Home alone

No, I couldn't go. SO was adamant that I was not invited to the friends' camping trip, which meant that I'd be on my own all weekend.
Which made me grumpy. The kids are away on holiday together at the moment, so I had assumed the weekend was for our playtime. And having experienced weeks of spanklessness I was very, very hungry for TTWD.
But I need 'a little chat', I pleaded in a whiny kind of way. Nothing doing. It will have to wait until Tuesday, I was told.
Then the door slammed shut and I heard the sound of our old VDub camper firing up. I was mad, and bratty. I spent the weekend eating too much, drinking too much and looking into corners of the webosphere that I promise not to go to...

But SO wasn't there to see any of it, and doing it all just made me more itchy for some serious sorting out. It didn't help that I did a lot of fantasising around the idea of what campsite punishments might be like; birches, switches, my big bare bot and other campers looking on, you know the sort of thing.
SO got back late, tired and in need of a bath and sleep, and seemingly oblivious to my cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof mental state. I felt even more neglected.
However, it turned out that SO hadn't been as out of touch with my state of mind as I thought. The 'it will have to wait until Tuesday' hadn't been just talk. As I was babbling on about my rule-breaking weekend and my thoughts around campsite correction it dawned on me that my poor behind was about to suffer.
Now I always get to a point where I so much want what we call 'my discipline', but when it's actually about to happen I go really cold on the idea. Who in their right mind would want that pain and humiliation?
My pleading was all of a sudden about letting me off, but to no avail. Reader, I got the hairbrush, and then me (and my red bum) got sent outside to cut a switch. I have to say the way a length of  willow marks my thighs is quite something to see...

Brand new?

Or brand spanking new? You get so used to a phrase that you don't question it, but then today I did. My first search engine question was to ask is it only us Brits that say it?
But it certainly seems to have currency beyond the UK otherwise why would this South African marketing company have decided that it's brand would benefit from being a little bit spanky?
But what's it all about? I heard someone say the phrase today and when I gave it some thought the best explanation I could come up with was that it had something to do with the old tradition of the midwife slapping a newborn baby to get it to breathe.
But a bit of Googling suggests that that's way off the mark.This definition makes a connection between the s-word, strutting Scandinavians and horses.
While here there's a link made between the sort of branding that cowboys do to cows. Off topic, personally, I don't really understand the whole fiction niche that sees big, rough cowboy heroes spanking the living daylights out of bratty girls in gingham; maybe you have to be American to get it.

But anyway, so far 'brand new' makes some sort of sense. But why the spanking? Apparently it's about our favourite word having two meanings. 
Yes, there's the noun and verb one that involves the reddening of naughty bottoms, but there's more. Meaning number two is adj. 'exceptionally large or fine'.
Interesting. It turns out then that we've forgotten what it means, but we still like to use it. Personally, I think that just may be about the fact that all adult human beings have at least a little bit of spanko hidden deep inside and just like to have an excuse to say the word. 
And then there's all the people like you and me who don't hide TTWD too deeply and just love any opportunity to say 'spanking' in vanilla situations. Anyway, from now on I intend to make full use of both of my favourite word's two definitions.
I'm planning to let SO know that from today I want my spankings to be spanking - that is 'exceptionally large or fine'. Or preferably, exceptionally large and fine...   
 

Apres-fess

Après-fess (French: after spanking) refers to going out, having drinks, dancing, and generally socialising after spanking. It is popular in the Alps, where spankees often stop at bars after their last chastisement of the day while still wearing spanking-related costumes (school or maid uniform etc). The concept is similar to the 19th hole in golf.

OK, I've pinched the Wiki definition of apres-ski and substituted one s-word for another, but still. I pleased to say that I got a humdinger of a spanking today and I feel GOOD.
So wouldn't it be nice to be able to share that with somebody? I know people can and do, but in my little world its not an option. I could hardly pop into the village pub, hop up on a bar stool and say: "Golly gosh, my bum's all hot and stingy tonight..."
The best option I have is to share my marvellous little secret with you, dear reader. Thank you.

Sense and sensitivity

Familiarity breeds contempt. More years ago than I'm comfortable with a student (me), free from the constraints of the family home, started experimenting with spanking as play.

