It’s been awhile since we posted a short plaid skirt picture. So Happy Friday!
If you like heels, well it’s great day for you. I could do without the tat myself.
How some people got here
our bottoms burn - 139 Great they remembered the name!
spanking pictures - 92
spanking parties - 29
paddled bottoms - 26
self spanking - 26 I guess we have all done it at one time
girdle spanking - 10 My #1 fetish
men wearing panties - 10 My #2 fetish, tied with #1
kelly payne - 9
short plaid skirt - 7 My #3 fetish
spanking for fun -5 Encouraging to see this!
"thigh fry" spanking - 4 We do like those around here
pussy hairs yahoo - 4 Huh!
I watched this music video “Go Grab My Belt” because it was termed “hilarious and very catchy!”
Hmmm….what I saw was a 30-something guy who looks like a drug dealer singing in a high pitched voice “You need a spanking baby” over and over and over - ad nauseam came to mind.
The female was most attractive and spankable. I hope she would not allow him to spank her. But since too many young men look like him, I guess she would.
I gave up on new music in the 90’s.
Crawling back into my cave.
Bacall’s idea of how a belt should be used.
I have always liked the British phrase “Get her sorted out”. We learned that from an Englishman that did a fine job of sorting lasses with his cane.
Bacall has been needing sorting all week. I have paddled her several times, but with all the things going on here, I have felt that I just did not have the time to do it right.
I dedicated Saturday morning to getting her sorted out properly. Leather paddle, riding crop, two wood paddles and of course my palm. She is happy and content now.
Of course, I did mention that I may wish a do over in the morning.
Here is a depressing post on masochism and submission. I think submission taken to the extreme is masochistic. But, what do I know? Dr. Bogey
We read that spanking is becoming more and more mainstream. Perhaps so. I hope so. However, Google Sexual Masochism and you will get definitions like those below. Not all that much different than is found in DSM-IV. …derive a sexual pleasure from being abused and dominated by women [note the absence of the other gender]…persons with sexual masochism have a recurrent preoccupation with sexual urges and fantasies involving the act of being humiliated, beaten, bound, or otherwise made to suffer. Sexual masochistic practices are more common among men than women. [Really?] Freud believed masochism to result from destructive fantasies turned against themselves. In some cases, persons can allow themselves to experience sexual feelings only if punishment for them follows. Persons with sexual masochism may have had childhood experiences that convinced them that pain is prerequisite for sexual pleasure. About 30 percent of those with sexual masochism also have sadistic fantasies.
Sexual masochism is a disorder in which individuals use sexual fantasies, urges or behaviors involving the act (real, not simulated) of being humiliated, beaten or otherwise made to suffer in order to achieve sexual excitement and climax. These acts may be limited to verbal humiliation, or may involve being beaten, bound or otherwise abused. Masochists may act out their fantasies on themselves -- such as cutting or piercing their skin, or burning themselves -- or may seek out a partner who enjoys inflicting pain or humiliation on others (sadist). Activities with a partner include bondage, spanking, and simulated rape.
Sadomasochistic fantasies and activities are not uncommon among consenting adults. In most of these cases, however, the humiliation and abuse are acted out in fantasy. The participants are aware that the behavior is a "game," and actual pain and injury is avoided.
From Psychology Today:
Sexual masochism falls under the psychiatric sexual disorders category of paraphilia's, meaning "abnormal or unnatural attraction." Sexual masochism refers to engaging in or frequently fantasizing about being beaten, bound, or otherwise made to suffer, resulting in sexual satisfaction. Blindfolding, spanking and humiliation in the form of defecation, urination, or forced imitation of animals are other methods used by these patients. Masochists may inflict their own pain through shocking, pricking or choking. Approximately 30 percent also participate in sadistic behavior.
One particularly dangerous method is called hypoxyphilia (near-asphyxiation) caused by reducing oxygen level in the brain. This results in the accidental death of one or two per million people per year. To achieve near-asphyxiation, masochists might place a noose around their necks, chest compression, put airtight bags over their heads or use amyl nitrates ("poppers").
