No use crying over spilt milk

Is this just an English English idiom, or is it used in other parts of the English-speaking world? This milk is definitely spilt - and spoiled - and there's nothing that can be done to put that right. Accidents do happen, don't they?

But I reckon Mid-West Mom doesn't see it that way and little Miss Mid-West isn't going to sitting comfortably on that milking stool any time soon. I love this illustration and have seen it here and there over the years, but don't know where it's from or who the artist is. Can anyone help?

Fair shares

I'm a firm believer in Equality, with a capital E. So how can I sit quietly (though not comfortably) and let inequality go unchallenged?

I earned myself a short, sharp little spanking today. Over the knee, bot bared and attended too with the clothesbrush that we call 'Aunty Fanny'.

But surveying the damage at bathtime right cheek has taken all the punishment, while left cheek has got off scot free, I'd say both are just as naughty, so how can it be fair if one gets all the attention?

And I'm not one to complain, but it was all a bit high. To my mind the sit-spot is where it should all happen.

Secret Spanko touched on this issue recently, saying he liked a nice uniform shade of pink, all over - "the sides, the top, down the thighs just a little bit, in the crease, even some fire crackers too".

Which leaves me with the problem of how can I nudge SO in the right direction? I don't like to be bossy, but can't abide to see a job half done.

Monday moment: Old friend

Sorry, I've not been keeping Another Country frisky and fresh just lately. Not good enough, D minus, see me at the end of the lesson...

The problem is, the weather here has been so, so good that we've been living the outdoor life to the full. It's hard to break off halfway through a beach BBQ to do a bit of blogging.

Anyway, a quick find to share. Or rediscovery. I was thinking about spanking fiction that I like the other day and found myself going back a decade or so to when there was a fab story site that was called Laura's something or other.

Laura's Spanking Corner? That was it, and a quick google led me to it. Amazingly, there it is - still up in cyberspace after all this time.

There is some classic writing. I'm now going to spend some time catching up with old friends, starting with the series about Kate, 1950s store-owner and traditional disciplinarian. I love the characters and the situation - it's all so Benson (hence the pic).

Travel section

Bed, breakfast - and a bare bottom spanking? Maybe a red behind on room service. Or perhaps turned over the bed instead of turning down the bed?

I was looking for somewhere to stay for a planned business trip and for some reason this place caught my eye. Bit off the route I was planning, but perhaps I should check it out. Although I'm sure my imagined stay is far more interesting than a visit would be in reality... 

On the beat

"It's coming along at a spanking pace," he said. I have to say that stopped me in my tracks. It was a response to an innocent question (over the phone, from me) to a colleague.

I was asking about how a commissioned article was coming along. For a moment I was thrown and wondered if there was some sort of sub-text.

But then I realised that 'a spanking pace' is an every day turn of phrase for anyone other than a spanko. If we'd been face-to-face I suspect I'd have blushed and, I suspect, given the game away.

Luckily we weren't, so my cover isn't blown - or so I hope. But it has made me wonder what a spanking pace might be.

It's all a question of tempo, isn't it? Personally, I need a brisk tempo. A larghissimo (very, very slow at 20 bpm and below) wouldn't do at all, but andante (at a walking pace, 76–108 bpm) might be a little too fast.

Given the choice I think I'd opt for adagietto (rather slow 70–80 bpm) building to a climatic finish at allegro. Apparently that's fast, quickly and bright, 120–168 bpm. Perhaps I should buy SO a metronome. Or would that be topping from the bottom.

Monday moment: Innocence

Innocent as in kink-free, that is. This image makes me smile - and feel a bit squirmy too. I happened on it the other day and, of course, read it as a spanking-related fantasy.

It does it in a way that lots of vanilla people will be totally unaware of, I think. It was taken by a photographer called Jeanloup Sieff (1933-2000) and I went looking for more info about him and his work.But on googling for Sieff I began to think that maybe I'd misunderstood the composition.

Did my spanko-sensibility twist it into something it wasn't. Chross certainly thinks so, saying: "I am rather certain it is not meant to have a kinky undertone; it's just 'normal' erotic photography, quite beautifully composed. Still, I can't help thinking of spanking whenever I look at it..."