It was innocent stuff, the occasional smack to the rear end, but seemed at the time incredibly powerful in all sorts of ways. Not least, the fact that a hand on my bare behind seemed to burn like fire.

Lots of years later and I have to say that a hand-spanking does nothing for me now, or very little anyway. It is, I'm sorry to say, a bit boring - familiarity hasn't exactly bred contempt, but I certainly don't feel the same way about a hand-smack on the bot as I did then.

So, what's going on? Is it a brain thing - that the pain receptors have just got a bit unfazed by buttock-related CP? 

I picture it like this. In Brain Control Centre the guy in the big chair sees the red lights flashing, but just can't get excited any more. He glances up, sees a "hand on bare buttock" warning on his screen and then goes back to his coffee.

Most other pain is just as sharp as ever, but a whack on the ass isn't what it used to be. Or is it that the nerve endings in the bumcheek department aren't what they used to be.

Your taste buds steadily lose the ability to do their job as the years roll on, don't they? I need more chili sauce on my Tex-Mex than I used to, so maybe something similar is going on with my bottom; it just loses its sensitivity in the same.

But my worry is that it's about padding. That undergrad was a willowy thing, whereas today I have to admit to carrying quite a bit more weight in all departments - but especially in the seating area.

Not me, but you get the idea

I fear it's that a bigger butt just soaks up CP energy far more efficiently. So here's a thought, maybe punishments should be adjusted to suit buttock size. Could it be that the curvier ass just needs more attention than the petite one?

Just relax...

And take what you have coming. But that's easier said than done, isn't it? You have your bare bot up and ready and you know that up there somewhere there's some sort of instrument of ass destruction, so it's only natural to clench, isn't it?
Clench your eyelids tight shut, your fists, your teeth - and your bumcheeks as small and stony as you can manage. But does clenched make for less sizzle or do relaxed, wobbly buttocks sting less when skin and palm (or implement) exchange energy?
It's a question that I have given some thought to and so I was fascinated to read Secret Spanko on the subject and to see comments, too. Personally I'm a clencher, but then I hadn't heard the clench = bruising theory and I may have to think again.
It would be interesting to set up some science-based experiments to see if the theory stands up in practice, wouldn't it? You'd probably need twins, some sort of well-calibrated spanking machine and a foolproof device for measuring smart - shouldn't be difficult to find... 

Cinderella search

Finding the right slipper is more difficult than you'd think. In fact, it's like the opposite of Cinderella.
They tried that slipper on hundreds of girls before finding the perfect fit. I've tried hundreds of slippers, but never quite discover my idea of perfection.
This is a very British thing, I know. The rest of the world probably thinks we're weird using footwear to spank naughty bottoms with, but in the days of school CP it was the entry-level spanking implement of choice at most schools.
So it is very much part of my spanko psychology. You misbehave, you go to fetch the slipper. The problem is that in my experience you just can't get slippers that do the job properly.
Now if you haven't tried it, a good slipper punishment is quite something. For me it's as satisfying as good fast food - other meals may be closer to art, but fast food is just what you need when you need it.

A good slipper smarts like the devil, reddens efficiently and makes a big, scary sound. It doesn't leave much in the way of marks (good if you're off to the pool tomorrow) and it is an innocent object to have sitting around the bedroom, although a pair is less likely to raise suspicions than just the one.
But not every slipper has it in it to be a spanking slipper. Many are called, but few make the grade. Most are way too light and have been made using the wrong sorts of materials.

For me it has to be a thick rubber sole with a smooth surface and just the right amount of upper - not too much, not too little. Plimsolls and sports shoes are so wrong, as are anything suede or with man-made fur on it. 
In my experience it's easier to find a sandal that packs a good spank, but then a sandal isn't really a slipper, is it? Eventually, I'm sure I will go to the ball - I'll find the slipper that is exactly the one of my dreams... and in the meantime it is a good excuse to go to shoe shops.

By numbers

Sorry, but I'm a bit obsessed with numbers. I've been here before, but here I go again. I wouldn't usually buy a copy of Glamour (which claims on the cover to be Britain's No1 women's magazine), but a friend stopped over and left a copy in our guest room.