Sadomasochistic relationships tend to be well planned, with partners deciding on a special word the masochist will use to indicate that the sadist should stop.
I don’t agree with much of the above because most of us don’t take it to extremes. I don’t equate pops on the bottom with hypoxyphilia. I feel good about sex, with or without spanking.
But as I wrote in the post on Submission a few weeks back, some of us can take anything a little too far and find ourselves discussed in the DSM, which is the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. Lee Holloway in Secretary would be found there because she was a cutter. Did you see that movie as being mainstream? I enjoyed the movie, but Lee was very troubled lass.
Confession: I once paddled a shrink. Not just once, but several times over a period of several months. I should have known better. But the op to paddle a freshly minted Doctor’s round bottom was more than I could resist. I came to find out that she was under a doctors care to sort out her own baggage. She had to maintain contact with her therapist in order to continue hold her license to prescribe for her patients. Oh boy, how did I manage to get here?
I am sure I was discussed when she talked with her shrink. The problems I saw were her inability to enjoy any sort of sexual pleasure. But on the other hand, she did not enjoy pain either. Only the fantasy of pain. Only the fantasy of submission.
She went on to destroy herself.
You folks be careful out there with submission!
My brain is not big enough to handle the important stuff in life, so I wonder about the small stuff.
I wonder why so many of us spanking enthusiasts lurk? I wonder why some of us who do comment, do so anonymously? Is there some extra measure of security as Anonymous rather than as JER123? I would really really like more people to post as JER123 or whatever clever name they like rather than Anonymous. That way we could all get know a little about you without any fear that anyone is going to invade your privacy. Come on, humor an old man and signup as JER123 or whatever.
We know a lot of spanking enthusiasts. They have been to our home, we have been to there’s. We have met their children and they ours. No problems.
Some readers of this Blog know our real names. The only reason we hide behind Bogey and Bacall is to avoid any embarrassment that might happen to our grandkids somewhere out in the future.
On the other end of the bar from Anonymous are those Bloggers who can show their faces. Kudu’s to Ken & Cora, Erica and Kelley.
I will start the week with a brainless post showing lasses in white panties and call it White Panty Monday. It seems a few spanking bloggers have a new theme of naming posts for the day of the week and I sure want to be in with new.
I was looking for a real life tale about riding and riding crops when I found this one. I did not write it. I don’t know who did. I suspect it might have some appeal to women who ride. And no, I do not have the prequel.
When I was 14, my family moved from New York City to Southern California. I grew up loving horses and was given riding lessons in New York. After we moved to L.A., I was thrilled to discover a stable down the road from our house. I worked there every day during the summer and after school and on weekends during the year. That first summer I was given my first cropping by Jeff, the gorgeous foreman. After that, Jeff found every possible opportunity to crop and spank me.
I continued to work at the stable all through high school and college. Even after I quit working there, I would return occasionally to visit, and Jeff would always find some reason to punish me. He never cropped me bare, but made up for the protection of my clothing by striking hard and always on the same place, right at the crease between bottom and thighs. Sometimes he would pull my jeans and panties off after cropping me, and give me a hand spanking. He never touched me elsewhere, and we never had sex. However, I usually had a tremendous orgasm just from the cropping or spanking.
Well, I went home to L.A. for Christmas this year, and I had called Jeff a couple of weeks before to let him know I'd be in town. We set a date to meet, Saturday the 23rd. I hadn't seen him in over three years, and was very anxious to do so. I borrowed my dad's Volvo and drove the 40 miles to the stable from Dad's house. The stable owners were gone for the holidays, and all the other employees were gone for the weekend. Jeff was the only one there, and when I got there he met me at the car, picked me up and gave me a hug and spun me around in the air. Then he put me down, winked at me in the old way, and proceeded to show me around the stable. We looked at all the horses and he showed off some trophies they had won since I had quit working there. Jeff told me, "You know, we've never found anyone who could plait manes and tails as well as you could." I was pleased and flattered and told him so. Then he said, "But I remember you were very slow at it, and I had to teach you a lesson about taking too long. In fact, I'm not sure you were ever thoroughly punished for that! What do you think?"
