cattle prod-like function, and many officers also began to carry a shortened version of the judicial cane recently introduced into men's prisons.

Over time reports began to emerge of summary corporal punishment being administered, often in front of bystanders, for petty offences like littering. Meanwhile it became routine for those arrested for more serious crimes to be publically stripped - 'to check for weapons' - before being cuffed, caned and escorted naked into the waiting police trucks; and, particularly in cases where female victims had been involved, those same trucks were taking ever longer routes back to the station.



Eventually the city mayor announced an investigation into F3M's methods, declaring them 'wholly unacceptable', but by then it was too late - the citizens, tired of rampant criminality, had already taken the new FemForce to their hearts thanks to its winning combination of efficiency, glamour and legendary exploits.

In 2017, the department's reputation had been cemented in the public consciousness by a TV news report on the apprehension of a suspected serial sex attacker. On hearing the distinctive banshee wail of F3M's sirens, the man had fled the scene and squeezed himself several feet into the end of a sewer pipe where, stuck fast and regularly doused in effluent, he had repeatedly offered a full confession in return for being allowed to give himself up to male officers. No such concession was made, and in fact it emerged later that Captain Helen Petersen had seen fit not to forward the request: her girls had worked hard to chase down their quarry, and she was not about to disappoint them by handing him over to another section.

Following a seven-hour standoff, the suspect had finally relented and let himself be extracted, stripped, hosed down and disciplined for wasting police time. His confession had come anyway, of course, so he could have saved everyone a lot of trouble - or so remarked Sargeant Lucy Wells to the assembled onlookers before she went on to administer the final 20 strokes to the man's already ravaged behind.

Rumour had it that there had followed a brief debate about who was to ride with the nude and chastened prisoner on the way to the police station, but this was unnecessary. Remarkably, once he was secured it turned out there was still enough room for a total of eight policewomen to accompany him in the back of the truck.

Perhaps it was the ensuing commotion that distracted the driver and caused her to make a series of mysterious wrong turns. It took the vehicle a full two hours to arrive at its destination.

Another Country, Another Picture

Some of you wanted an illustration for my story Another Country, so here it is. For those of you who didn't want an illustration, tough - here it is anyway ;).

This may well be my first 'historical' drawing. I hadn't really decided when the story is set and I've deliberately kept it ambiguous, but I thought a little period glamour might be nice for the picture.

In general my fantasies (and thus my works) are contemporary, because I find it easier to project myself into them that way.

I know some of my fellow artists, for example RedRump, have a thing for the fifties and sixties as a kind of golden age of spanking.

But how about your daydreams? Are you a modern day mistress/ miscreant, or a Victorian vixen/ victim? A wild west whipping boy? A medieval martinet?

Does period even feature in your fantasies?

By the way, this is the first time I've uploaded a picture as a .png. It might take a little longer to download, but I'm hoping if it keeps Blogger from compressing it to within an inch of its life it will be worth it!

Oh, and part two of 'Another Country' is almost ready. Hopefully it'll hit the blog in the next few days.

Dinner And A Show - The Itch

Finally! The second and concluding part of this story. It's quite a long one, and I've illustrated it, and I've animated the illustration (at the bottom of the post, if you're running Flash). I hope those factors go some way to excusing my tardiness.

If you haven't read Part One yet, it's just here. Probably worth a refresher even if you have read it before. It's been a long time!

********************************

Jeff Williams had enjoyed more relaxed restaurant dinners. Having spent much of the evening listening to his wife and her best friend Susan discussing how we was disciplined at home, he had finally persuaded them to leave The Queen Bee and had driven them back to the Williams' Springfield neighbourhood, where Susan was to be their overnight guest.

A light rain was falling as Jeff guided the black Subaru into the couple's driveway, echoing his damp spirits.

"Springfield House of Correction," giggled Susan as their three-storey property came into view. She'd found room for another three glasses of Chardonnay before leaving the restaurant, and had become a little more vocal with each. Although dreading their arrival back home, Jeff had been relieved at least that talk of his "well-earned whippings" would no longer draw stares from adjacent tables.

He watched as his wife eased herself from the car's passenger seat. "I'll put the coffee on."

"Lovely, Jen," said Susan. "And then down to business, eh, Jeffie?" She swung her long legs out and slid from the rear seat, her short skirt sliding up her thighs and drawing Jeff's helpless gaze.

"Gentleman avert their eyes, Mr Williams". And ladies don't show off their underwear, thought Jeff, but he actually heard himself mumbling "Sorry". Susan tilted her face towards his. "Oh, I think you're guaranteed to be, my dear."

Once indoors, Jenny busied herself at the stove while Susan ambled from room to room calling out her admiration for her hosts' latest decor and furniture.

