Saturday, 31 March 2012

Road trip

Rather too long in the car today, which had me thinking. Things got pretty wild in the back of the family saloon when we were kids. And it drove my mother mad. 
On more than one occasion she told us in no uncertain terms that if we didn't stop arguing she'd stop the car, bend each of us over the bonnet and spank our bottoms right there at the side of the road. Pants down.
She often made threats that sounded pretty harsh, but they were never followed through. They made an impression on me however - and sprang to mind when I spotted across this very cheeky little picture a moment ago.

Friday, 30 March 2012

Friday fiction: Quality control

Stepping up into the train the fabric of her pencil skirt tightens across the full width of what is very nearly a perfectly-formed behind. Delphine feels the fabric tense and strain against her skin, still ultra-sensitive from yesterday's chastisement.
As the thought crosses her mind she feels a stitch break, then another and another. She hears it happen - a ripping noise that's like machinegun fire in miniature.
She darts a glance in both directions sure someone will have heard. But there's no-one that close and the busy station concourse is full of far bigger sounds.
“Bloody Nora,” she says under her breath. “That's tor it. Just can’t buy quality anywhere anymore.” Good lingerie is important to Delphine. She likes nice things, but it seems that manufacturers can't - or won't - cater for a girl with curves like hers.
She likes to wear something especially special for an important meeting like this one, so she’d chosen to put on something new that morning. Pale blue, so filmy you could read through them (should you care to) and decorated with teasing little bows.
Utterly charming, but perhaps not made for the stresses and strains that came with containing her bottom. Settling into a seat by the window she finds herself wondering what he will make of it; afterall, he is so very particular about standards. Turning up in ripped knickers is unlikely to go down well.

Thursday, 29 March 2012

Scales of justice?

It's great to see an old friend, isn't it? So, thanks to Tush Spanking for sending an old friend my way. This is one of those pictures that pop up from time to time, but I've no idea where I saw it first. Janus maybe?
Anyway, I like it for all sorts of reasons. The uniform has a very authentic English 1930s (I love the hat) and her stance suggests resignation - she knows what's about to happen is unavoidable, will be unpleasant and is, probably, deserved.
And I like that stuffed fish. It adds a weird touch to the whole thing. I find myself wondering why she's in a room with a stuffed fish. Perhaps it's the private study of some whiskery old guardian who is a dedicated angler - and devoted disciplinarian.

PS If anyone knows where I can see the rest of the set please do let me know.

Wednesday, 28 March 2012

Naughty + nice = perfect

Just back from spending a 'weekend' in a very upmarket hotel. The place was booked up at the weekend, so we opted for a couple of mid-week days instead - which paid off because the weather was marvellous.
This was one of those places where everything was about indulgence.  I'd decided to be on my best all-vanilla behaviour, but couldn't help feeling that the submerged spanko bit of my psyche was threatening to break through.
For some reason a long time back my persona got stuck in the no man's land between naughty and nice. Nice isn't really nice enough without a generous portion of naughty to go with it, however much I try.
When I get nice on it's own (neat, as it were, on the rocks, no mixer) I make the right noises and even halfway convince myself I'm enjoying it. But deep down I know I'm at risk of being bored.
I daydreamed my way through Religious Ed, so I'm on shaky ground here but did Eve take the apple, or was she given it as a gift? A stolen apple would have tasted much, much sweeter that a gifted one, wouldn't it?
Lovely hotel, perfect room, beautiful four-poster bed, all just about perfect. But it really needed to be the setting for a lovely little disobedience-punishment psycho drama.
Is there anyone out there undertaking a serious study of the concept of naughty? A naughty-ologist, as it were. If there is I'd love to read their findings and get a better understanding of why I can't find nice nice enough without just a pinch of naughty...

Tuesday, 27 March 2012

Recently punished...