If Sieff wasn't trying to conjure up something that would thrill us spankophiles I'd be surprised. Looking further I hit on Valdor at The Spank Statement, who says of Sieff: 'As he grew older, he increasingly concentrated on nudes. 1998 saw the publication of his book Derrieres – “an ode to the bottom – a photographic tribute to 93 behinds – in all their apple-cheeked glory.”'

Take a look at his work for yourself and make your own mind up - if nothing else, it's will boost your Monday mood. Personally, I'm convinced that Mr Sieff was one of ours; I like to imagine him in his studio and peering into his camera as he worked but with thoughts of post-shoot smacking on his mind...

Book Club: Saddled Up

'Some girls need to be spanked.' Can't argue with that, can I? 'I need to be spanked anyway, not often, but just occasionally.'

And I'm not going to argue with that either, although sometimes it's a bit too occasional from where I'm sitting. With those opening couple of sentences 'Saddled Up' had me gripped, because it could have been me speaking.

And reading on I felt a real connection with the the novel's 'leading lady' Amber Oakley. Later she says 'All my life I've fought against that need, but never managed to conquer it', and again I know where she's at.

Mind you, what follows doesn't seem to involve much fighting against that need and a fair bit of giving in to it it.

I'd say 'Saddled Up' is my spanko fiction find of the year and deserves a Book Club post. The writing tag team of Penny Birch and Miranda Forbes have created a great cast of weird and wonderful characters and put them into a contemporary British setting that I could recognise and feel at home with. 

Their story has lots of humour, but when it gets to the spanky bits it was, for me, seriously sexy. Of course, the horse-riding aspect of Amber's life is the thing that caught my eye, although her interest in equitation goes beyond the normal confines of jodhpurs, bits and bridles and takes in ponygirl play too.

Actually, I suspect bits and bridles are involved in the ponygirl thing too, especially naughty bits. But I digress, personally my horsey interest is of purely vanilla, so the pony stuff left me a bit cold. 

'Saddled Up' touches on one or two non-spank kinks along the way and that does mean that it has a bit of a Quality Street problem. You know, your tin of sweets has plenty to love - but inevitably there's something in there that just isn't your thing at all.

Unavoidable, I suppose, if you're not creating something that is strictly for the spanko community. It does raise a question: how narrowly niche should an erotic novel be? .

For all of that, when 'Saddled Up' was in spanko country it did have lots and lots that I found very sweet indeed. It's one of a series of novels that feature Ms Oakley and I'm going to look out the others - I feel like Amber and I are on the same wavelength.

It don't mean a thing...

...if it ain't got that sting. I'm not very good on physics. I just didn't bother to listen in class. A generation or two earlier I'd have been obliged to listen - or take a caning.

But that wasn't on the cards for me, so I didn't listen. So I failed my exam and I still don't understand much. If I had I'd be able to answer my 'spanked on a swing' conundrum.

I'm swinging backwards and at the very same moment a palm, or some other spanking implement, is swinging forward. When one and the other collide do butt and implement meet up with twice the force?

It's occured to me when I am on a swing - as I was this morning - that my bottom sticks out in a rather inviting way. Does that sound conceited? Sorry, but I'm pretty sure that inviting is the word.

 If I could clone myself (I wasn't bad at Biology - I got a B) then the me watching would feel an over-powering urge to whack the rrather cruvy, big behind of the me on the swing as it hurtled back towards me. Too tempting.

 And that swing-assisted spank would smart a great deal more than just a regular, everyday one, wouldn't it?If there's an ologist out there I'd be grateful for a definitve answer.

Sadly, I can't think of a way of experimenting with the forces involved. It has to be some sort of offence for adults to play spanking games on a public park's children's play equipment, hasn't it? And we don't have a tree in the garden big enough to hang a swing on. So it will have to remain a bit fantasy, a bit physics problem.

I told you girls...

...not to get yourselves dirty! Now wash up, and then fetch me the slipper.

But sometimes a girl can't help herself, can she? I should be busy writing today, but couldn't help but give myself a quick kink break to explore what's new at the ever interesing (and really rather dirty) Schund & Schmutz.