"Love these new curtains!" she gushed. "And ah, this must be the flogging bench!"

"Well, most of the time it's just a regular coffee table," laughed Jenny, "but it does have its other uses."

A brief pause, and then Sue's voice again: "Jeff, sweetie, would you come here a minute? I want to show you something."

Jeff shot a hopeful look at his wife. "Don't you need help in here?"

"No. you run along and keep Sue entertained."

Traversing the hallway, Jeff saw that Jenny's thick leather razor strop was conspicuously absent from the hook that she'd had him fit under the stairs a few weeks earlier. With a sigh of trepidation he passed on through to the couple's well-appointed living room. There he was confronted by the startling image of Susan bent over on top of the coffee table, her knees spread wide to its corners and her skirt pulled right up to her waist. One hand supported her weight at the far end, and with the other she reached back to tap the wicked leather strap payfully against the taut seat of her pale pink cotton panties.

"Oh, Jenny, honey," she cooed over her shoulder as Jeff stared from the doorway. "I'm sorry I was a naughty boy. Please don't spank me any more. Please, no, I can't stand it!"

"Um," said Jeff.

"Ouch!" giggled Susan. She bucked her hips provocatively in time with the gentle rhythm of the strap. "Ooh!" She thrust her undeniably beautiful behind towards him, positively writhing in a pretence of agony.

Jeff had seldom felt an impulse as strong as the one he had now - to march into the room, snatch the strap from that woman and use it to turn her mocking parody into merciless reality. He knew from bitter experience that just one good stroke would wipe the smirk from her face. Christ, the consequences would be almost worth it. Almost.

Ever the mind reader, Susan smiled her slyest smile and said, "You'd love to, wouldn't you Jeffie?" Suddenly coy, she tugged her skirt back down, perched her now covered bottom on the edge of the table and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Sadly I'm not the one who gets spanked around here - speaking of which, I can hardly wait to watch you learning your lesson. I do hope Jen's not going to be a spoilsport - if I don't get to see a whipping, I'm going to have to stamp my foot. Or repeat to Jenny what you said to me just now."

"Said to you?"

"About what a bitch she's been lately. About how you're going to start putting your foot down."
Jeff snorted his derision, but at the same time he reminded himself how often his wife wielded the strap at the least provocation.

"I'd better be getting back," he said uncertainly.

"You better had. Don't want to keep the mistress waiting."

En route to the kitchen, Susan replaced the strap on its hook and ran a fingertip down the polished leather. "See you shortly," she said. "We're going to have some fun."

Jenny handed a steaming mug of coffee to each of them. "Take a seat, Sue. You too, Jeff - while you still can." Sue shot a glance at Jeff, who was flushing prettily at his wife's words. "I thought maybe you'd forgotten," she purred.

"Oh no, my dear," her friend assured her. "I never forget, and I never back down. If you promise punishment and don't follow through, they never learn."

"They?" Susan was more curious than ever.

"Well, let's see. First there was Tom, remember him? Wonderful guy, abs to die for, hung like a horse. But a little too alpha-male for my liking. He didn't take direction or correction too well, so I'm afraid that one was pretty short-lived. Shame, because I do miss the feel of that exceptional cock between my legs.

Then there was James, who was too far the other way - forever 'yes, ma'am-ing' and 'no, ma'am-ing' and generally enjoying being the subbie boyfriend rather too much. More or less creamed his pants whenever I raised my voice. In the end I let him down gently - told him if I'd wanted a devoted little puppy, I'd have gone to the pet store.

And then finally this one. Not such a bad catch, are you J? Can cook and clean and tie his own shoelaces, and for the most part does as he's told - in and out of bed. Looks pretty good too, especially with his face buried in my crotch or his bare butt nicely welted - preferably both!"

Jenny drained the last of her coffee and took the cups from the other two. "Speaking of welted butts, shall we retire upstairs?" No, Jeff wanted to say: but he went anyway, his wife leading and Susan at his back, studying his behind with a wry little smile. In the guest room, Jenny opened the base of the futon and withdrew clean bedding that she put to one side. Then she glanced around her. "Oh! We seem to have forgotten something."

"I'll fetch it," said Susan brightly, the hem of her flared little skirt swinging as she practically skipped from the room. She could be heard whistling to herself as she descended the stairs.

Jeff turned a forlorn face to his wife. "Please," he said.

"Please... publically whip some manners into you? With pleasure, my darling."

Sue reappeared at the door, carrying the dark leather strap that she then presented with a little curtsey to her grinning friend.

"Thank you, Susie baby." Jenny turned back to her husband who was standing, a picture of nervous apprehension, at the edge of the futon. He looked at her, his raised eyebrows asking the silent question whose answer he dreaded.