I shivered in anticipation. "No, Jeff, I'm sure I didn't really learn that lesson." I put my hands behind me and rubbed my soon-to-be-stinging bottom. "That's what I thought!" He unclipped his crop from his belt. "Come over here." He sat down on the nearby hay bale. I stood in front of him, my hands still on my bottom. "Well, Miss Katie, what are you waiting for? You know the routine." I went to his right side and draped myself over his lap. He grabbed my right wrist and pulled it up behind me, holding it tight at the small of my back so I wouldn't be able to cover my bottom. I held my breath and waited. "All right, Miss Katie, this is gonna sting!"
He raised his crop high, held it there for a few seconds, then brought it down hard across the very lowest part of my backside. I gasped. I had forgotten how much that crop hurt! He raised it again, and brought it slashing down, right on the same burning stripe of pain. "OOWW!!" I heard him chuckle and say, "I told you it was gonna sting!" Again his crop whistled into my sore butt. "OOOWWW!!! Damn, that hurts, Jeff!"
He stopped for a moment, and I tried to catch my breath. "Miss Katie, I think you've forgotten that we don't swear here. I believe you're going to regret that little outburst." Oh God, I HAD forgotten that swearing at the Rocking L Ranch was expressly forbidden. A first offense resulted in a warning, and a second offense meant being summarily dismissed. How could I have forgotten? Jeff himself had drummed this into my head and backside that very first summer.
The thrice-struck welt burned and I tried to squirm to relieve the pain. This only served to remind Jeff of his current purpose in life. Once again he raised that wicked crop and slammed it down into that same tender weal. I caught my breath, but before I could yell Jeff brought the crop down again, and yet again. "OOOOWWW!!! JEFF, PLEASE STOP!!"
To my surprise, he did. He rubbed the crop along the length of that throbbing weal at the base of my bottom. I winced and squealed as he continued to side the crop over the stripe. I started to realize how hot Jeff had made me by cropping me the way he used to. I arched my back and pressed my bottom up against the crop. Without warning, he lifted the crop and slashed it down again, and again, and again, and finally, the last time. I was sobbing with pain and sexual excitement.
Jeff released my wrist and allowed me to get up. I thrust both hands behind me and tried to rub the tremendous pain away. He watched me for a few minutes, amused by my antics. After I calmed down a bit, Jeff said, "Come here and stand in front of me, Miss Katie. And keep your hands at your sides." I stood in front of him and clenched my fists at my sides to keep from rubbing my bottom. He said, "Have you learned your lesson about dawdling over plaiting manes and tails?" I nodded, sniffing, and replied, "Yes, Jeff, I've learned!" "Good. Now we have your swearing to deal with."
"Oh, Jeff, please! I'm sorry I swore, really I am! Please don't crop me anymore! My bottom is so sore already!" Jeff grinned at me in his usual insolent manner. "You think you're sorry, but you're not as sorry as you will be! And don't worry, I won't crop you again. Now unbutton your Levi's."
I unbuttoned my 501's and put my hands back by my sides. Jeff took my wrist and pulled me back over his knees. "Lift up a little, Miss Katie." I put my hands down on the floor and pushed my bottom in the air. Jeff put both of his hands in my waistband and pulled my jeans and panties together down to my thighs. "All right, now give me your hand." Once again, he held my right wrist at the small of my back. He used one finger to trace the throbbing 10-stroke welt at the bottom of my backside. "I'm very disappointed that you forgot the number one rule here at the Rocking L, especially since I have had to correct you for this before. By the time I'm done, you won't be using that kind of language around here. Now, are you ready?"
I took a deep breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and mumbled an assent. I felt him raise his right hand, and then felt the blazing pain across my right cheek. I let out a muffled yelp, then his hand came crashing down again on my left cheek. He began spanking me hard and fast, alternating cheeks. I squirmed and kicked, but there was no avoiding that hard leathery palm blasting away at my behind. "Shame on you, Miss Pottymouth! You're a very bad girl!" Harder and harder his hand fell, covering every part of my flaming bottom. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Well?" I couldn't speak, being caught up in an unbelievably intense orgasm. "You bad girl! Answer me!" When I could finally get enough breath, I shrieked, "YES! YES! I'M SORRY! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN!" To my enormous relief, Jeff finally stopped spanking me. He reached down to my clothes, told me to lift up again, and pulled my jeans and panties back up. Then he allowed me to get up off his lap, and discreetly turned away while I rearranged my clothing.
