Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are! Love Our Lurkers Day 6

So, here we are on LOL Day 6!

As per my last post, today's the day when we say a big hello to our lovely lurkers. That's those of you skulking around the dark corners of the site - and this site has darker corners than most - and eyeing the Post Comment button as though it might jump up and bite you :).

I promise it won't, and nor will I if you choose today to stand up and say, 'My name is Peter/ Annabel/ Fluffy/ EvilMistressOfPain, and I'm a spankoholic! And I like your art/ hate your art/ think you should post more often/ think if you ever post again it'll be too soon.'

Seriously, I do very much appreciate everyone who visits the site, whether vocal or not. It's just that my very favourite thing about this blogging lark is feeling a part of this wonderful international kinky community. And it's hearing from people like you that does that for me, and for every other blogger in the spanko world.

Now, if you're running Flash in your browser you'll notice that I've installed a little lurker bait specially for today. All I ask is that, after you've clicked on that enticing keyhole, you also come back and click on that scary comment button and say hi. Whether you're a regular or this is your first time, it would honestly make my day. :)

Here's Lurking At You, Kid!

Lurking.

Kind of a sinister word, isn't it? It's what robbers and murderers and cave dwelling monsters do. It's what danger does.

It's also the term used for dipping in and out of websites without actually waving your virtual arms in the air and yelling 'Coo-ee! I'm here!' Now, I think there should be a different, less creepy word for this - just plain browsing, for example - but hey, I didn't write the Dictionary of Online Activity.

So 'lurking' it is, and Thursday 10th November (just next week!) is 'Love Our Lurkers' day. This annual event, now in its 6th year and organised by the redoubtable Bonnie, is the spank-blog community's way of celebrating the silent majority of people who waft in and out of our sites while giving the Post Comment button a wide berth - and encouraging them to go ahead, click on it and say a quick hello.

So on Thursday I and lots of other bloggers will be making our special LOL posts, and I hope as many of you as possible - both the regular commenters and the shy types - will stop by and leave a message. We would love to hear from you, and you can be as anonymous as you like - no need for an account to post here.

This will be Underling's Humblings' second LOL year, by the way. Here's last year's post to give you a feel for it.

Finally, apologies to Bad-Penny for using her comment from last year as my post title. It was too good to pass up.

See you on Thursday! :)

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.

The Personal Touch

Ah, Tumblr. What a fickle mistress you are.

If you're a user, tell me if this sounds familiar. When I came across my first spanking-themed Tumblr site I thought hmm, this looks interesting. Lots of pictures.

Then I noticed that all the visitors who'd 'liked' stuff on that site had links to their own, similar sites. And the people who followed those sites had their own sites too, and all of them filled with astonishing numbers of photos and drawings and little animated gifs. I gawped at the goods on display - June, 576 posts - July, 852 posts - like a kid in a sweet shop. On pocket money day.

Eventually, after gorging myself silly for a few hours - and thinking that this was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to me since the birth of the internet - I calmed down and began to wonder what this explosion of pure content meant for the average, old-fahioned blogger like me. Let's face it, if all you want is a heap of spanking pictures - and quite often, that's all I want - you can open a Tumblr page and fill your hard drive to bursting in the same amount of time that it takes you to get past this site's adult content warning. But never mind... wow, look at that. August - 987 posts!

At some point during that first orgy of browsing I spotted a familiar-looking thumbnail - a drawing of mine, scooped up and chucked into that month's bargain bin along with 986 others.

And it looked a little sad.

Now, don't get me wrong - I still got a kick out of seeing it, as I always do. But devoid of context, and swamped by its similarly cast-off neighbours, there was little sense of the amount of thought (well alright, procrastination) or the many hours of work that had gone into it. There was no sign at all of the carefully crafted story I'd written to go with it. A few people had 'liked' and reposted it, but mainly without comment. After all, there were hundreds more to get through.

And, much as I enjoy it, this is the flip side of Tumblr for me. Where once I scoured the web hoping to unearth an exciting new picture or two, Tumblr serves 'em up by the pound. It's impersonal, even cynical. It collects followers with the same ruthless efficiency as it does images, and typically doesn't really engage with any of them. And I think that's a shame.

Which brings me, in a roundabout way, to the real purpose of this post - inviting you to enjoy the very personal touch of some friends of mine who've recently opened their own spanking art blogs, if you haven't come across them already.

First up is OTTO, whose earlier work I knew from the now sadly inactive 'Over Her Knee' site. OTTO is a 3D computer artist: but post-production touch-up, along with expert use of light and shadow, gives his scenes a wonderful painterly look. He's no slouch, either - he's posting most days at the moment - and his work is always full of erotic intrigue.

Next is Banjo, who needs little introduction for anyone who's been collecting F/M artwork for a while. Recently back on the scene after a long hiatus, he was kind enough to email me and say I was one of his inspirations to start blogging again. Also working with 3D software, he produces delicious scenes of humiliation and punishment in largely domestic settings. He writes great stories too. Suffice to say, if you like what you see here then you'll also find much to enjoy there! Oh, he's prolific as well - kind of like Underling with a work ethic.

Very different in style,
RedRump produces hugely accomplished pictures - mainly pencil drawings, and many with a 1950s aesthetic. Indeed retro charm is the order of the day, with vintage photos and magazine scans supplementing his beautiful sketches of no-nonsense wives and hairbrushed husbands.

Each of these blogs is a refreshing antidote to your Tumblr hangover - with pictures in moderation, but warmth, wit and personality in spades.

