'This Is Not What It Looks Like...'

...except, of course, that it is. You know it, and they know it, and now you've got some 'splaining to do.

I think it's safe to say that nearly all of us have felt awkward about our kink at some point. For most of us it started as a closely guarded secret, and for many it still is.

After living with this peculiar obsession pretty much all my life, I'm still fairly private about it. I'm happily chatting, meeting and playing with like-minded people, but I'm by no means ready for that conversation with 'regular' friends and family - and it's quite possible I never will be. I guess realistically this only gives me an 'outed-ness rating' of about 10%, since being accepted by your fellow kinksters ain't too much of a challenge!

That said, there have been some close calls and minor revelations over the years, and that's the topic of today's post.

One event that comes to mind for me occurred not long after I'd started living with my first long-term girlfriend (cue wavy 'flashback' visual effect). Ours was a very 'vanilla' relationship, but fun and fulfilling - and I didn't want to scare her with this spanko stuff, so I kept it quiet and limited my indulgence to the occasional trading of playful swats. And 'normal' couples do that too, right? Anyway, early one morning I had an errand to run and I'd left her in bed. I'd also left, inadvertently, an erotic paperback book lying around that until that point I'd had safely hidden away. It was probably nothing that would shock today's '50 Shades' generation - just something from the top shelf of a rail station bookseller featuring, if I remember rightly, a girls' college where the young ladies were subject to the regular use of cane and strap by a cheerfully sadistic headmistress. Or some such improbable but delicious scenario.

I realised my indiscretion before I could get home, but was hoping I'd return to find my other half still snuggled under the duvet - which I did, but apparently she'd been up and about in the meantime.

'Hello,' says I.

'Hello,' says she. 'Interesting book you have there. You like that kind of thing?'

I'm quite sure I flushed a deep crimson, and I'm ashamed to say I think I may have blurted out that horrible old cliché about just being 'curious'. Of course that was never going to be sufficient explanation, but luckily kisses are a good distraction tool. I do remember that a minute later I was back in bed, engaged in the kind of vigorous lovemaking that is not only a lot of fun but encourages girlfriends to forget to ask any more needless questions about boring old books. As it happens, I also remember that as some of the best sex we'd ever had. Who knows - perhaps I did find it a turn-on to have been 'discovered'.

Now this being real life, there was no glorious revelation that she too had only been waiting for the right moment to confess a similar disciplinary obsession. We weren't destined to grow old together while spanking one another silly. But nor did she threaten to call the police, or pack her bags, or move into the spare room. We simply carried on as before, until our relationship had run its natural course, and every now and again she'd tease me about my little predilection - but I never did reveal its full extent. I sometimes wonder how things would have turned out if I had. Certainly I'd never make the mistake again of hiding something from a partner that was such an important part of me.

So, that's me, but I'm sure lots of you have similar anecdotes about your little predilections first being revealed, or nearly being revealed, whether deliberately or by accident - and I'm hoping you'll share them. Was it to a friend, partner, colleague, family member? How did he or she react? Did you make excuses, cover it up, or come clean? And I guess most interestingly: did you regret it, or did it - as I'm suspecting is sometimes the case - turn out to be a huge weight off your mind?



I've done a little recycling to illustrate this post. The animation is an updated version of one I briefly had up a long time ago, to advertise a fun short film I was working on with a spanko sitcom theme. It doesn't 'do' anything yet, I'm afraid, so don't bother clicking around! :) I'm using it because it fits the topic and also because I've just returned to that project, this time determined to finish it - and I'm going to need some people to do the voices for Madeleine and Scott. My first choices would have been Angelina and Brad, but strangely their agents have yet to get back to me. So if any of you have voice acting skills and want to get involved, I'd love to hear from you.

Oh, and if you can't see the animation then you may need to go and get Flash.

I 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.

Spanking For Britain

Well, this is embarrassing.

Last year, yours truly drew everyone's attention to this report on the introduction of competitive spanking to the Olympic Games in time for London 2012. Now if you're anything like me - and come on, admit it, you are - then you were looking forward to this particular event more than any other. And yet it singularly failed to materialise.

Did the IOC get cold feet? Were there too few countries able to field teams? Who knows? All I can say is that after scouring the schedules I could find no mention of it, and hours and hours spent glued to the TV yielded nothing more than the occasional friendly swat among the beach volleyball teams.

Even the opening and closing ceremonies made no reference to it. Nearly £30 million to tell the story of Great Britain, and absolutely no acknowledgement of its national kink. A cast of 7,500, and not one of them across another's knee!

