The door was locked. She tried it again and although it gave a little it would not open wide enough to let her pass. The staircase to her right was rickety and in any case didn’t go anywhere. She was trapped.
She thought about asking the moustached man in the bowler hat who chose that moment to fly by the balcony using only the aid of an umbrella, but he looked at her sternly and did not appear sympathetic.
Downwards there was a long narrow spiral staircase leading to the street far below, but looking down she could already see him on it. He looked mean and angry and she quailed.
The only other way out of what she now knew was a high tower was a plank of wood running from a girder at the top step across gap between the streets to the rooftops on the other side. The trouble was she was wearing no knickers under her short skirt and the people looking up would see… well they would see. She blushed.
The street was terrifyingly faraway bellow so that cars and people moved like ants, but he was getting nearer and he looked mad. But somehow she was halfway across, although she could not imagine where the courage came from.
It was hard to hold her skirt down as she braved the narrow plank and at odd moments the dress flipped up in back exposing her bottom. Perhaps that was why the stern man in the bowler hat with the flying umbrella and moustache was hovering around her.
“Go away,” she cried at him.
But the man ignored her and called out to her pursuer, “She’s getting away. Quick get her, spank her.”
Suddenly the street looked nearer and the people below were looking up to see her was to be spanked.
“Go away,” she wailed, pulling down on her short dress. She was sure it was getting shorter.
The people just below her were pointing at her, they must be able to see up her skirt and she held her hem tight. But the paper fabric began to tear, exposing bits of flesh and even her bottom.
Looking up she saw her pursuer had found an easy way down and was gaining, almost reaching the end of the plank. But the makeshift bridge was somehow only a few feet from the ground and she jumped down into the middle of the laughing crowd.
Almost naked she ran along a line of doors desperate for one that was unlocked before finding one.
There were old men inside playing cards and she ducked beneath the counter while an old woman berated her.
“She is in here, spank her,” the old woman crowed.
She squealed, now almost naked and tried to hide herself with her hands.
“Yes hurry up and spank her,” said one of the men absently, “She is putting me off my game.”
While the woman slapped at her she made a dash for the back door and found a narrow alley full of bins and… rats. Ugh.
She would have run, but at the other end was a pack of dogs that suddenly lost interested in their trashcan dinner and were eying her up hungrily. There was no escape except through the shop’s backdoor. Or their hadn’t been, but suddenly there was a fire escape leading up onto the roof.
“This way,” shouted a man and she looked up.
Her pursuer still looked cross, but concern as well as anger was etched on his face. Still she would have run but the dogs were charging and she fled.
As soon as she got halfway up she could see over the shop and see the crowd she had abandoned in the street all looking up. They were chanting: “spank her, spank her.”
“Got you,” he said, “And you are going to get that spanking.”
“Not here, you can’t,” she wailed, “they will see.”
“You should have thought of that before you ran away,” he scolded her.
As he spoke he put her across his knee, although she didn’t know what he was sitting on. The dress had fallen away completely and she was naked. Just then the man with the umbrella hovered above, only it wasn’t an umbrella but a helicopter with TV news emblazoned on the side.
The TV in the window of the apartment opposite carried a news report about her spanking but the teenagers who had been watching it now watched her through the window.
“Please not here,” she squealed, now releasing that she was naked and bottom up across his lap.
“I am afraid so,” he said sternly as he began the spanking.
The teenagers, the crowd and the newsman on the TV began to applaud while a vox pop of her neighbours and co-workers played.
“Oh she is such a brat, she definitely deserves a spanking,” her best friend was telling them.
One of the interviewees was the nerdy boy from school who always leered at her.
“Please, please,” she sobbed but everyone was ignoring her and watching the big screen in the sky where the woman who was her but not her was getting spanked in the movie. A movie she was watching from the crowd.
“Hey, this is supposed to be my spanking,” she yelled.
“Shush,” several people said.
He held her hand and squeezed it. “Later honey, you’ll get your spanking later, we are missing the movie,” he scolded.
“You big meanie,” she said, stamping her foot and fleeing.
Then she remembered that that was how it had begun.