Monday moment: Discovery

A new service to you, dear reader. Monday is a day that's all about real life, isn't it? Back to work, to school, to whatever. So I'd say there's a crying need for something that makes you smile.

Today's reason to be cheerful is an image blog I happened upon over the weekend that's called Your Mother's Porn. Not sure if I'm entirely comfortable with the mental connection that the title puts into my mind between porn and my dear old Mum, but as she'd say: "You'd better get over that, dear."
What it does do is make me feel a bit nostalgic for times before I was even born. Through the distorting lens of their porn, the 1960s and 1950s look like a total giggle. Oh, and there's a fair bit of spanko stuff in there too...

Saturday chores

Significant Other is out of town and has left me with a list of gardening chores to attend to. There's lots to do - the weather has been so bad for weeks that things have been neglected.

As I've been working I've been rather enjoying playing with the idea of 'punishment chores'. I'm  out cutting, sweeping and clearing becuase my attitude has been sub-standard all week.

And I'm caught sitting down on the job (blogging, as it happens), with little of my chore 'to do' list completed. So, what would be an appropriate punishment? Has to involve a slim, green whippy switch putting welts all over a bare, fair and pear-shaped bottom, hasn't it?

Friday fiction: Rose red

One of the things Rose liked the most about gardening was how it gave her time to think. That morning, on the sunny south side of the rose garden, she had plenty of time to get her head around what was important. As ever, that was the usual big issue - her bum.

They had rather a difficult relationship, Rose and her bottom. A love/hate thing. First of all there was its shape. She spent lots of time in front of mirrors and she was sure that it stuck out more than other girl’s bottoms did.

It’s hard to be entirely objective about these things. Bottoms are not well placed to be viewed by their owners. She knew that the act of looking over a shoulder changed the shape of the behind you’re trying to view.

She twisted, she turned, she arched her back. She used a hand mirror to get an extra dimension, but the angles were never quite right.

But when she looked at her shadow or shop window reflection she was almost certain; there was a sticky-outy thing going on. It wasn’t that it was a big bottom because she was mostly rather slim, what it was, was prominent.

She’d asked friends, but mostly they just laughed. Becky, her lesby friend at uni, had very strong feelings on the subject. She insisted that Rose’s bottom was so near perfect that it was almost too much for her to bear. Or did she mean to bare?

Rose preferred not to be reminded of her and Becki’s drunken romps. If she thought about them too much she got distinctly damp. Better to get her thoughts out of that particular furrow, she warned herself.

Back to her backside. Whatever anybody else said Rose was more than a little conscious of her cheeky, round apple-crisp behind and show-offy prominence.

And it was also an issue at work. Not that a girl could let her backside decide her career choice for her. That would be like the tail wagging the dog, wouldn’t it? But it had to be said that horticulture was a problem for a girl with a problem bottom.

It was an unavoidable fact that gardening involves a lot of bending what with all the weeding, hoeing, raking and mowing . And you spent a fair bit of time on your hands and knees, with your butt cheeks thrust out.

That might be a problem for any girl, but it was a real headache for a slim girl with a big girl’s bottom. She often caught colleagues looking. She’d be on her knees firming in seedlings then look around to find one of her workmates looking at her. Or at least at the tightly-stretched seat of her tough, but unflattering, work jeans.

So, issue one was her bum’s shape. Issue two was its naughtiness. Can a bottom be ‘naughty’? Rose felt that it could. On a logical level she could see that sex and love were wonderful things to be celebrated fully in a healthy, natural way, but she and her sub-conscious were at odds on the issue.

Sub-conscious Rose thought about sex 24-7. Not just any sort of sex either, but dirty, kinky, wicked sex. In her world view what went on was a struggle between brain and bottom; brain thought good, intellectual thoughts, while bottom was fixated on sucking, licking, kissing, fucking, peeing – and smacking.

Rose’s bottom courted attention. It stuck out in a brazen, look-at-me way. It wiggled and it jiggled. It defied her and her brain was certain that what that bottom needed was to be well and truly reddened. 