Now, of course the Games were wonderful and spectacular and exciting and moving and astonishing. They just weren't very... spanko. I had thought maybe they were saving the OTK action for the Paralympics - for example, it would make a fantastic wheelchair-based event - but it's not looking very likely.

To those of you disappointed by the non-televisation of our favourite 'sport', I think I can help. Check back in a couple of days and I'll see what I can do. ;)

Another Country - Part Three

OK, it’s high time we caught up with our English tourists and their rather shy but curious maid.

If you haven’t read part one or part two yet, then please do – else you won’t have a clue what’s going on! **************************************************************************

Richard Wallace stood, stripped of all his clothes, with his nose in the corner of the hotel room while his wife counted to ten. The young African maid Dupé was counting too, silently. She had never seen a grown man spanked. She had never seen a grown man naked.

Richard's agitation increased with his wife's count. By the time she reached the number eight he had begun shifting from foot to foot, and Dupé thought for a moment - was afraid, she had to admit it - that he was about to give in, and she would be deprived of her promised role. But the man did not give in. He could not.

"Please, Em," groaned Richard in an anguished tone.

"Please, ma'am," his wife reminded.

"Please, ma'am," echoed Richard.

"Nine," said Emily.

Finally the Englishwoman, after an exaggerated pause that Dupé thought would never end, uttered a curt "ten". As she did so, the naked man's hands dropped suddenly to his crotch and he swivelled awkwardly on the spot, revealing a face the colour of chilli pepper and probably as hot, and he gingerly stepped forward towards the two women as though treading on broken glass.

Emily let him get all the way to the bed before lazily extending one hand and using a perfectly manicured fingernail to draw a semicircle in the air. Her husband stood uncomprehending for a moment before turning to face away from them once more.

"Back you go," said Emily mildly, and he did, reclaiming his position in the corner. "Hands on your head," she said, and a second later they were. "Now try again," said Mrs Wallace.

He really did look as though he was trying, thought Dupé, as Richard Wallace's hips twisted back and forth in an agony of conflict. It was as though he were tethered to the wall by the very part of himself that he was so reluctant to expose. Finally his wife exhaled noisily through pursed lips and said, "My patience is at an end, Richard. I suppose Dupé will have to fetch you after all, since you're being impossibly silly. I'm quite sure she has seen naughty bare boys before."

If only that were true, thought the maid, her heart would not be beating so hard. Still, she had already been given Mrs Wallace's blessing, and she was pushing herself to her feet almost before the older woman had said "Dupé, if you wouldn't mind..."

In a few strides she was standing just a foot behind the man - close enough to detect the faint smell of his perspiration, and indeed to watch a drop of it trickle down the small of his back and disappear between his bared buttocks. Close enough to touch him. And my God, she was actually doing it, her small dark hand reaching up and encircling his pale wrist. "This way, Mr Wallace," she had intended to say, but her mouth was dry and she knew that the tremor in her voice would betray her. So she simply applied a little light pressure, and almost miraculously the man turned as though released from a spell - turned and stood there fully exposed, defeated, with no more defence but to tell himself that this would all be over soon.

Oh Lord, thought Dupé. Nineteen years old and suddenly there is no more secret. So this is what it's like to see a man undressed. Then she walked him over to where Emily was sitting with a raised eyebrow and an undisguised smirk.

"Not such a big boy now, are you?" said Emily. Leaning forward to take both of his hands, she waited until he was forced to meet her gaze and told him, “I do love you, you know, in spite of your little tantrums and your antiquated world view. But we are going to drag you into the current century. Kicking and screaming as necessary.” Then she briskly tapped her thigh and instructed "Over you go."

The maid returned to her chair while Richard leaned forward and draped himself awkwardly across his wife's lap, the bedsprings creaking softly as he added his weight to hers and placed his hands upon the carpet. Dupé slyly attempted to catch his gaze as he positioned himself, but it was locked steadfastly on his splayed fingers and she knew he was trying to pretend that she was not there. And so she cleared her throat a little more loudly than was necessary, and then began to sing softly - perhaps to herself, perhaps to Emily Wallace, perhaps to the oh-so-haughty man now draped so humilatingly across his wife's lap - the lullaby her mother had taught her as a small child.

The jackal and the lioness both sit beneath the sun
But he must watch and wait while she devours the wildebeest
If he should try to eat before the lioness is done
He knows the lioness will gladly add him to her feast.
They say the male, he rules the world as far as he can see
But she has all the power that her lion mate possesses
A man is not a lion 'til he proves himself to be
And many men are jackals, and must yield to lionesses.