Filed under: DJB stories, M/F, other worldly, spanking stories | 2 Comments
Tags: dreams, nightmares, OTK, public humiliation, public nudity, spanking
The cutting above is about an industrial spanking chair for girls. It has been doing the rounds on Tumblr over the last week and I am not sure who found it first, so here is a republish.
Abigail Armani has a list of names for a bottom; an invaluable resource for some writers no doubt.
Also Blossom and Thorn, who ran the nice Dallas picture from above, have a short round-up of their own featuring new spanking blogs.
There is a short story to come this week plus a couple of place holder posts. Normal service will resume next week.
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | 1 Comment
Tags: spanking, spanking blogs
Filed under: retro, vintage | Leave a Comment
Tags: 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, spanking
As I am currently on leave and posting will slow down (but not stop) here is a placeholder for our favourite subject.
Filed under: waffle | Leave a Comment
She knew that look and subconscious hands strayed to her bottom. Meanwhile he was smirking at her, actually smirking.
He was sitting on the big settee by the back door facing the balcony window and she looked nervously over to it in the hopes that the glass doors that led outside were firmly close. She remembered the balcony spanking and blushed. The neighbours still gave her a wink.
“What have I done?” she asked in an unfortunate whiney voice.
“You want a list?” he said with that infuriating off-hand manner of his.
“Alec, please,” she wailed, running her fingers through a mess of red hair. “You can’t, you just can’t.”
“It has been a while, and besides you really need it,” he said casually with a shrug as if his hands were tied.
Jenny folded her arms and became defiant.
“I won’t,” she said firmly. “I refuse. There see and that’s an end to it.”
Alec slowly shook his head, regarding her now with almost sad eyes.
“If you are going to behave like a child we will have to put it to the committee,” he said sardonically.
Her eyes widened. She hated that. She hated that he pretended he had no choice, she hated that he always made her complicit in her own downfall, but most of all she hated his bloody committee. Well if she didn’t play along… too late, he had grabbed her easily with scarcely a move from his seat and now she was tumbled and sprawling face down across his lap.
“You know the rules don’t you?” he sighed.
As he spoke his hands moved decisively under her skirt and tugged at her knickers.
“It’s a swizz,” she wailed, “And I vote no.”
“You always vote no,” he chuckled, pulling her knickers down her bare legs and off her feet. “Well at least you have a vote. I don’t worst luck, so you may get away with it yet.”
As he spoke the most vocal committee member stirred and she felt him twitch against her lower belly. Damn her, if treacherous puss didn’t answer him with a small throbbing of her own.
Alec gave puss a stroke and she purred.
“Puss seems to be keen on this spanking any rate,” Alec chuckled.
“Yes and we all know how He is going to vote,” Jenny said icily feeling him harden beneath her.
“So it is two votes to one that you get a spanking,” he sighed as if reluctant. “Unofficially I agree with the committee’s decision, but as chair I have to be impartial unless there is a tied vote.”
“Bastard,” she spat, but her skirt had been lifted and her bottom was exposed under his hand.
The spank was short and sharp and she hissed.
Puss loved it, the bitch and He positively began to dance.
“Alec, come on, it is not fair,” she whined.
“You want fair? Okay, I call for a recount,” Alec said, his laughter barely contained.
His fingers stroked puss so deeply that she was positively slick and Jenny groaned. For once the treacherous little bitch was ahead of the game for it took a moment for Him to respond.
“We still definately have two votes in favour,” he said pompously, “care to make that unanimous?”
“No,” she said sullen.
“All the same, the motion is carried,” Alec shrugged and spanked her bottom hard.
Jenny yelped and squirmed as Alec quickly added to the count and within a minute she was mewling and bucking across his lap with a very hot behind.
“Oh God Alec, Jesus, please,” she wailed as she squirmed.
Her bottom was red and singing and she didn’t have to look to see him grinning.
“Do you want another recount?” he chuckled, pausing mid-spank.
“Yes,” she managed to pant, but puss was screaming no and He was certainly rock steady in his resolve.
“How do you vote?” he asked innocently, but she felt his little silent belly laugh, it even caused his not so little friend to poke her in the tummy.
“Is it too late to put a counter proposal to the committee?” she said huskily.
“As Chair I will allow that to be considered,” he murmured gently in her ear.