What, you want to see these guys' work? Sadly, I promised myself way back when that everything I posted here would be self-made. So you'll just have to head on over to their sites, and don't forget to say hello while you're there. It's all about the personal touch!

One Hand Clapping

It occurred to me recently that I haven't dedicated much blog space to that purest and most traditional of physical punishments, the hand spanking.

I guess it's a severity thing - I don't like my guys to get off lightly - but then again an experienced lady can deliver plenty of sting without having to wield an implement. And that's before we factor in the added humiliation - the maternal overtones, and the oh-so-intimate contact of her punishing palm on your hot, bare bottom.

And while it's true that hand spanking is relatively hard on the hand, I imagine it brings its own warm afterglow for the spanker that's a nice souvenir of the discipline she's just dished out.

Yep, all things considered: hand spanking - what's not to like?

Half A Mil, Half A Mil, Half A Mil Onward...

A few days ago, Underling's Humblings received its five hundred thousandth page view since, well, whenever it was that Blogger started counting. While I don't expect Mark Zuckerberg to sit up and take notice any time soon, I'm sure my 'real life' friends would be impressed - if only they knew the site existed!

As it is, I'll just have to celebrate the occasion with you lot. ;) So thank you, sincerely, for all your visits through thick and thin (and I think the rate of posting lately probably qualifies as 'thin'!)

Here's to the next half mil. I'll do my best to earn them.

Another Country (Part One)

It was an uncomfortable ride in every sense: hot, and jarring, and filled with foreboding.

Emily was wearing the low-cut navy dress that Richard liked so much, and he absently watched his wife's full breasts swaying to the rhythm of their ancient taxi as it bounced along the rutted track that led to the hotel. Emily herself stared dismissively out of the dust-yellow window: but from the set of her jaw, Richard knew that she was barely keeping her temper in check.

As they neared their destination, his wife finally turned her elegant face towards his. "How dare you?" she demanded. "First that poor young girl at breakfast, and then twice at the market this afternoon."

"I'm sorry, Em," Richard replied unhappily.

Emily returned her gaze to the African grassland scrolling past outside. "You can save that for when I get you indoors."

Richard shifted in his seat, as if anticipating further discomfort, and tried a meaningful glance to remind her they were not alone. "Darling, please..."

There was an audible snort from the front seat, and in the rear view mirror the driver's eyes signalled his amusement. That devil, thought Richard bitterly. All the bloody same. Couldn't speak a word of English when we asked him about the fare, but oh, he's having fun at my expense now.

He glared at the back of the man's muscular brown neck as the vehicle found another pothole.

"Slow down." The driver ignored him. "Nciphisa ijubane, you idiot!"

The man broke into a grin, but kept his foot down.

At last the Victoria Hotel swung into view within its oasis of palms. Its grandeur had faded since its Empire heyday, but even so the three-story white stuccoed walls gleamed imposingly in the afternoon sun. Richard peeled one sweat-adhered arm from the cab's leather seat cover and fumbled for his wallet in the pocket of his slacks. The smirking driver took the offered notes with a mocking "Thank you, boss." He made no attempt to open the doors - but in any case Emily was already gone, striding purposefully across the gravel driveway.

In the hotel foyer, 19-year old Dupé stiffened slightly as the well dressed English couple appeared through the revolving door. She used the mirror she had been polishing to smooth the black skirt of her maid's uniform and straighten her white lace collar - and also to steal a glance at the foreign visitors.
They looked to have had some sort of argument, she thought, and that was not surprising. In the two weeks since their arrival she had grown to like the woman well enough - but the man was a pig who just that morning had publically shamed her over a small accident.

Her face grew hot at the memory of the spilled orange juice, the man's snarl and public scolding - and the words he had used when his wife had told him to calm down.

The woman was retrieving their room key from reception while her husband stood grim-faced behind her. A thought seemed to strike her as she turned away from the desk: "Oh, and do you have a large clothes brush I can use?"

"Certainly, madam," responded the receptionist brightly. "I'll have the maid bring one up to your room. Of course, if you would prefer, we do provide a full laundry and valet service."

This offer brought a smile and a shake of the head. "Thank you. Just the brush will do nicely."

Ten minutes later, Dupé was riding the hotel's clattering elevator to the top floor with the requested implement in her hands. Although happy to escape her cleaning duties for a few moments, the young maid was apprehensive. She did not want to have to speak to the man again.

She paused outside the door of room 306, turning the heavy hardwood brush over and over in her hands. It occurred to her that she could simply leave it outside, knock quietly and be gone: by the time anyone answered she could be taking the elevator back to the safety of the ground floor. As she bent down to lean the brush against the door frame, she heard the English woman's voice through the heavy oak panelling.

"...nt to hear from you right now is 'yes ma'am or 'no ma'am.' If we're to have a lesson in respect - and believe me, we are - then you can start with me."

The man's response was barely audible: perhaps he was in the bathroom.

After a furtive glance along the corridor, Dupé rested one ear lightly against the door and waited guiltily for the conversation to resume. When it did not, she straightened, took another deep breath and knocked.

After a few seconds, the door swung open and the pretty English woman stood backlit by the afternoon sun from the window. When she saw the heavy brush that the maid was cradling, she smiled broadly. "Special delivery, Richard!" she called over her shoulder.

Following her gaze, Dupé saw that the man was not in the bathroom after all. He was stood in the far corner of the room with his face to the wall, his hands were clasped behind his head, and he was quite, quite naked.