"Just this morning, wasn't it?" She didn't answer. The nod of the downturned head was close to imperceptible. "I asked you a question. When did you last receive a punishment?"
"Today, miss," she said, her voice low, sulky, resentful.
"Don't take that tone with me, Wood."
"Sorry, miss."
Miss Birch lifted Wood's pleated, grey skirt and tugged the girl's navy knickers out and down. Her buttocks were a cheerful pink and blotched by the darker markings of the hairbrush spanking she had been given just after breakfast.
"Did it hurt?"
"Yes, miss"
"But not enough, clearly. You're punished for bad behaviour and then just four hours later I come across you running in the corridors. What should I deduce from that?"
Wood wasn't sure what 'deduce' meant. "I don't know miss."
"I do know, 'miss'. That you're a girl who's developed resistance to this particular form of medicine," Miss Birch said, letting the skirt fall back into place. She took a step across the room to a cupboard, opened its door and took out a cane, before turning back to face the girl.
"Stronger medicine is called for, don't you think?" Miss Birch said. Wood's answer was to whisper a "yes" that Miss Birch didn't quite hear, but that she wasn't that worried one way or another.

Sunday, 25 March 2012

Buns, and heat

How do you like your buns? Hot and crossed? Well, Britain has an Easter tradition that is just the thing for you. The hot crossed bun is something between a bread and a cake and it is served toasted and buttered in the run up to Easter.
And every year I get a childish kick out of the fact that someone, somewhere is going to ask me if I'd like one. Yesterday was a classic. We were at the school spring fair, an event that's organised by the ever-so-pleased-with-themselves ladies who run the Parent-Teacher Association.
I don't think they like me. It's either because I work or that I have a bit of an attitude, or both, but the smiles I get are very forced and there's not a lot of warmth behind the eyes.
So when the PTA chairperson thrust a plate at me and said "hot crossed buns...?" I could only just supress a fit of the giggles. How should I have answered? Maybe something like: "Well, yes,as it happes. Thanks for asking, but it's OK as long as I don't sit down..."

Saturday, 24 March 2012

Stripes, and bottoms

To my mind you have to have the perfect figure to get away with stripes, so personally I don't tend to wear them. But when I see them on others I can't help thinking about other sorts of stripes - and the implements with which they are created (cane, switch, belt etc).

Friday, 23 March 2012

Friday fiction: Letter home

Dearest Father
I do hope this finds you well. I really must insist that you arrange my return home as soon as possible. I do not wish to complain about Aunt Anne as I understand that she is your sister, but she has been very unkind to me since my arrival here. The thought of three more months in this old-fashioned backwater is simply too much to bear.
Aunt Anne seems to be at odds with me at every turn. In the days that I have been here I have made a number of suggestions about how she could improve her home to make it more in keeping with what is considered to be a la mode on the East Coast. To my exasperation she is disinclined to take my advice.
In the hope of coaxing a smile from her I have played for her. Her piano is really rather poor, but I explained that any fault in performance was due to the instrument and not my level of accomplishment.
I have even made a point of meeting as many of her friends and neighbours as I can, in the hope that this would please her. I think it my duty while I am here to enlighten local people. However, I have to say that their manner has been quite gruff and Aunt Ann appears to take their part rather than mine.
Anyway, I must cut this letter short as she has said she has something to discuss with me upstairs. She said something about 'old-fashioned methods', so it may be that she has seen sense about the drapes and wallpaper.
So, I must end here by requesting again that you forward a train ticket to me by return.
I remain, your loving daughter

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Leading man

I think I'm suffering from a crush, something that hasn't happened since Year 5. We went to see 'The Woman in Black' last night, which turned out to be suitably spooky though not quite as good as the stage play or Susan Hill's book.
But the sets, costumes and general feel of it all are fantastic. It's all so tight-laced and Edwardian - lots of highly-charged emotion that's only just being controlled.
Daniel Radcliffe is so good as the central character. He battles on manfully, but is so confused and vulnerable by it all. 
And he looks so good in the period costumes and is, frankly, really quite hot... He's certainly grown beyond Harry Potter.
In between the scary bits I found that the film was sometimes a little slow, and my mind wandered a bit. I found myself thinking how Eel Marsh House was the perfect setting for the very best sort of Victorian spanko drama - all dark corridors and small, confining rooms.
And what a great central character Daniel R would make in that spanking story. In 'A Week in the Country' I had the lead male be a spanker and a spankee - while enjoying neither role.
Daniel would be able to get the confusion and reluctance Charles Bunning feels as both top and bottom just right. Perhaps I should write a script and see if he'd be interested in a movie project.   