"Well, Miss Katie, do you feel like going for a gallop now?", Jeff said with a wink. "I always said you had an exceptional seat!"
The END, well sorta!!!
Good News, it was static electricity that was preventing my laptop from booting. An HP tech suggested removing the battery and ac and holding the power button down for 30 seconds. I thought, oh geeze this will do nothing. But, it did. Bad news, the computer tech I took it to said it was a bad motherboard. So I am out $40 for nothing. Remind me to call India first next time.
More bad news. I am back to posting. It is busy here. Very, very busy here. I do have several ideas for posting, but they will have to wait until I can flesh them out.
Meanwhile how about a trip down bondage lane?
And thanks for your concern, but no, I really don’t get concerned about a computer tech finding spanking pictures on my laptop. Consensual spanking of adults by adults is legal and widely practiced. Who are we hiding from? But, that is a thread in a future post.
This is an attractive young couple. He would look a lot better with his hair combed. Since his underwear is down, I guess we are to assume she is going to spank him or give him a BJ or both. He looks ready for either or both - if he would put the dang book down.
Or maybe it’s Karaoke night?
I know I would like to be in his position. I think her legs go all the way up.
I think this is the first OBB post showing what the Brits call the naughty bits. We don’t plan to make a habit of it, but I thought this picture was special. Hope you are not too shocked.
A story involving a wayward niece and her Aunt and Uncle. Written after some rather petulant behavior on the part of the niece.
Iced coffee at her elbow, she sifted through the stack of mail. Office Depot, professional journals, bills - all the usual. A corner of a "real letter" caught her eye. Pulling it from the stack, the heavy cream stationary and blocky writing made her heart stop. Letter from home. Estranged from her aunt and uncle for six months, this contact could only be news of an immediate and disastrous sort. Holding it in her hand, she pondered the possibilities. What relative had died? Who was diagnosed with a terrible illness? Was this the letter that would sever their ties forever? She wanted to ignore it, but curiosity got the best of her. Facing the music was her strength, after all.
Easing the letter out, she unfolded it and steeled herself to look. Just seeing his handwriting made her heart contract with longing. "My Dear Niece, We have matters to discuss. Come home. With affection, Your Uncle" That was it?! Just like him to be so cryptic. Rereading the message over and over, she tried to fathom what he meant. The tone was kind, but the words themselves seemed to carry something ominous. She was filled with joy at the thought of mending fences and renewing their relationship. But with him, everything had its price. Always before, to "discuss" a topic meant quite a bit more than conversing with differing viewpoints.
Having rung the doorbell, there was no way out. Never let 'em see you sweat. She straightened her back and composed her expression. Aunt Bacall answered the door and immediately hugged her and then looked at her seriously. "I'm so glad you've come. This has been so miserable for all of us." She almost dissolved into tears at this kind reception, but was determined to remain poised. "Me too. I can't believe Uncle Bogey wrote me. He can be so stubborn at times. Where is he? " Laughing, Bacall answered, " Yes, you two are alike in that way. He's out; he will be here soon for dinner. Let's just take things at an easy pace and see what happens. Dinner is almost ready. Put your things away and then come give me a hand."
Armed with a gin and tonic, her nerves began to settle and she almost felt cheerful as she and Bacall chatted and prepared the table. Like old times. Until she heard the car pull in and the door shut. Eyes wide, she looked dumbly at Aunt Bacall and then started for the bedroom to hide. How could she face him? "Young lady, get right back in here. You're not finished setting the table." Giving her a handful of silverware, Bacall went to greet her husband; Elaine strained to catch their words. His measured footsteps made her heart quicken to a mad gallop. In a moment he was there and all her composure fled. "Deer in the headlights, that's how I must look" she thought.