Filed under: DJB stories, domestic, humour, M/F, spanking stories | 4 Comments
Tags: OTK, spanking
This account by 25-year-old Ashley was found on EP.
My First Adult Spanking was soon after I was married. I don’t remember the exact situation, but we were at a resturant for dinner and I had an attitude. While he was paying I stormed out to the car. He got in the car, we drove home, and he told me to go to bed, which I refused. I was NOT about to let my husband tell me what to do.
He said fine. I’ll spank you then. I got defensive and told him he would do no such thing. He threw me over his shoulder and took me to the bedroom and started spanking me (pants on). I refused to let it get to me. He asked of I was ready to apologize and listen to him. No! I was not! He spanked me again. This went on back and forth for a while.
Finally, he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere and carried me to the corner (this is the only time I’ve been in the corner). For some reason I stayed.
He left the room and came back five-ish minutes later, and asked if I was ready to apologise or listen even. No.
So he grabbed me up, pulled down my pants and started whupped me again. This time it hurt a little bit. (spankings over jeans don’t do much). I started squirming but was still defiant. Same thing. You ready? No. “whack whack whack whack”. For several times.
Keep in mine this was my first spanking (aside from my childhood) and I was NOT thrilled with the idea.
Panties down. Same thing. “whack whack whack” ready? No!
Start again. This time, he had my hair brush. He warned me. “this one will hurt, do you want to apologize?” no (a little less confident)
Spank! Here come the tears, spank. Ok! I yelled! He asked if I was ready to apologize. I hesitated “Spank, spank, spank,” I’m ready!
I’m sorry I have an attitude I’m sorry, I’ll listen.
One last spank.
Hugs, cuddles, the damage to my bottom, red as a cherry (my husband has never left lasting marks).
This time, he told me to go to bed.. And I did. Gladly.
No other spanking has been that long lasting. I know when I’m getting them, it’s not often.. But when it happens, he’s serious as can be.. No messing around. Although its a pre-determined amount of whacks now (or else I’d apologise after one!)
Filed under: domestic, M/F, real life, web round-up | 3 Comments
Tags: corner time, marital spanking, OTK, spanking
Phoebe had drifted through life since college. Feckless her mother had called it, but the petite redhead thought that Mum could just as easily be talking about herself for all the direction she had ever provided. Still the informal apprenticeship with a City firm of interior decorators didn’t exactly feel permanent and Phoebe fully expected to be moving on by Christmas.
Originally Phoebe had only come to Dangerfield to assist Mrs Mulberry with the interior decorating project; a six week secondment and then back to London. But Dangerfield’s master, known only as Dhenry, hadn’t liked Mulberry at all and insisted in deferring to Phoebe on every little decision until the woman had given up and returned to the city. Well deferring was perhaps putting it too strongly; Dhenry seemed to defer to no one, but when it came to interior design he said it was women’s work and ‘not his area.’
Phoebe thought he was a sexist pillock and she hated him. The only trouble was she didn’t.
Dhenry was for the most part amusing and good humoured, a large man in his late 30s with the build of a former boxer. He certainly had the hands for it, two great pizza paddles set on thick wrist that tapered up to his powerful upper arms. His jaw was square and prominent, too much so for good looks but he had firm blue eyes that seemed look right through her.
Dangerfield was a strange place, a red brick late Georgian affair set under the wild wooded hills of the Tamar valley. Not remote exactly, but set apart at the end of an unadopted road outside the village.
Stranger still were its residents. Phoebe thought Dhenry strange enough, but he shared the house with two young women who were neither servants nor lovers as far as Phoebe could make out.
There was Margery, a ditsy blonde in her late twenties who styled herself an artist. She seemed to be a lodger of some kind who paid her way by taking informal responsibility for the garden.
Petra was even odder to Phoebe’s mind. She was a little younger with a dark aspect, her hair, complexion and sharp sullen eyes all dark. Unlike Margery, she was surly and unfriendly at every turn, and apart from some vague duties around the house, she did nothing but read.
But strangest of all were the spankings.