A wide world of spanking

"Den po versohlen!"  There, did that get your attention? Hello Germany, this is for you. Penelope over at Naughty Little Writer got me thinking about where the readers of this blog are with her post about the geography of spanking.
This modest little blog can't match her global reach, with visitors from as far afield as Kyrgyzstan, Mongolia, Peru and the Philippines. But if Blogger's right there's a whole world of kink out there and Another Country is a small part of it.
No surprise, of course, that if you write about the Vice Anglais in English that the majority of my readers are from English-speaking nations. The US and UK and in first and second place.
But I find it fascinating that third from the top of my list of audience location is Germany. Why is is that so many Germans are visiting a spanko blog - far ahead of other European nations?
I'd be interested to know. But whatever the reason, welcome. And thanks to Chross for that phrase, it apparently means 'spank your butt'.

Monday, 19 March 2012

Thought for the day - 'Spanking saves lives'

Well, actually not so much a thought as the name of a photoblog that I've just come across (and don't tell SO that I'm surfing when I should be working). Interesting pictures, if you're not put off by one or two out of place ones of an older man in a state of some excitement.
But it's not that the pictures really do much for me. They're an OK mixture of this and that, although I did spot this Roger Benson that I don't think I've seen before. A new-to-you Benson is always a plus.
But I really love the statement the title makes. Does spanking save lives? Discuss. Personally I've had the feeling from time to time that I'd die if I didn't get one, but to date I haven't (yet).

Good marks for bad behaviour

I've waited days for the reckoning. I knew I was in trouble, but figured this morning that Significant Other had possibly forgotten.
Of course not. Kind One is away and the school bus had taken Kid Two away and I was making tea and playing it cool. I may hanker after a spanking 24-7, but when a serious one is in the offing I find that I become very reluctant indeed.
SO was in the bedroom when I passed the door and I heard a stern voice say: "Isn't there something that we need to discuss?" My offence was that I'd been caught in bed at 9am last week with a laptop that was buzzing with some of Spankingtube's hotter hits.
Anyway, to cut a long story short SO takes a dim view of this sort of thing (I blame an overly religious upbringing) so I knew I was in for something that was more serious discipline, than boudoir games. I was sent to collect SO's favourite implement of the moment, a wooden spoon.
Now I know that people think of the wooden spoon as a fairly mild thing, but the one in question is a fearsome implement. I think it's made of denser, heavier wood than is usually used for kitchenware because it packs a surprisingly mighty sting.
Which means I'm now sitting on a very sore bottom. That damn spoon marks like the dickens, leaving little doughnuts of purply-red that take a day or two to fade.
It's an experience that takes me up to the edge of what I can tolerate. Over the knee wasn't too bad, but the ones I got over the end of the bed had me bucking and pitching - and considering using that safe word.
It does make me think about marks and tolerance. This morning's spoon spanking has left me feeling it, but modestly marked by the standards of some of the pictures I see. 
Like this - I don't want to alarm the more sensitive, so here's the link and if you're ready for it take a look. Would I be brave enough to take a punishment like this one? Or like lots of others on Hardhands site? I don't think so, but then in a way I'd like to test myself.

PS Rugby is a big deal in our household. Especially this weekend - Wales won the Six Nations tournament, beating each of the other sides. Interestingly the Six Nations side that comes last gets a booby prize that's called the Wooden Spoon. There's even a rugby charity called Wooden Spoon. As far as I can tell the tradition goes back to the days when Cambridge University gave its lowest scoring student a Wooden Spoon - presumably some implied reference to bottom-smacking?