I was on a train yesterday and found myself thinking about gardening and spanking, mostly thanks to Hermoine's great Wellred Weekly article I think. I love gardening, I love spanking, so why not put them together. And this idea came into my head. I'd like to take it further - perhaps it could become a short story? Although I'm not sure what should happen next.

How boring is that...?

How come she's so uninterested in the fix she's got herself into? Panties down and the cane's there ready for use but she looks like she's totally bored by the proceedings.

Maybe it's a different take on cornertime. Instead of an hour in the corner waiting for your whacking you get an hour bent and ready - and cornertime can be seriously tedious.

Or perhaps she's a repeat offender, such a Punishment Room veteran that she's just not bothered anymore. Sort of "see if I care". Familiarity breeds contempt, I suppose.

Whatever it's about, it's a great drawing - I'd love to see more of this artist's work. Anywhere know who its by? Thanks to the first-rate Spanking Art for posting it for us all to enjoy.

Picture perfect

What makes the perfect spanking picture? Difficult to say, isn't it? Everybody's equation of perfection would be different, I'm sure.

In my real world job I get to work quite a bit with photographers, so I take an interest in what is - and isn't - a good image in an editorial context. A friend sent me an online lecture by the photo director for National Geographic, who's called David Griffin.

I've just been watching it - it's worth a look if you're interested. He's got an interesting insight. And he uses funny examples, which helps make the point.

Everyone has a great photo in them, he says. But a great photographer has to have great photos to deliver time and again. 

What Griffin says is that although we're bombarded every day with moving images, the still image still has the power to make a connection at an emotional level - if it's really exceptional. It's like the mental image you have after a car crash, that frozen flashbulb moment that encapsulates all the emotional power of the experience.Anyway, it got me thinking about how there's now a deluge of spanko images coming at us where once there was so little. Old Janus and Februs images are remembered like old friends, now nothing much stands out. 

For me David Griffin's flashbulb moment seems to apply to what I see in the spankosphere to some degree. Stills register, video mostly doesn't and it's the still images where I can find my way into the emotion - the ones where I'm sitting in that car that's heading for a collision.I like this picture because I feel like I'm sharing her apprehension, like its me that's going to feel that nasty big paddle. It makes me want to ask questions like what was it that she did that was so very bad?

But there's not so much good stuff around, is there? Maybe that's why I'm so much in love with spanko art. With so many photos out there it's harder and harder for something to leap out at you, but a great piece of art - a Stanton, a Malteste, a Jim Black or whatever - nearly always makes the connection.

Swing that paddle

Boy, do I ache all over this morning from yesterday's paddling. It has been such a long time and, given the break, I think we went way further than was really sensible...

Yes, I know, you've guessed that I'm not talking about THAT sort of paddling. I'm talking about kayaking, or paddle sport as practitioners tend to call it.

I wonder how much cross-over there is between the kayak brigade and those of us with an interest in bottom-paddling? There must be a bit, we spankos have got to be everywhere haven't we?

So, I'm possibly not alone in encountering what I think of as the beach startle. When I'm stood there in my wetsuit trying to supress a smirk while a conversation about paddle design, paddle use and the joys of paddling happens around me.

Yesterday was a club outing, one of the first of the season, and the gear-addicts were showing off their latest purchases. As a result I spent quite a long time in grin-suppression mode while two of the club elders argued the pros and cons of their new paddles.

A and B looked like they might come to blows because A wouldn't accept B's suggestion that his new £300 carbon fibre paddle wasn't the best thing since sliced bread. Lighter means less strain on the shoulders, apparently.

From my p.o.v lighter generally makes for disappointment, when it comes to 'that' sort of paddle anyway. I think you need something with a bit more weight in it to really make the point.

Anyway, it was good to get out onto the water, the sea was kind and the company was good (and, unintentionally, very funny). The only downsides from the day were that my wetsuit seems to have shrunk and that I've gone a bit soft over the winter - today all my back and shoulders muscles really ache.

Lots of good news then, hopefully the muscles will all tone up with use and, with a bit of work, I'll fit into the wetsuit again soon. Plus SO has promised a thorough massage later - can't be bad.

Bathroom sweet

It was a responsibility that fell to her. She wasn't happy about that, but that didn't mean that she didn't make the best job of it that she could.