Phoebe had come in from sketching in the garden shortly after Mulberry had left to find a trail of broken pots and soapy puddles in the hall leading from the kitchen. The trail had led to a very sorry looking Petra standing at the rear of the passage with her jeans and knickers at her ankles and her hands planted firmly on her head. Her small pert dusky bare bottom had so obviously been spanked.
“Oh my God,” Phoebe had gasped. “Why are you…? I mean what happened?”
“Fuck off,” Petra had said in her usual sullen tones, although with rather less conviction than usual.
Petra had confronted Margery about it only to be told that it was how “Dhenry handled things around here.”
Sure enough Petra was spanked almost every week, Phoebe even witnessed two such events and Dhenry did not stint with his arm. The girl had howled and sobbed in earnest for the entire 20-30 minute duration over his knee.
Margery too had been spanked at least twice, events that she had accepted both meekly and calmly; although with as much gusto as Petra when it came to it.
Now two months had passed and although Phoebe had sketched out ideas for every room in the house, not one lick of paint had been applied.
“This is completely ridiculous,” Phoebe complained to Margery one day, “I was supposed to be just the intern and should have been out of here two weeks ago. When are we going to start?”
“I came here three years ago to paint Dhenry’s portrait,” she said dismissively, “It is still half finished up in the attic.”
“So why don’t you leave?” Phoebe asked incredulously.
“I like it here,” Margery shrugged, “Why don’t you?”
A call to London had confirmed that she was still getting paid and that Phoebe wasn’t expected back any time soon. But Margery’s question played on her mind.
“This is turning into the bloody Hotel California,” she muttered as soon as she put the phone down.
That afternoon she grabbed a brush and a pot of Dulux powder blue and started on the walls in the conservatory. Just a specimen section, but it made her feel better.
“Did Dhenry say you could paint that wall?” Petra asked in a sharp voice as she came up behind Phoebe mid-stroke.
“I… eh… I am only trying it,” she said defensively, “He more or less said that he liked the colour.”
“Well which was it, more or less?” Petra grunted.
He had said he would think about it, Phoebe remembered. She shrugged.
“Oh well, it is your arse,” Petra said in a bored comeback.
Phoebe thought about all the spanking she had witnessed and giggled. She wondered if the irony had been lost on Petra. But at the back of her mind she remembered Dhenry’s off-hand paternal manner and the fact that she and Petra were around the same age and her mouth became a little dry even as her tummy tingled. But with a shrug she turned back to her painting.
The conservatory had an iron curved roof that had been an Edwardian extension to the old Georgian house. Looking at even the little painting she had done she could see a vast improvement, although now that the walls had turned half blue the white painted iron framed windows looked a little shabby.
Dhenry had mentioned something about black and she groaned. Perhaps a period floral wallpaper would work better, she thought.
“What do you think you are doing?” a sharp male voice snapped.
Phoebe whirled around to confront Dhenry who stood framed by the French windows with is arms folded.
“I… I thought…” Phoebe suddenly felt a little foolish.
“Did I sign off on you starting the decorations? Did I sign off on blue?” he pressed her with a scowl.
“No but…” Phoebe offered him an awkward smile and blushed. He was right of course but… it had seemed such a good idea to make a start. As she stood with dripping brush in had she suddenly she felt like a kid caught with a hand in the biscuit barrel.
“No,” Dhenry agreed with a sigh.
“Shall I…?” Phoebe gestured to the wall with the brush wondering if she should finish.
“What you are going to do is come with me,” he said wearily. “I mean I like you Phoebe, really I do, but it is long past the time you got a good sound spanking.”
“I… I got a what…? I mean… come on,” she blustered. This was crazy.
“What do you expect? Did you think you were immune? You know… you knew what would happen didn’t you?” Dhenry said in a tone that left absolutely no room for an argument.
Phoebe tried anyway. “I didn’t… you can’t… I’m just…”
“Phoebe,” he barked, “Come with me now.”
Without waiting Dhenry strode off to the sun lounge or morning room as it was called, a large furnished room just inside the conservatory that backed onto the garden.
Phoebe put down the brush and smoothed down her denim coveralls to remove traces of paint and sighed. She would just have to explain, she thought, but still somewhat disconcerted and nervous she hurried after Dhenry in case she angered him further.