Standing so close to her, she thought she could hear his heart too. He took her hand in his and just gazed at her for a few moments. "I'm glad you came home. We'll sit down to dinner and have a good visit. I'll be back in a few minutes." As he turned to go, she almost collapsed with relief. She fled to the kitchen and breathed a sigh of relief. Bacall patted her back and said "See, that wasn't so bad- you just settle down and we'll have a relaxing dinner. It's going to be fine."
And it was fine. Uncle Bogey was his most charming self, teasing her and being the genial host. Aunt Dorothy was in high spirits, no doubt relieved too that the initial meeting had gone so smoothly. Elaine relaxed and the evening was most companionable. Standing beside his chair, Uncle Bogey complimented his wife again on the fine meal. " Elaine, you help Dorothy clean up. Then take a nice hot bath, slip into your pajamas and then we'd like to see you in my office at nine." As he turned to go, she looked quickly at Aunt Bacall for some explanation. Aunt Bacall just smiled and shrugged, "You know how he is, dear. It won't take a minute to finish here. Let's get busy."
Sinking up to her neck in the hot water, Elaine began to have that old familiar feeling. Dread, fear, love, anxiety. All wrapped up together. "Discuss some matters". Oh yes, she knew exactly what that meant. It had all been too easy. God, he was SO evil. Being so sweet to her when he knew all along he would be thrashing her soon.
Midway up the stairs, she paused and considered running back to her room, gathering her things and escaping. But no, she had yearned for this night for so long. She knew there would be a price to pay. She tapped at the door and entered. Uncle Bogey and Aunt Bacall were involved in a deep discussion. They looked up and both smiled at her. Uncle Bogey motioned for her to sit near him. Leaning over, he took both her hands in his and began to speak. "Sweetheart, we owe you an apology. Part of this recent unhappiness has been the result of our not disciplining you properly. You were allowed to behave in an unseemly fashion, and then when you were punished, it was out of anger and not love. That sort of punishment does not result in forgiveness on our part or a change of heart on your part. We also did not set out clear enough rules for your behavior. We are willing to correct this situation if you are ready to apologize for your actions and accept our consequences."
All the words she had rehearsed to herself for six months disappeared from her consciousness. The clever responses, the endearing speeches; gone. All she could do was stare at the two of them and nod silently. Her Uncle immediately became businesslike and stood before her with the expression of determination she had seen before. "First I would like for you to address your aunt and offer her the real apology you have owed her."
Elaine was so ashamed as memories of her behavior washed over her. Head bowed, she addressed her aunt. "I'm so sorry. I was rude, self centered, and improper. I drank too much and acted like a fool. Please forgive me, Aunt Dorothy." Tears threatened to roll down her cheeks, but she batted them back. Dorothy answered, "I forgive you, and promise to help you behave better in the future."
"Now then, my dear, I need to hear your heartfelt regrets also." Her Uncle held her chin so she had to look into his eyes as she spoke. Her voice trembled and a solitary tear rolled down her cheek. "Uncle Bogey, I am so sorry. I was arrogant, uncaring, disobedient, and thought only of myself. I am willing to accept whatever discipline you and Aunt Dorothy decide for me. I agree to obey whatever rules you decide to give me."
He pulled her to him and could feel her silent sobs against his chest. "That's what we needed to hear. I believe you are sincere. Now there is the matter of a little discussion we need to have to see that you are punished and set back on the right path. Here are the rules we have made for you: 1) No more than one alcoholic drink per day. 2) You will behave yourself in a modest way. 3) If you get yourself in trouble with someone else, I will be the only person to administer corporal punishment. We will go together to the offended person and I will paddle your bare bottom in their presence until satisfaction is gained. Both the offended person's and mine. 4) You will always address your aunt and me as Ma'am and Sir, in a respectful way. Am I clear about this?"
"Yes Sir." "Now I think you are ready to pay the price for your misdeeds and get this over with. Remove your pajama bottoms. Now."