Mrs Wallace smiled absently and traced slow, careful circles over her husband's pale pink buttocks with the back of the clothes brush while Dupé sang. She seemed in no hurry, and Dupé was sure that - unlike her ignorant pig of a husband - she knew enough of the language to pick up its meaning.

When the song reached its end and the young girl looked shyly up at the beautiful Englishwoman, Emily said "Shall I tell you something funny, Dupé? On the dresser at home I keep a big, heavy hairbrush of which I'm very fond - Richard rather less so. It hasn't been used to brush hair in fifteen years, but it still comes in handy at least once a month. Richard assured me that I wouldn't need to pack it, which is why we've had to rely on your services this afternoon." She reached over to stroke the back of her husband's neck, almost affectionately. "Just think, sweetheart," she said with mock regret, "If you hadn't persuaded me to leave her at home it'd be just you, me and our old friend Betty Blister about to have this little discussion. It's really your own fault that we're having to improvise - and thus that we have company."

For the second time Dupé wondered if she shouldn't be somewhere else. "I should go, ma'am," she offered, but without conviction. "Not at all," smiled Emily, transferring her hand to the maid's bare arm where Dupé could feel the dampness of the man's sweat upon her fingers. "In fact, I forbid it. We've spent two weeks enjoying your wonderful African traditions, and it'd be a terrible shame if you were to miss out on one of ours."

Dupé suspected she was being teased a little, although not unkindly. "You don't mean that all..." she giggled.

"Well, not in every household," smiled Emily, "more's the pity. There are a good many English men who would benefit from some old-fashioned discipline, even if they're think they're too big for it - which, of course, they usually do until they're shown otherwise. Make no mistake, Dupé - Richard would like to believe he outgrew this kind of punishment thirty years ago. But that only makes it all the more effective. As you're about to see."

Emily raised the brush to shoulder height, and her husband's glistening bare bottom tensed visibly as if in anticipation. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and turned her head towards the maid, an amused smile playing across her lips. "Do you know what makes for a good, memorable spanking, my dear?"

Dupé would have replied had she not been so intently holding her breath. She shook her head, no, but the other woman had already turned her gaze back to the soft flesh presented for her attention. Emily's mouth tightened in concentration and she slowly drew in her breath. "It has to really, really hurt," she said.

And then she began.

Are We Done?

Those of you who look in here from time to time and find yet another filler post (of which this is one, of course) could be forgiven for thinking that Underling's Humblings is not long for this world - that the well of stories and pictures is about to cease its trickle and finally run dry.

Not so!

I actually have all manner of little projects on the go.

For example, there's this:


and this:


and this:


and what's this all about?


and of course, not forgetting this:
"...Richard leaned forward and draped himself awkwardly across his wife's lap, the bedsprings creaking softly as he added his weight to hers and placed his hands upon the carpet..."

You see, starting stuff is easy. Finishing is my problem - always has been.

There will be more finishing, I promise. No, really!

Ah, Yes! I Remember It Well

You might not guess it from my here's-another-picture/here's-another-story approach to blogging, but I'm curious to know more about you lot than what you think of my latest effort.

So here's a question for those of you who actually do this thing we do (or have it done to them) - do you remember your first time? What prompted that initial collision of palm and derriere? Was it spontaneous, planned, paid for? Was it all you'd dreamed of and more, or were you left wondering what all the fuss was about?

I'll go first to break the ice. Barring some half-hearted horseplay with former girlfriends that doesn't really count, I managed to make it to the cusp of my forties unspanked. Having realised that life was too short not to spend at least an hour of it across someone's knee, I did a little, ahem, online research and arranged a meet with a very nice dominant professional lady. Several sleepless nights and one fidgety train journey later, I suddenly found myself in the passenger seat of her car on the way to confront my destiny. The thing is, that car ride was the oddest part of the whole day. It felt giddily surreal to be chatting with someone about the walloping she was about to give me - indeed to be chatting openly about spanking at all, after decades spent biting my lip.

About the session itself, there's not much to say except: a) I didn't know people spanked so hard outside of cartoons. b) the whole experience was somehow exactly as I'd imagined it, like coming home. And I wondered why on earth I'd waited so long.

Now, I'm half afraid that admitting having simply paid money for your first adult spanking is a little like confessing that the first music gig you went to was by Boney M rather than, say, The Smiths. I wish I had a tale to tell about my beautiful but stern boss bending me over the photocopier without warning for a paddling - but I don't. Perhaps, however, you do!

So let's hear about your first real-life, grown-up spanking experience - and if you've yet to have one, let's hear about how you fantasise that it will pan out. Adults only, of course, no kids' stuff - them's the rules around here. ;)