So now I know that the lovely James Purefoy has a dog called Marcel, that my hair is too small (because 'big is back') and that 60 per cent of Glamour readers say they're turned on by porn. Yes, the mag has asked 2,000 of its readers what they think about naughty stuff and found that the majority think that naughty is nice.

No surprise there for anyone reading or writing this. But, of course, there's a passing reference to spanking. The article says: "For most part your tastes are simple. But occasionally you go for something a little more out-there."

And on the "out-there" list between role-play and man-on-man sex is spanking, which 16 per cent of the readers polled said they look at. Which means that when you walk into a room with 25 women in it four of them will have an active interest in things spanko.

Or one in 6.25. I read this after popping into town to pick up some stuff from the pharmacy and found myself counting back over the women I met.

Walking up the high street I bumped into my best friend's sister and had a quick chat. In the three shops I went into I was served by women, the tea I bought in the coffee shop was served by a very pretty teen and both the pharmacist and her assistant were female.

So who, of those six women (forget the quarter) was one of us? I have a gay friend who's always boasting about his gaydar - I wish I had spankdar...

Full marks

No short shorts for me this week. Last night was such a surprise - by chance both kids were somewhere else - so guess who got a major catch-up spanking?

We went out to see live music in a local pub and came back a bit tipsy. It was great to have the house to ourselves for once and all was going well until SO decided to do a month's worth of attitude adjustment in one prolonged session... ouch.

It meant a new outing for what is now named 'The Spanking Stick'. We've just had the bathroom redecorated and the carpenter left a few offcuts of wood behind, one of which looks like a ruler but is much thicker and heavier.

I'd seen it and it made me think of spanking and it turns out that SO had too. And wow, did it sting - it took my breath away. 
I'm left with lots of marks too, on my poor bot and, because of aiming issues, my thighs. So I write this post sitting on a marvellously uncomfortable behind and with stripey legs that will have to stay hidden for quite a while. 

A reader writes

'I was a teenager when I received my first spanking and it was neither my mother nor my aunt spanked me, but a charming neighbor and here's why.'
This is the opening of a story that a visitor to this blog sent me and I thought you'd like to hear it too.

He's apparently French and in his 50s. Here, with just a few light edits, is what he wrote:

'My next-door neighbor was a 25 year-old hairdresser, called Josette. Every time she was on the stairs, I waited to be behind her, because I wanted to look under her short skirts, because Josette did not wear pantyhoses, but only stockings and I wanted to see her thighs, garter belt and pants.
One afternoon I was looking at her stockings. When I arrived on the floor, she was waiting me, arms crossed and she told me : “Do you think I have not seen you behind me every time I am on the stairs?Come with me, I have to speak to you.”

Blushing, I followed her inside and she locked the door behind us, took a chair and put it in the middle of the room and waved to me with her forefinger to come nearer. When I was just in front her, she grabbed my hipsand unbuttoned my pants down to my knees.
She then laid me across her lap, my head down and my bottom up. She said : “Every time I am upstairs, you are looking my thighs, but now you have to show me yours.”
She took off my underpants and I was bare against her nylon stockings. I realized that she was ready to spank me as a child, on my bare bottom ...
“So, you may be 15 and a teenager but I am going to spank you on your bare bottom. And I am sure that this good spanking will teach you that you don't look under the skirts of a young lady!!!”

She began to spank me. She spanked with cadence, several dozen of slaps… I wanted to protect my bum with my hand, but Josette took my wrists and the spanking became faster and harder.
I began to sob. I begged her to stop. I promised her that I never looked under her skirt. At the end I was crying between the slaps and howling with pain. As I struggled, buttocks on fire, I was trying to protect my ass with both hands; Josette grabbed my wrists and with her ​​free hand, pulled my shorts and my pants down my ankles and took them off completely.
I was naked, pressed against the nylon of her stockings. She spanked me faster and stronger, the sound of slaps on my bare butt in the room 
After a very long time and dozens of slaps, Josette stopped and said:“I finished and am happy to see your butt red and burning.”
She stood me up and I was kneeling on her right, crying and rubbing generously with my two hands my poor, painful bare bottom.  Josette took my chin with her fingers, looked me in the eye and, forefinger up, told me:  “Stand in the corner, hands on your head, and if you move I will spank you again immediatly!!!”
I stayed a long time, dishonourored to have been spanked on bare bottom. Twenty minutes later she came and rubbed my bare bottom, happy that it was still red and hot.
“You can put your trousers up now and go, but the next time you look under my skirt I will spank you in front all my colleagues. And maybe several of them will like also to spank you..."
So after this spanking, every time I met her on the stairs she looked at me with a mocking smile and I took stairs first!!!'