Sunday, 18 March 2012

Comprehensively covered

That's it my girl, now you're going to get a 'very comprehensive carpet-beater spanking'!!! Googler, if you're out there I love your turn of phrase.
A read through the search terms that bring people to this blog is always a treat - it never fails to make me laugh - and today's top phrase is 'very comprehensive carpet-beater spanking'. Now I've had brisk spankings, severe spankings and even merciless spankings, but I don't tend to think of a spanking as comprehensive.
Comprehensive insurance, yes. Comprehensive education, up to a point (I went to what was called a comprehensive school and the education was, to my mind, patchy). But comprehensive spanking? It's an interesting thought and one that will stay with me through my day.  

Friday, 16 March 2012

Friday fiction

“And we’ll have these down.” Neatly-manicured fingers slip under the waistband of his underpants, which are tight and very white. The cloth clings to well-muscled, athlete’s buttocks like a second skin. So tight that it takes a tug or two to get them down far enough to bare his pale cheeks just the way she wants them.
“I’m very disappointed with you, Coleman. Very disappointed. You’ve been a very disobedient young man this term, haven’t you? I’ve given you chance after chance, haven’t I?” There’s a pause, which he knows means the question is one that she expects him to answer. Most of her questions are meant to answer themselves, but this last one is clearly one of the ones that isn’t. An answer is expected.
It’s a dilemma. If he doesn’t come up with one quickly he will be even deeper in trouble than he already is. But he’s a little preoccupied with the weird feeling of hyper-sensitivity that he’s been experiencing since he entered the room.
His over-stimulated nervous system is focussed almost entirely on his butt. In a normal day how often are you aware of your behind? It’s just there isn’t it, usually between you and whatever you are sitting on?
Not just now though. At this precise moment Jay time is in go-slow and every nerve ending in his butt cheeks vibrates with anticipation about what is about to happen.
From the moment she took the strap out of the desk drawer the air has seemed electric. In the slight chill of the room the surface of his lily-white bottom and sun-browned thighs have turned to goosebumps.
He has to say something. The Vice-Principal (Pastoral) is waiting for something, but the best he can do is to mumble: “I don’t know... I guess I’m sorry...”
The fact that his face is pressed into the polished teak surface of the desk top doesn’t help. “Speak up young man, I can’t hear you,” Mrs Flood says. Her voice is cool, steely edged and rather husky.
“I’m sorry...” he says again, lifting his face a little to free a little more sound. Almost too much.
“No need to shout,” she answers sardonically. “Save your voice for later. You have had your chances, but still you’re disobedient. So I think it’s time for a long-overdue punishment...”
Jay screws his eyes shut and holds his breath waiting for the swish-crack of the punishment strap. But it doesn’t arrive and after four or five seconds he opens his eyes again to see that Mrs F has crossed to the far side of the room.
She’s standing by the window looking out and running the dark, aged strap slowly through her fingers as though she’s testing its weight. Looking over surrounding roofs to a quiet road – it is Sunday morning – and to rolling countryside beyond she is counting slowly to ten in her head. Anticipation is all part of the experience, she feels, and so he should wait just a little longer.

Caught in the act

The sound of the school bus accelerating away down the road meant that everyone had finally gone to where they had to go - and I had the house to myself. The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off and I had work to get on with too, but I decided to take the laptop off to bed for half and hour's spanko surfing time.
But Significant Other drove for half an hour and then turned around. The day wasn't going to happen without credit cards or cash.
That meant that SO walked back into the house to find my half hour had become a whole hour and me and my laptop were still in bed.What should happen next?
You can, I'm sure, imagine a scene of your own. Mine has shock, a scolding and then a very severe punishment - not unlike the video clip I had watching at the time actually. Bare, hot butt suffering under a big, heavy belt.
In fact, what happened was that SO found cards and cash and went straight back to the car cursing. But the postscript to the little happening is that I'm now sentenced and awaiting punishment.
Apparently, next time we have the house to ourselves we're going to "discuss" my behaviour and cornertime has been mentioned. Anticipation is a marvellous thing.

