1art eastern european1art laundry1art US marital1art3 victoria1art4 french

I was hoping for a longer and more expansive exploration of spanking art styles both over time and place. Here is a taster for a future date of varying styles from diverse cultures, including the US, France, Czech Republic and possibly Britain.


wolf17Part I here

Stacy hadn’t eaten a home cooked meal since she couldn’t remember, although she could have done without the audience. Not that Augusta was unsubtle, but after sitting the writer at the kitchen table with a chicken stew she called a young girl just to watch Stacy while the older woman came and went about her duties.

“You like it here?” Stacy asked the girl.

The young woman just blinked and said nothing.

Kind of creepy, Stacy thought and returned her meal. “Are you one of the family or…?” she continued, looking to her minder for some glimmer of eye contact.

The diminutive blonde across the table chewed at her lip and looked as if she wanted to talk. The pony tail made her look like a high school kid, but Stacy reckoned she must be a little older.

“Were you told not to speak to me?” Stacy asked her.

“No but…” the girl winced and quickly shut up. She looked back at the door in case Augusta was there. “Mr Stone doesn’t like us talking to outsiders. Not usually anyway.” The girl added in a whisper.

“My name is Stacy, you are…?” Stacy tried again.

The girl suddenly looked anxious and was about to complain about Stacy not listening to her when Augusta came back.

“Thank you Keri, you can go,” Augusta told the girl.

It seemed to Stacy that the younger woman could not leave quick enough.

“Good bye Keri,” the writer called after her.

Keri gaped in horror at the implication they had been chatting and then fled.

“One of yours?” Stacy asked Augusta.

“It feels that way sometimes,” the older woman sighed and then added, “You finished?”

Stacy pushed her empty plate away and shrugged an acknowledgement.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Augusta told her. “It’s nice enough, but I have to lock you in.”

“Figures,” Stacy said sullenly.

“Don’t worry, it has its own bathroom,” the matriarch reassured her.

“Thanks for the stew,” Stacy said by way answer, not knowing what else to say. Instead she rolled her eyes and made a popping sound with her lips.

“This way,” the older woman said.

The room was just off the kitchen and looked like it might have been an office once or even a store room. The skylight was tiny and there was no window. The toilet and shower stall was barely a cupboard.

“There are some clothes and toiletries on the bed,” Augusta said, “We will talk more tomorrow.” With that she shut the door and locked it leaving Stacy alone.

“What do you think?” Garrick said from the other end of the hall.

Augusta hadn’t known he was there and startled. Her hands went to her throat but she smiled.

“Sorry,” Garrick laughed. The he frowned and nodded at the door.

“Interesting,” Augusta said, “What does Sundance think?”

“We haven’t really talked yet. Not about this one,” her husband told her.

“This is going to get messy before it gets clean,” Augusta grimaced.

Garrick chuckled at that. “My love, as always, your sangfroid amazes me.”

Augusta closed on him and they hugged. The old man kissed the top of her head.


Adam was in his room slumped in a tattered easy chair that had once been their grandmother’s. As boys John had always envied his brother the old thing. To him it seemed like another example of favouritism and Adam’s elder status.

“Mission accomplished,” Adam said as John entered.

“Yeah,” John agreed, but his demeanour suggested he had something else on his mind.

“You don’t think we should have taken her do you?” Adam asked him.

“Do you?” John shot back.

Adam shrugged.

“What about Alice?” his brother continued.

“What about her?”

“She may be in danger,” John let the words hang and watched Adam’s face.

Although nothing was written there, Adam licked his lips and appeared to consider something.

“You had already thought of that?” John accused.

Adam nodded.

“You care then?”

The two brothers locked eyes and only they knew what was written there.

“I saw her,” John said He waited and when his brother didn’t reply he added, “We…”

Adam’s lip curled.

“Man that girl can take a spanking,” John blurted.

Adam almost smiled as he nodded. “So are you fucking my girl or did I fuck yours?” he said.

John flopped backwards onto Adam’s bed with both hands set behind his head and groaned. “Fuck knows.”


Meanwhile back in town Alice was still confused. Before Pulver if she had thought about red necks at all she would have looked down on them. Now she had not only had sex with two such men, but both of them had spanked her. Spanked her into total submission and she had… Alice swallowed, what, liked it? Her bottom still ached and her face felt molten as she remembered being sent to the corner; nor was that the only place heat touched her.