And the gold medal goes to...

Which is the world's spankiest nation? Are spankos evenly distributed across the globe or are some countries spankier than others?

With the 2012 Olympics almost with us and Euro 2012 just gone I suppose I've got international competition on my mind. And I reckon that if there were spanko Olympics us Britons would be in with a chance of a medal. 

Anyway, I was a Geography major so I've always had a bit of an obsession with maps, population distributions and all that. So, I thought I'd spend some time on this weighty question. 

First I thought I could base my study on visits to this blog - but then I realised duh, this is an English language blog and that's going to skew things a bit. So I've had to limit it to all time hits from English-speaking nations then - the four that pop up close to the top of the stats are the US, the UK, Canada and Australia. 

Based on population totals courtesy of Wikipedia I can reveal that Brits come out in front with 474 hits for each million people. That's way ahead of the next highest, the US; the good people of the USA have been dropping by at a rate of 139 per million.

Canada comes in third with 114 per million while Australia registers a rather modest 57 per million. What should I conclude from this little exercise? Not much, I think. A UK blog is more attractive to Brits, but that doesn't mean that Brits are more likely to be spankos than people from other countries.

And as far as North America goes, are the people of the US really more inclined to redden bottoms than their neighbours north of the border? An interesting question.

Which probably means that only open competition could settle things. Quite how it could be organised I'll leave with you.

Home time 4

Jo-Jo had been watching the two women out of the corner of her eye and was horrified at how they seemed to be getting along so well. A cake! This woman is offering to come into my home and beat me on the bottom and you're going to bake her a cake, she thought.

As she became aware of the two of women looking at her, Jo-Jo snapped her eyes back to face forward and began to study the corner in front of her with great care. She wished she could be anywhere else but there, even the Guest Room.

“Joanna, come here young lady,” her Mum said. “I think Miss McDuff is speaking a lot of sense. We have some catching up to do, so come here.” Jo-Jo chose to delay, but was stung into action by a bellowed: “NOW!”

As she turned round she saw that her Mum had moved to sit on the edge of her chair and had taken off one of her slippers. Or to be more precise, house shoes; the pumps were well-worn, but sturdy with a good leather sole that would, she was certain, deliver more of a sting than any slipper.

Mrs Unwin patted her lap and said: “Over you go…”

Jo-Jo moved so slowly that it took a tug to pull her off balance and over her mother's knee. She was a tall girl, taller than her mother, and it took a minute or two for her to be wrestled into position -head well down and her big, round bottom well presented.

She squawked a protest as her skirt was pulled up and out of the way to reveal tight, navy blue school knickers. “Down or not, Miss McDuff?”

“Has to be down, Mrs Unwin. Best to see what you're about. Let me do the honours,” she said, and Jo-Jo wriggled and fought as the teacher crossed the room.

Her struggling intensified as she felt fingers at her waistband. “Noooo,” she pleaded. “It's not fair….” But her Mum kept her clamped in place and with effort Miss McDuff bared Jo-Jo's broad, white buttocks.

“I should have done this ages ago,” said Mrs Unwin, hefting her slipper. As the sole connected with Jo-Jo's bottom it sent of bolt of pain jangling around her nervous system and forced a squeal from her that could have shattered lead crystal.

Katy was wrong. Horribly wrong. A year in the Guest Room would be better than have to endure a single spank, she thought in the moment between smack one and smack two.