Wednesday, 14 March 2012

Dressing for the day

When you're workng from home it's easy to let standards slip. You get up, put on a dressing gown and then end up while time away drinking coffee and surfing interesting image blogs.
And then it's way past the time when work should have started and you're still sitting around half dressed. I think I need a clear set of rules - and someone strict to see that they're observed.

Tuesday, 13 March 2012

Down the aisle

I thoroughly approve of the US tradition of the birthday spanking, but it seems to me that other significant dates need marking in a similar way. And I use the word marking  advisably.
Tomorrow is my, sorry our, wedding anniversary. I won't say which anniversary it is (I'm of a generation that doesn't encourage too much accuracy when it comes to age and birthdays), but there's a clue in the fact that I'm expecting china presents. Made of china that is, not necessarily made in China.
When we tied the knot the word 'obey' had been dropped from the vows, sadly. I'd have preferred that it hadn't as hearing that word being used in a church in front of so many people would have been a bit of a thrill.
I've no truck for any of that surrendered stuff, but I always rather liked the obedience thing that goes with the marriage tradition. Just living together would have been a bit flat by comparison.
And from a quick image search I reckon the kinky frisson that comes with the words love, honour and obey is understood by lots of people.They may not know it, but on some sub-conscious level they're hearing the words: 'You may now spank the bride...'
Is this the spanko majority getting a little overheated, or is there something in the tradition of the marriage ceremony that awakes the sleeping spanko in vanilla folk?

Monday, 12 March 2012

How's your SQ today?*

*SQ, Spanko Quotient, a measure of an individual's degree of interest in all aspects of activity and imagery relating to corporal punishment fetish.

Over time I come to realise that my spanking mojo - I like to think of it as SQ - isn't a constant. It goes up and down like a yo-yo or should that be in and out like the tide?
Just lately my SQ has been quite low and I'm not sure why, possibly because I've had a virus that I can't shake off. It's something distinct from libido, because that can still be there when SQ isn't.
Certainly when I'm properly ill SQ hits the floor and I start to see the world as it is, without the usual spanko-tinted specs. I find it hard to recognise the bratty, strung-out person I am when it's at the other end of the scale and I'm just a little ashamed of what I sometimes put Significant Other through.
But if I'm a bit saner, I also feel a bit duller. It's like everything's gone from technicolour to shades of grey. The fun goes out of life when that feeling of naughtiness isn't there - and the need for regular attitude adjustment.
So, what I'm interested in knowing is am I alone. Am I alone in the having SQ ups and downs, or are your spanko feelings a constant thing? Don't be shy, please do comment - or at least vote in the poll on the right.

Sunday, 11 March 2012

Thoughts on being out late

What did I tell you? Sorry. That's not what I asked. What. Did. I. Tell. You. Ten o'clock. Yes, ten. And what time is it now? Quarter to eleven, but I can explain... I don't want to hear explanations, I want you in position. NOW.

Saturday, 10 March 2012

Easy like Sunday morning (not)

The best laid plans of mice and men... You have to plot your way ahead in this house if you're to have any chance of getting what you want. Or need.
So it was all looking good for Sunday morning. Significant Other isn't working (for once in what seems like weeks), youngest is at her best friend's and oldest is 20 miles away spending a weekend in the boyfriend's flat. Perfect.
So I've spent quite some time today thinking over what's going to happen tomorrow morning. And then the phone rang. Oldest has decided she doesn't want to stay a second night in the flat and is instead coming home - but has missed the bus.
That means I'm now on taxi duty and my breakfast (and extras) in bed isn't going to be the noisy, no-holds-barred event that I've been working towards for days. Damn.
PS The picture is from the classic 1960 British film 'Saturday Night and Sunday Morning'. Albert Finney is so good in it - must find the DVD and watch it again.