No not liked. Liked was a nice thing, such as a cup cake or a Yankee candle. Her experience with the Stone twins was more primeval. She thought about an experience with drugs in college. In those heady days she had glimpsed how people got addicted. Reaching down she grabbed at her bottom and firmly cupped both rounds until it hurt. The faint pain thrilled her and she held on to it for a moment. It wasn’t just masochism though, if indeed that figured at all in her feelings.

She thought about the humiliation of being sent to the corner as naughty girl. She should be angry, but she had no choice, after years of bad choices that had been true freedom.

Over and over she reran the events in her mind as her libido ran rampant. Did she love him? Love who? In her mind John-Adam were one and she could scarce remember who did what to her and when.

Alice walked to the mirror and looked at the wild dishevelled creature looking back at her. She was a woman she didn’t recognise in a world that was not as she had imagined. What had Stacy being trying to tell her? Garrick was older than he looked. It was all crazy, but at the back of her mind, something would not let go.

Alice turned back to the mirror and let her rob fall to the floor so that she was naked. Then slowly she turned to inspect the purple-red marks on her bottom. She even leaned forward so that her buttocks thrust backwards and rolled her hips. The bruises were a badge of honour, like she had achieved something and she grinned.

“Crazy,” she sighed, “Everything is crazy. Twins, you screwed two twins girl. Just go with it.”


Stacy awoke with a start and found herself looking at a wooden ceiling. For a moment she traced the grain pattern in the planks with her eyes as if they would lead her to an answer. The room smelt of cotton and pinewood, while somewhere beyond her room she could hear the clattering of dishes.

Then she remembered and sat up. The room was nice enough and she even had her own bathroom. This had to be good. She made frog lips and let them go with a pop. Then she swung her legs out of the bed and satisfied her sudden need to pee.

The next order of business was a long shower while she thought how she could turn the situation to her advantage.

“Okay, so you got in girl, but now what?” she muttered under her breath. She ran her professional check list through her head. One, no immediate danger; if they intended her harm she would either be dead or in chains. Two, eyes and ears; look for evidence. Three, look for a way out.

She barely heard the knock at the door over the running water and whoever it was had to keep knocking several times.

“Miss Dane,” a girl’s voice called, “Breakfast.”

Stacy heard the door lock click and guessed she was free. She hastily dried and pulled on last night’s underwear and clothes. The bra was good enough, but she felt kind of grungy in panties. Maybe one of her new protectors could… then she saw the fresh clothes in a pile on a chair in the corner. Leaving the bra and sweater she stepped out of the panties and pulled on the fresh ones just in time for another knock at the door.

“Miss Dane, please come to breakfast.” It was Augusta and she sounded mad.

“Coming,” Stacy called out. Then with a look around she tried the door handle.

The quiet peace of the previous evening’s kitchen was broken by two dozen faces all turned to her. Ignoring the mute interest she sniffed. The smell was fantastic and suddenly she was hungry.

Half the people seated were men, but only women were serving.

“Sit there Miss Dane,” Augusta pointed to an empty chair.

“Thank you, this looks good,” Stacy smiled politely and nodded at the food.

One of the seated men offered her basket of bread rolls without even looking at her.

“So you all live here?” she asked him.

He swivelled his gaze and then away again without answering. For a long moment she was afraid that everyone was going to sit in silence, but after a few seconds the babble resumed and she was almost forgotten.


Breakfast ended quickly. One minute there was an army scraping plates and exchanging banter then as if a factory whistle had gone off somewhere all the men departed and the women descended like locusts to clear the table.

“That was good thanks,” Stacy said once everyone but Augusta had gone.

The older woman smiled in acknowledgement. “More coffee?” she offered.

Stacy, who could never say no still had a full cup. She held it up in salute and shook her head. “I’m good thanks.”

Augusta drew up a chair and sat across the table from her guest.

“I won’t ask you what you are doing here. In Pulver I mean. Garrick will get around to that. But where did you come from?” Augusta asked.

“All over,” Stacy said simply. “I was born in New Orleans would you believe. After that we moved to Arizona and then New Mexico. I just about remember that. As soon as I was old enough I skipped out and went to New York. I have lived there ever since. Well mostly.” She spoke as if reading the back of a cereal packet as if her story had nothing to do with her.

