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.

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.

The Honest Truth...

...is that this is an emergency filler post, to avoid an ugly and accusing gap between May and July. I have been slack, haven't I?

It amazes me that I still get so many page views here when I don't post for weeks on end. So thank you, everyone, for continuing to stop by, and I promise things will pick up again.

I do actually have part two of 'Dinner And A Show' aaalmost ready to publish. So we'll be catching up with Jenny, Susan and the hapless Jeff in the next few days. I hope you'll find the new installment as deliciously squirmy to read as I did to write it!

Turning The Tables

I mentioned a while back that I'd like to try my hand at some work featuring female spankees.

Now F/M is of course my first love, and it's relatively easy to be successful in that field because there's not so much of it around. But I do also love to see or read about naughty young (and not so young) ladies getting their bottoms warmed, and I know from previous polls and comments that many of you do too.

Tempting as it is to post F/F and M/F pictures and stories here - if nothing else, I think it would increase the number of female visitors - I've always wanted to stay true to the original, male-subjugating ethos of Underling's Humblings.

So the obvious solution would be to run another blog alongside this one (listen to me, talking like I 'run' this one when I've barely managed to post once per month lately)!

Still, please let me know your thoughts. If you do want to see a sister site to this one where the fairer sex are on the receiving end, tell me what would make it worthwhile for you. I'm keen to do something a little different in an already busy space.

On the other hand if you think I'm already spreading myself too thin and should stick to what I know, tell me that too!

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.