Friday, 9 March 2012

Le vent fripon

You learn so much through the blogosphere, don't you. My minimal French is coming on in leaps and bound thanks to French spanko bloggers, like Olivier at excellent Desseins Coquins.
All those years ago when my teacher was droning on about la plume de ma tante. my uncle's bureau and the rest it didn't really capture my imagination. But the challenge of trying to get to grips with Desseins Coquins is really expanding my horizons.
Of course, I also have Google Translate - which helps. Olivier drops in with a nice comment and I can instantly translate it. So, I think I know that le vent fripon means to cheat the wind.
Or it does if you run the phrase through Google Translate. If you run it through Google Image it seems to mean something like this.

Thursday, 8 March 2012

Sorting out granny?

Or even, sorting out society's ills? Then spank grandma. Well, it's an interesting proposition and it made me laugh. A great post over at Hermoine's Heart gave me a giggle this morning, and has been food for thought as I've been working.
Do take a look yourself, but the gist of it is that she found a novelty notice when shopping that said: There would be fewer spoiled children if you could spank the grandparents.
I'm not there yet (grandparenthood), but I'm old enough. I have friends who are, glamorous grannies who might benefit from a visit to Lapland.
Maybe some already visit for all I know. It's a fact that on the whole they are much more permissive about how they deal with their grandchildren than they were with their children.
My own mother has taken a similar tack over the years to the point of being a subversive element. When we've said no to something she's taken the first opportunity to bend or break that rule. What particulary bugs me about it is that she was so strict with her own kids.
Anyway, I think I'm getting a bit too serious and ranty so I'll wind it up here. More work, and more time enjoying the thought of my granny friends getting the attitude adjustment that they deserve...  

Wednesday, 7 March 2012

Pick of the Month: Fur and feminism

I've become totally addicted to image blogs over the last six months. It can be a serious time-eater, but I love the way that you get an insight into the blogger's mind as an archive of images builds up over time.
My current fave is the excellent A Libertine's Spanking, whose creator's statement of intent is: 'I'm a woman. I'm a feminist. I love to be spanked.' Which sounds to me to be the very best place to be.
And the mixture of images seems to match that declaration. All of life's essentials are there - lots of desirable bottoms, beautiful lingerie, generous portions of CP, some weird stuff - and cute puppies. I recommend a visit. 

Tuesday, 6 March 2012

Word of advice

A momentary wardrobe malfunction meant that professional tabloid persona Imogen Thomas flashed rather a lot of flesh it seems. Now Ms Thomas is a serial flesh flasher, but this incident appears to have been accidental.
She seems generally to be a young lady who could benefit from some advice (and perhaps a spanking or two), so I'll pitch in. Buy big pants - and wear them. The G-string is a garment that deserves to be consigned to the undies drawer of history.

Monday, 5 March 2012

Mary Lou en Français

Regrets, I have more than a few... And one among many is that I didn't work very hard at French during my formative years.
Somebody needed to take a much firmer line over my "could try harder" end-of-term reports from Madame Foster. Maybe if Madame F had made it a little clearer... must spank harder... then I may have attained better exam grades.
Anyway, that's a long way of getting to the fact that I'm now so frustrated by my excursions into the work of French-speaking bloggers. I can enjoy the pictures, but the words mostly baffle me.
So, I can't tell you what the excellent Desseins Coquins says about Stanton, but I can recommend the pictures. Not Mary Lou Burnem this time, but some drawings that are equally as good.
Running the text through Google Translate only tells you so much - apparently "his penicl is very special, powerful".
But as I say, the images are interesting. I particularly like the Susan drawings - penultimate one and the two before it. In my mind's eye that's me and I'm learning the consequences of doing badly in my leçon de français.

Making a spectacle

I wear glasses. Do they make me look brainy? Do I look a bit dim without them?  I'm not sure.  Sarah Palin clearly thinks that people take you more seriously if you wear specs.
I have different pairs to suit different circumstances and contacts for when I want to go naked (as it were). But no matter which frame shape I'm wearing I'm aware of being typecast. 
Glasses = authority figure. Or so it seems.
And, of course, if I let my glasses slip down my nose a little and look over the frame I instantly become the authority figure. Strict, no nonsense, possibly a bit of a disciplinarian.
I'm a sucker for it when it's done to me (the over-the-frame look makes me go weak at the knees). But it's also a neat trick to be able to do - and one that isn't available to you bare-faced folk.