She slowly slid the bottoms down and folded them neatly and placed them on the chair. He led her to his desk and motioned for her to lean over. She placed her hands on the desktop and took a deep breath, to brace herself. "All the way down, young lady. I want to see you on your toes and that bottom in the air. You're about to receive the paddling of your life." Shaking, she obeyed him and presented her bottom for his attention. He eased her panties down and saw a tremor pass through her. He placed the paddle on the desk beside her. "I want you to remain in position, look at this paddle and think about the punishment you are about to receive." She heard footsteps and the door close. Alone with her thoughts, she felt an edge of anger. It was never enough that he paddle her and get it over with. There always had to be this complete submission to her correction.
Bent over for many minutes, her back began to ache but she dared not move. Now she wished he would come back and finish, but also wanted that moment to never come. This line of thought was interrupted by his return. "Are you ready?" "Yes Sir". "Good. I am going to paddle you thoroughly, but first I want you to ask for your punishment." "Uncle Bogey, please paddle my bare bottom until you think I have learned my lesson." The last words were sobbed rather than spoken. He patted her bottom with the paddle and told her to recite her new rules. As she began to speak, he drew back and brought the paddle down hard on her bared flesh. Again and again he applied the paddle, while she struggled to repeat the rules. Soon she was begging for him to stop. And he did stop, but not before her bottom was a mass of bruises and bright red.
She struggled to maintain self control. He took her by the hand and gently sat and guided her across his lap. At that point she completely gave up and choking sobs wracked her. " I love you, and I'm sorry you had to be punished so severely. I want you to be a good girl and take these last spanks without resistance." After stroking her a few times, he spanked her firmly over her bottom and thighs, sparing no area. She cried out a few times, but did not struggle or ask him to stop. When the spanking was over, she curled up in his lap and wept on his shoulder quietly. The terrible shuddering sobs were over, and her release was complete.
The next morning she sheepishly sat down to breakfast very carefully. Aunt Bacall and Uncle Bogey laughed at her and asked if she had slept well. Carrying her bag to the car, her Uncle gave her a hug and told her "Welcome Home ."
We don’t Blog about every spanking that happens around here. There are usually two or three spankings every week where one or both of us gets the wood. Last week, I thought it would be fun to do the gardening with paddle assist. I got a paddle for each of us and every hour or so we bent the other over for six smart pops on the bare. A stinging bottom sure makes gardening more fun.
Yesterday, all these pops had me thinking about getting the full treatment, so I asked Bacall for two dozen on the legs with the batten and 20 with the teachers paddle on the bare. She did not disappointment me.
Most of us that enjoy being spanked, need to submit to make the spanking whole. I have written before that I don’t feel any need to submit and that Bacall is what I call a bedroom submissive. If she works on it and I assist her, she can twist her mind into a submissive mode. She really enjoys it, but as soon as we are done, she is back in alpha mode.
In one of my first posts back in 2007, I called myself a pain slut. I explain it in these posts. Most of you enjoy the long spankings where you can enjoy drifting in sub-space bathed with endorphins. I wish I could join you, it does sound like fun, but I am wired differently.
Over the course of this Blog, I have learned more about myself simply because I have had to focus my thoughts in writing this Blog. I am different from you in that I am never submissive and sub-space is closed to me. I do enjoy the sting of the paddle and that is enough for me.
When we find another that say they like spanking, that is usually the last thing that is mutually agreeable, as there are so many facets to spanking.
Back to me, I don’t feel any need to submit to anyone. I don’t want to be disciplined. I hate hairbrushes. I like most any position but OTK. And warm-ups are not for me. A real odd ball.
I suppose that anything can be taken to extremes and I have seen that done with the need to submit. Perhaps the most extreme was the woman who left her young kids and a husband who cheerfully spanked her to find someone who would treat her badly. She found him; several of them in fact.
How about the woman who wanted to move in with her dominate man. Not much room in his place, so she sold her new furniture and paid him rent! He tired of her and kicked her out. She bought more furniture and then sold it and moved back in with him. He did not care much about working, so now she is taking care of him. Can you say doormat?
Extreme cases? I hope so. But when I read that a woman/man wants to submit to another, I wonder just how far they want to go.
When I post serious topics, there are usually zero comments. But, I persist.
Maybe tomorrow will be White Panty Tuesday?