The corners of her mouth twitched as she held his gaze. "Every stitch," she said.

Sue's eyes widened. "Every stitch? Oh, my." And then, in reference to Jeff's suddenly scarlet complexion, "Sure is warm in here, hmm, Jeffie?"

For a moment the young husband stood paralysed, as if waiting to be released from a bad dream. He opened his mouth to speak, but his wife's crossed arms and raised eyebrows made him close it again. Then he bent, half-dazed, to untie his shoelaces with trembling fingers.

As he removed each item of clothing before the unabashed gaze of both women, Sue kept up an accompanying narrative. "Those socks have seen better days"... "Mmm, have you been working out?"... "Dig those tighty whities!"... and finally, as with a grimace he slid his underwear down and off, "Aww, look at his cute little pee-pee!"

Jenny allowed herself a smirk at her friend's comments, but said nothing until the moment that her husband was stood naked, hands at his sides as he had learned within the first week of their marriage. Then she simply instructed, "Over you go."

Susan's eyes followed the young man as he positioned himself at the back of the futon and leaned forward over it, placing his hands flat on the seat, his body already slick with sweat and the marks of the previous week's strapping still vivid across his muscular behind.

Jeff had never been a stoic under his wife's discipline. He knew from bitter experience that mute acceptance moved her precisely as much as sobbing and pleading; which is to say, not at all. Yet the sight of the gloating Susan, her head cocked expectantly and her hands resting lightly on her hips, made him bite down hard on his lip. He would give her as little satisfaction as he could - although, he thought grimly, having watched him strip bare and drape himself obediently over the futon she was already looking pretty pleased with herself.

Jeff closed his eyes as he felt the supple leather being tapped lightly across his cheeks: Jenny, lining up her aim. A moment later the strap was drawn back, and his wife's soft intake of breath made him squeeze his eyelids tighter and push his fingertips into the soft fabric of the futon.

With a practised arm Jenny went to work, slicing the air with the dark strap and snapping it noisily against her husband's drum-tight rear. It seemed to cling there momentarily, a black mamba delivering its venom, and left a bright red brand across both cheeks.

Jeff bore the first stroke well enough, although it hurt like hell. At the second he felt his eyes begin to prick, as though there were sparks being driven there from the fire building in his behind.

The third lash struck low and so painfully that a small groan escaped his lips before he could choke it off: this was met with a snort of amusement from Susan's direction.

"Something to say, Jeff? Smart alec remark, maybe? No?"

Jenny applied another stroke across the centre of his buttocks, and now his resolve began to break. He hissed through clenched teeth as the scalding sensation mounted. A single tear found its way between his lashes and rolled down his cheek. God, not already, he thought.

"Reckon he's feeling it?" chuckled Susan. She stepped around the edge of the sofa bed and leaned over, putting her face a few inches from Jeff's and providing him with a calculated view down the front of her top. "I'd say he is. Panting like an overheated puppy."

"Oh, I'm sure he is," responded Jenny, resting the strap on her shoulder once more in preparation for the next stroke. "But he'll feel it a lot more before we're done. After all, we're only just... getting STARTED!" She swung again, and the leather's bite forced Jeff onto his toes and produced an anguished yelp that Susan clearly found hilarious. Jeff rested his damp cheek on the sofa back and tried to ride the burning agony that threatened to engulf him. Just getting started, he told himself. Just getting started...

Two hours later - long after Jeff had begun pleading vainly for leniency in much the same way that Susan had parodied earlier that evening - all three retired for the night.

By then Jeff, forbidden yet to touch his ravaged buttocks, had stood hands on head in front of Susan to deliver a heartfelt apology for his behaviour at the restaurant. She had taken her time acknowledging it, all the while coolly looking the naked and chastened young man up and down. Eventually she had leaned forward, cupped his chin gently and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Apology accepted, little man. Don't let it happen again."

In the privacy of their room, Jenny now sat on the edge of the bed and hiked her nightdress up to her waist. She motioned her still-naked partner to his knees and guided his face between her thighs, smiling as he winced at the touch of his heels against his welted, scarlet buttocks. "Get to work, sweetheart. Nice and slow and gentle."

In the guest room, Susan lay restlessly on the futon over which she had so recently watched a good looking, naked young man bent to his wife's will. His really rather nice cock had been pressed into the back just here, while his beautiful bare behind had danced and squirmed under her friend's expert application of the strap. Susan rolled onto her belly and then lifted herself onto all fours, reaching between her legs to rub a fingertip against the crotch of her panties. There was an itch there that had been building since dinner. She had the rest of the night to attend to it.