Two became a dozen and then 20 and Jo-Jo bucked and struggled. She moved so much that it was hard for Mrs Unwin to get her aim just right, so the slipper connected with the two plump cushions that were her intended targets but also went off track too catching Jo-Jo's thighs.

Mrs Unwin dealt in dozens and paused after each had been applied. After two she took a moment to admire how many red sole prints were decorating her daughter's pale, tight-clenched bumcheeks and to ask: “Will your homework be done in future, Joanna?”  

“Yes, oh yes. I promise,” Jo-Jo screeched, her voice edged with approaching tears.

“Good. What do you think, Miss McDuff, a little more?”

“I think so, Mrs Unwin…” And Jo-Jo was blubbing like a baby as the next dozen peppered the lower slopes of her behind, where bum and thigh meet.

By four dozen Mrs Unwin was amazed to see how the red shoe-shaped blotches had all blended together to be part of an unbroken scarlet. As Jo-Jo cheeks clenched and unclenched she could see that the slipper had even taken its pink blush down into the tender cleft between.

“Had enough, young lady?”

“Uuhhhh, yeff,” gulped Jo-Jo, sobbing and gasping and all spanked out. “Plea, plea dun do it anymore…”

“She's learned her lesson, don't you think?” Mrs Unwin asked Miss McDuff.

The history teacher smiled, delighted to see her most troublesome pupil tamed and - to a degree - sorry for her too. But only to a degree.

“I think it never does any harm to be safe rather than sorry. Personally I add a last dozen…”

Jo-Jo reacted with a great outpouring of sobs and a bucking and wriggling that Mrs Unwin took a moment to quell. But once she had Jo-Jo in place once again she lashed the slipper down on buttocks and thighs with real intent.
(Still some to come)

Surprise, surprise

All nicely lined up, Mars, Venus - the Planet Spanko... Who'd have thought it? When I was moaning the other day about the impossibility of having a 'personal' life when you share a house with older children TFD commented that 'all the planets must align, and then what chance it can feel spontaneous?'

Well they did align, and there was spontaneity. It's a Friday morning and after the schoolbus there are no kids,  SO is not grumpy or at work, it's pouring down with rain (neighbours indoors) and nobody is likely to just drop in.

I'd forgotten what SO had said about my bad language last weekend. We were due a 'little chat' apparently. 
As a result I'm now in my office starting my day's work and the little chat has been had (hot butt in contact with hard computer chair). I have to say that even my all-too responsible life can occasionally be surprisingly - surprising.

Shades of play

French rose?

"That's it young lady, I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget in a hurry. I'm going to spank your bare bottom until it's..." (consults colour chart) "...Bengal red. No, hang on, make that English fire... or scarlet letter..."

What's in a name? We're having a new bathroom just now and can't decide what colour to paint the walls when it's all done. SO  wants some sort of blue, but I'm not keen. I want something a bit brighter, bolder.

So we've got some of those colour charts that paint manufacturers give away. I find myself drawn, for some reason, to the reds and pinks and play with the idea of punishments gauged by colour shade rather than number of smacks.

Blazer, maybe.

Sandersons goes from a gentle French rose to fearsome Bengal red. Dulux is a bit pedestrian - just sweet pink, pretty pink and sexy pink.

Posh Farrow & Ball has a bit of a limited range, but I like one or two of the names. How about blazer (something of a suggestion of school uniform at a super-strict boarding school) and rectory red is good too (upstairs in the master bedroom someone's been given an extra-hard session with the clothesbrush).

Crown is more promising with its red carpet, sticky finger, English fire and cheeky wink. There's certainly a sense of humour involved. But the most practical is probably Wickes.

Its names are straightforward, but the chart is more useful as a spank-standard. There's candyfloss (hand smacking over jeans), candy (brisk, pants down OTK), raspberry (very through hairbrush, bare bot) and, last but not least, scarlet letter (very, very disobedient - long, hard paddling).

English fire?

So, I've got the chart. Now, how can I get SO to play the game without coming over as a bossy little Bottom?

Wood, a spanking good fuel?