Discipline was a very serious matter. It wasn't just about making sure that a girl was properly punished for her misbehaviour, it was also about the deterrent effect.

Of course, a damned good hiding acted as a deterrent for the girl punished. But it also provided a deterrent for her fellows too - they heard the strokes and the cries, saw the tears and, often, the girl's marked bottom as well.

That's why she liked to deal with naughty girls in the bathroom, door locked. Turning the key and putting it into a pocket made the point that what was to follow was inescapable.

And, the hard, reflective surfaces seemed to magnify the sounds. Making it impossible for anyone anywhere else in the building to be unaware that a disobedient girl was getting her just desserts...

I'm spending the day painting the bathroom today. A pretty shade of blue, rather than the French rose pink I'd been hoping for. It's funny how your mind wanders when you're doing something as dull and repetitive as painting, isn't it?

Job done, Benson style

I know that there are lots of other Benson fans out there (the Blogger stats tell me I'm not alone. So there's a good chance that this pic will make your day - it did mine. I'm hard at work on an editing job, but taking five minutes out for a coffee and a little blog-peeping.
What a great picture. I've seen the rather cool disciplinarian before, but not the spankee. I came across it at the formidable Mr Tawse.
Mr T says: "In the 1950s strict mothers knew just how to deal with girls who thought they were 'grown up'." Did they? Maybe they did and maybe they didn't, but the 1950s have become something of a nirvana for us spankophiles haven't they - and Benson brings them to life like nobody else.

Promises, promises

If it were a school project it would have 'SEE ME' scribbled on it in red. I'd be in some serious trouble... Some sweaty-palms, waiting-outside-the-study sort of trouble.

There'd be garbled excuses, promises to do better, maybe even tears. And then I'd wait for the verdict, knowing that whatever was coming was totally deserved.

But as it happens the excuses do hold water, honest. The fact is real world me is snowed under with work and other commitments, so the me that exists in the spankosphere is struggling to deliver on promises (that I make to myself).

So, A Week in the Country was written in a rush last autumn when 'real' work was slow. But I'm sad to say that the follow-up is stalled at about a quarter of the way written and that doesn't look like changing any time soon; poor Beryl is trapped in limbo somewhere around chapter 4 (ploughing fields, chasing nasty Nazis - and getting spanked). 

And I'd said to myself that I'd make fiction a regular Friday feature of this blog too, but again I've not found the time. Another black mark.
What can I do to make amends? Promise to be better at keeping promises, I suppose. In the meantime feel free to suggest suitable chastisement - it might help me keep my promise (to keep my promises...)

Poor marks

Just a quick thought as I've an appoint to get to (and shouldn't really be wasting time on the spankosphere). The thought is, does your behind develop spank-immunity?

I suffered a short, but sharp hiding with a woodenspoon last night and was sure that I'd be marked impressively this morning. I scurried to the bathroom this morning and found - nothing. 

Not even the ghost of a spoon-shaped bruise. I'm sure that earlier in my career as an active spanko a whacking like this one would have left tracks of its passing.

So does the surface of your sit-upon get used to spanking? I'd be interested to hear the views of more experienced and better qualified spankologists.

Never too old, again

Going back to the age question, I've found myself doing a fair bit of thinking since my last post about how I feel about age play and age, so I was particularly please to stumble on the Wellred Weekly last night.

I've got the tremendous Hermoine to thank for it. She's a WW contributor and posted on the latest issue (read her on gardening and spanking, it made me chuckle).

But the article that most struck a chord with me was one by a writer called edb about adult schoolgirls. What a great piece. It shares the experiences of two women on the far side of 40 who get a thrill out of playing in school uniform.

Edb says: "These are but two small examples of schoolgirl role-play engendering domestic bliss, and whatever the reasons... I have no doubt that schoolgirl role-playing will continue behind closed curtains."

Should I be ashamed or embarassed about my inner schoolgirl? No, I shouldn't.
I should encourage her to spread her wings (and, possibly, legs) - and to be as thoroughly, completely and utterly naughty as she wants to be. But, and I take edb's point, it might be best to keep the curtains drawn while I'm at it.