By the time Phoebe got to the lounge Dhenry was sitting on an armless Victorian chair with a stern expression on his face. She had seen the posture before, he had often spanked Petra in that chair and she shot an involuntary glance at the corner where she had seen the surly brat standing with her hands on head more than once.
“That’s right,” Dhenry said, “I am glad we understand one another, but first comes the spanking.”
“Look,” Phoebe began, “You can’t just…”
Dhenry put up a dismissive arm to silence her.
“You artistic types are all the same, all ideas and no discipline,” Dhenry groaned. “Petra was just the same when she came here. Now stop giving me attitude and drop your things.”
“My… things,” Phoebe wailed, “I am not going to let you…”
“There is no letting about this,” Dhenry said incredulously. “You are going to get a good sound spanking on your bare bottom and then you are going to stand in that corner for at least an hour. Make your mind up to it, it is going to happen and you damn well know it young lady.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes in exasperation as if confronting a fool. “I am not one of your…” she began but stopped, one of his what, one of the women that lived here and pretending to have artistic pretensions? In a flash of insight she knew that the design company in London had long since given up on her and that it was Dhenry who paid her wages.
“Look can’t we talk about this, I mean I like it here and… and… maybe we can…” she began suddenly feeling even more foolish.
“We will talk about this alright, it is time you pulled your weight but first you have a spanking coming young lady now drop your overalls and get over my knee,” Dhenry ordered her.
Phoebe gulped. She knew that she could refuse. She knew that if she fled to her room nothing more would be said. She wouldn’t even lose her job, such that it was. But she knew too that she wouldn’t belong. So before she knew what she was doing she unhooked the shoulder strap on her dungaree type coverall and let the denim fall to her waist as she stumbled forward.
She was lowered firmly across Dhenry’s lap, the hardness of his thighs like a rock bench beneath hers. Then the back of her denim slid down her thighs allowing her legs to chill. A sensation soon joined at her bared bottom as her knickers joined the journey south to her ankles.
Phoebe gasped, her eyes swivelling wildly as she squirmed on his lap. She felt his rough hands brush her bare bum, a grizzled leather paddle on cool silk.
“It was just… just a test,” she said lamely, still thinking of her abortive painting attempt. “You’re right, the colour is…” she swallowed, “well its wrong isn’t it? What about green or… or…”
The first spank arrived at the tight curve of her bottom with a flaming crack. It hurt like nothing she had ever felt and her eyes boggled in her head. Margery had said he had a paddle and a strap as well as a cane.
“For when a girl is really for it,” she had said.
But for Phoebe she could think of nothing worse than Dhenry’s hand and the second spank made her yelp.
“I will tell you when to paint,” Dhenry spanked. “And what to paint,” he said, spanking her again. “And you will do exactly what you are told.”
“Yes Sir.” Phoebe’s voice was shrill and she was already panting as if running a race.
The spanked area of her bottom thrilled and burned and stung and… and how long had he spanked Petra?
“Please Sir,” she wailed. “I’ll be good, I’ll be ever so good.”
“I know,” Dhenry said warmly, “I know.”
And then they both settled down for a long, long quarter of an hour of spanking.
Filed under: DJB stories, domestic, M/F, spanking stories | 6 Comments
Tags: corner time, OTK, spanking
The holidays beckon and I am nowhere near being ready. Usually I take a lap-top and write while I am away, but I suspect that I won’t be able to this year. So if the posts drop off somewhat you will know why. Nonetheless, there is still time and for a change it is hot, hot, hot.
Thanks again for the contributions from all those sharing real life snippets. As I have told individuals not all are printable, but keep them coming. Even those I do publish sometimes get so altered that they end up being my words than the contributors, often due to the native language of the writer or the need for obscuring certain details.
The big news this week is that Amber Pixie Wells is slowing down following vanilla commitments and the retirement of her co-spanko Lily Ann. She is “winding down the LAP Spanking site and cease filming videos very soon, but I am not retiring entirely.” Fans will no doubt feel the chill, but others have gone and returned so watch this space.
Elsewhere pictures and more pictures dominate the week.
Hermione has a picture caption, a regular feature that is usually resolved by the time this round-up is published, but not at the time of writing this.
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | 2 Comments
Tags: spanking, spanking blogs