What is the big deal about woodsheds? We burn wood and we keep it in a shed, but that shed has no greater significance to us than the one we keep the lawnmower in.
But then there's a lot to North America that I don't understand, starting with why I say 'tomarrto' and they say 'tomayto'. So I can see that the woodshed is some sort of spanko symbol without really understanding much about it.

I’m fascinated by the iconography around kinkiness in general, and our area of interest in particular. Until the advent of the internet it wasn’t apparent to me that what I found to be potent erotic symbols could actually have the same power over others too.

But the net gives you access to such a volume of spank-related material that the themes are easy to see. Symbols that are presumably working for other people in exactly the same way as they work for you.

What am I warbling on about? Good question. How about the hairbrush?Put a naked model, of either gender, face down on a bed and you have the makings of an erotic image.
Add a hairbrush somewhere in your shot and you’ve turned that image into something that speaks directly to the spanko psyche.The hairbrush could be way off to the edge of your image, perhaps it’s up on a chest of drawers or something - a vanilla viewer of the image might not even notice it, or would assume it’s there to brush hair.

But for us it completely changes what the picture is about. A bedroom, a bare bottom and a hairbrush can mean only one thing to us, can’t it?

So, I’m trying to think of some other innocent icons of spankoness. Clearly, the woodshed works for anyone with a US background and is quite an innocent thing as far as the vanilla world is concerned.
But what else? How about stairs?

Being ordered upstairs always sets my heart off pitter-patter.I’m not sure why. I think maybe it goes back to childhood; we were often sent to bed early for acts of disobedience andit came with the fear that some sort of chastisement might follow.

It didn’t, but there was the feeling that it might. As an adult being ordered into the bedroom is rather more ambiguous. Something’s going to happen, hopefully, but I'm not entirely sure what it might turn out to be.

Am I the only one to see symbolism in something as neutral as a flight of stairs? Probably, but I don’t think so because they do tend to appear quite regularly in spanko images.

In some penitent girls trudge up them, either to face a spanking or to bed having received one. In others a no-nonsense lady or gent is heading upstairs in a purposeful way, spanking implement in hand.

Anyway, can anyone suggest any other bits of spanko symbolism that I can add to this list? I'd be interested to hear your thoughts.

PS While surfing on the subject of woodsheds I learned a new word, which is always a treat. It's 'woodshedding' - apparently it means 'to practice or hone skills, particularly musical skills. the origin is from the fact that for purposes of privacy people would go to their woodshed to practice without being overheard'. So a woodshed would also be the perfect place to hone your woodshed disciplinary skills, wouldn't it? Just the place to whack away without being overheard...

Until you can't sit down...

Has that ever happened to you? Have you been spanked so hard that you're forced to stand at the breakfast bar the next morning.

I have to say that it hasn't to me. On the spanko Richter Scale (Stricter Scale?) I've stayed pretty much in mid-scale, rarely straying into the really punishing end of the spanko spectrum.

I'm mostly happy with that. But I've still had experience of weals that last for days and impressive bruises that hang around for a week or more.

What I haven't had is the feeling that I'd rather not - or can't - sit down. A bit of a wince as I put my weight on a chair, but no more. So, how hard a spanking, caning or whatever do you have to take before you really can say you've been punished "until you can't sit down..."?

My theory of relativity

Aunt, aunty

Noun: The sister of one's father or mother.

Well, yes. Strictly speaking that's correct, but the a-word packs more of a punch in spanking fiction, doesn't it? Enter an aunt, or aunty, and you know that some naughty girl or boy is going to get a well-deserved lesson sometime soon.

Mr Tawse has posted a great photo set today, which has had me mulling over the myths and magic of aunts and aunt-ship. In my experience, in real life aunts/aunties are a mild, good-natured lot - more likely to be handing out treats than laying down the law. But through the distorting lens of a spanko imagination they are transformed into CP super heroines... 

I have nephews and nieces and am, I think, as sweet as sugar to them (although I'm well aware of their shortcomings). I have more than my fair share too; my mother was one of six children and so was dad, so my extended family was very extended. 

Family events involved a mob of uncles and lots of aunts too, both by marriage and by blood. I have to say one of my mother's sisters could have been the model for a spanko-fiction aunt. Aunty J - who is sadly no longer with us - was my mum's younger sister and was, when we were kids, particularly no-nonsense.