Sunday, 4 March 2012

Scotland's gift to the world?

Who wouldn't feel the need to lift a naughty little tartan skirt and apply at least one firm spank? I suspect even the vanilla-erest vanilla would derive some pleasure from doing so.
Someone arrived at this blog a day or two ago via the admirably straightforward search 'tartan + spank'. And why not? There's definitley some natural linkage between the two.
But I think there's a bit of a attitudinal split between how North America thinks about tartan in this context and how us Brits do. I'm no expert on US culture (never been farther west than Donegal as it happens), but from what I've seen the short tartan skirt is an essential part of the schoolgirl uniform in the US of A. Or at least of the popular school uniform fantasy.
Britney Spears added fuel to the fire, of course. So, for example, if you go looking for a schoolie outfit at UK online store Ann Summers you find something that's at lot more to do with hitting Britney one more time than St Trinian's. The Spanking Art Wiki article on the subject says tartan has been fetishised just about everywhere. Proximity to Scotland isn't an issue, this is a connection that works as well in Japan as it does in the US. Tartan's links with strict school discipline mean that it switches on a naughty little lightbulb thought in the minds of those who are receptive to those thoughts. But it doesn't quite work for me. Yes, a tartan mini is cute but here school uniform skirts should austere, plain and grey.
To my way of thinking tartan is more about men's kilts and the British army, which has a long traditions of fighting men in what really amounts to a skirt. And there's the question of what they wear underneath.
If you can believe what you're told (and I have no first-hand experience here) it's supposed to be nothing. Bottoms and the rest are supposed to go bare under a kilt.
Which I've always thought left the wearer at a disadvantage. For a start, it's never that warm in Scotland and often breezy.
But also, isn't a young man wearing a kilt and nothing else is in a very vulnerable situation when around a tawse and someone strict?. Scotland seems to have a very sound tradition of no-nonsense discipline and perhaps that's what the no underwear rule was about - making sure the disciplinarian always had easy access when there was punishment to dish out.

Icy chill

Winter's back here today. Step out of the house and the windchill gets you, although it has been chillier indoors than out.
Significant Other and I started yesterday with a row and for the last 24 hours have been in Cold War mode. There's been minimal conversation and the constant threat of further hostilities.
What makes it worse is that SO has just gone off to work and I now regret having not made the first move to end the row. It will go on for at least until late tonight and probably longer.
And the worst of it is that I know I'm being unreasonable. If I'm honest with myself the argument started out because of my unreasonable attitude and a stupid over-reaction. 
Sub-conscious bratting was at the heart of it, I fear. It has been a while and my inner spanko needs to be given a serious warming-up.
And because that's not going to happen with the kids around I get more and more unreasonable.
The trouble I get myself into... 

Saturday, 3 March 2012

Lines, what a pain

No corporal punishment in my school, but we did have teachers who were happy to talk about the good old days when bottoms weren't safe from the slipper and the cane. At least one seemed to have a far-away look in her eye when she got onto the subject.
No cane, but we did have detention and that meant having to write lines and/or pointless essays. Tedious.
Sitting there feeling a blister forming on your pen finger, it seemed like time was stuck in slow-mo. My thinking was, how much worse could it be to have your bum whacked? Did anybody else in that detention room have the same thought, I wonder.
I'd read about school CP. Read and re-read all the references I could find and was fascinated by it, so the thought of a lines on my behind instead of writing lines was compelling.
But what about the rest of them in those detention sessions? Back then I'd have said I was the only 'pervert' in that room, but if the stats are right then there was probably at least one other person who - given the choice - would have put a hand up for the short, sharp shock over boring, old lines.

Friday, 2 March 2012

(Spanko) Thought of the Day

OK. Yes, you want a spanking. You're feeling a bit neglected. You want to make things happen and once you've made your mind up you like to get your own way... But sometime it can be a mistake to make the bratting too obvious.