She never laid a finger on me, but just being around her made me feel nervous - it was as though she had x-ray eyes that could see into my soul. As a proto-spanko I felt that if anyone was going to bare my bum and give me the roasting I deserved then Aunty J was the one who was equipped to do it.

But why does the strict aunt myth have such traction? Go back the best part of a century and the stories of the comic writer PG Wodehouse are bristling with scary aunts. 

The best (or worst) of them was Bertie Wooster's Aunt Agatha. Bertie says of her: "When Aunt Agatha wants you to do a thing you do it, or else you find yourself wondering why those fellows in the olden days made such a fuss when they had trouble with the Spanish Inquisition."

Bertie's a grown man - although an idiot - and as far as I know Agatha never threatens physical punishment. However, you get the distinct impression that wasn't the case when Bertie was a boy. Agatha is the epitome of the disciplinarian aunt.

A last thought, as I've gone on a bit. Aunts seem to come in two distinct forms in spanko imagination. They're either like Wodehouse's Agatha - an old dragon - or they're really rather attractive, think the marvellous Clare Fonda or Veronica Bound of Punished Brats.

I suppose the thing is that a good-looking aunt (or uncle for that matter) is the adult who could put the imagined young person over a knee, but who it's also OK to be attracted to. Sexual attraction and spanking - a heady mix for a young mind.

Maid duties

A well-run household requires discipline, doesn't it? A disobedient servant might well need chastisement, but what's going on here? Why a maid spanking - it just seems so wrong...

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).

Checking it out

If you like being spanked, you'll like to see your bottom well-redened. Or perhaps it's just me?
Post-punishment I simply can't wait to look. Better still get the nearest mirror and study the damage - less strain on the spine. 
In fact, I know I'm a bit too keen. Significant Other isn't entirely supportive of all this spanking business and thinks I let it get out of proportion. That it should be part of our sex life, but only part.
There's an unspoken understanding that it will only be tolerated if it doesn't t become the tail that wags the dog. So, I'm in bad books if I hop out of bed too soon and start examining my behind in the wardrobe mirror.
What tends to happen is that I make the excuse that I have to go to the toilet and hurry off for a quick viewing in the mirror there. Mind you, a really well-marked bottom can be enjoyed for days, can't it?

Book club: Beastly Behaviour

Welcome to my book club. Please sit down and help yourself to a piece of cake. As long-time readers will know our club doesn't bother with dull Booker prize shortlist novels, the sort of thing that thrills worthy lit chicks. We're about fiction that comes with the smack of firm discipline.

Which is why this month's club choice is 'Beastly Behaviour' by Aishling Morgan.

I adore the flair and wit of Aishling Morgan at her (or his?) best. Her writing is funny and clever - and arousing all at the same time. In fact, they deserve to be up there with a classic like 'Frank and I'.

And 'Beastly Behaviour' is among the best of them, although it gets a run for its money from one or two of the others. How can you not love a novel with a notes section that begins with the statement: "The late Victorian era must surely be regarded by all right-thinking persons as the golden age of female underwear." This right-thinker definitely agrees and is just as keen to celebrate the wonder of corsets, drawers and the rest. 

You don't have to have read Conan Doyle's 'The Hound of the Baskervilles' to cotton on to the fact that Ms Morgan borrows heavily from the Sherlock Holmes yarn for 'Beastly Behaviour'. There's the 'bleakness and melancholy' of Dartmoor, a big black hound, a convict on the loose and a detective by the name of Harland Wolff (who is accompanied by his old friend Dr Manston).

Their lady in distress is, however, not the typical Conan Doyle creation - she makes her first dancing in a Wild West whorehouse, where she's being offered for sale by the unscrupulous Nanna Bloss.

And, unlike a Holmes story, 'Beastly Behaviour' is bristling with sex and spanking. Along the way Genevieve, and her bottom, suffer plenty of indignities in a story that has lots of fiendishly inter-woven plot lines.It all moves along at a spanking pace (what else) to the sort of satisfying conclusion that a good AM always provides. In short, I'd say its a spanko treat.