“New Orleans,” Augusta sounded interest. “You’re family are from there?”

“My mom? No,” Stacy shrugged. “She was just there working as a waitress when I came along. I never knew who my father was.”

“You and your mother still in touch?”

It was an odd question and Stacy wondered why she wouldn’t be. She maybe saw her once every other Thanksgiving and then there were birthday and Christmas cards. “Sure,” Stacy said, “She lives in California now.”

“And you never married?” Augusta asked casually.

“What and break a family tradition? Besides I roll with whoever takes my interest, if you know what I mean,” Stacy arched her eyebrows as if she expected Augusta to be shocked.

“I suppose you have time yet,” the matriarch said pleasantly, “And you have achieved so much in such a short space of time.”

“I have?” Stacy looked puzzled.

“You have written books I hear,” Augusta tried to sound impressed.

“Yeah well…” Stacy wished they had sold better.

“How old are you?” Augusta guessed at early 20s, but there was something about the eyes.

“This old gal is pushing 30,” Stacy said sadly, “Well 27 anyway; next birthday.”

Augusta nodded without surprise.

“You thought I was younger,” Stacy yawned. It wasn’t a question.

“You act like it,” Augusta said sharply.

“Yah,” the woman drawled, “I get that a lot. Is that why you threatened to spank me?”

Without answering Augusta weighed the young woman up and tried to see something in her face.

“You remind me of my Mom,” Stacy snorted. “She was a spanker and how. My house my rules, she would say.”

“That why you left?” Augusta.

“I guess not. I got tired of running from everything and decided to run to something,” Stacy told her.

“Your mother was on the run?” Augusta asked.

Stacy shrugged. “Not exactly, I mean not from anything real. She just couldn’t settle, you know?”

Augusta stood up and gathered the coffee things. “Did you sleep alright? A big change from New York?”

“I did thanks, I don’t always,” Stacy confided in.

“Insomnia?” Augusta stopped what she was doing and watched the woman carefully.

“Na,” Stacy shook her head and crinkled up her nose, “Bad dreams sometimes.”

Augusta made a sympathetic face and changed the subject. “You haven’t asked about the rules?” The older woman said as she put the coffee down on the side and slid the cups on top of the dishwasher.

“Should I?” Stacy yawned again and made a frog face.

“You stay in the house and after today you do your share of the chores,” Augusta told her.

“I’m your prisoner,” Stacy shrugged.

“No, you are Garrick’s prisoner. To me you are just another mouth to feed. No offence. Oh and I meant what I said. You may be older than most of the other girls, but I don’t want any cussing.” Augusta gave the girl one last hard look and then moved away.

“What chores do I…?” Stacy called after the woman, but she was gone.

To be continued…

Community Page


1c AAA AJR1c AAA AJR21c plagiarist2_11c strap-spanking-60s-800

Hi all. This is the third week in a row we have run this feature. Maybe it is the way to go.

It all seems very quite to me across the blogosphere, but the professionals have been busy. I have included two cuts from Firm Hand Spanking this week, both from the same scene with Amelia Jane Rutherford if you want to check it out and one from Dallas.

1c dallas spanking-annabelle-lee

Pandora has explained the new censorship legislation on her blog and include her in action above from a still taken from AAA.

1 c bloomers-white-3

Devlin has a nice still as does the Spanking Blog and it is great top see that Hermione, Bonnie and Ronnie Soul are still going strong. The latter had this nice blast from the past featuring the Roger Moore as the Saint. There is also a nice little image from Spanking Toons.

1 c Simon Templar1

1 c _spanking toons

Real Spankings and Cutiepie seem to have both been down for a while.

More next week.

Vintage Sunday


3vin 2girls3vin colour10133vin femme3vin kneel_chair3vin monica kennedy3vin nipon3vin recline

Why Not?


colourful dayStill playing catch up here. Vintage Sunday tomorrow.

Not sure where this picture is from or who took it or why? But I thought it might brighten your day.

Chaos in campIt has been a few days since the last post, my apologies for that. Castle Black has been in chaos after some work complications collided with a fire alarm related power outage and the PC/Internet set-up imploded. Due in part to me forgetting to shut the damn machine and modem down before shutting off the mains to repair and reset the fire alarms.

This has also affected my ability to email, which is why I haven’t replied to some of you. Sorry again.

There are many projects ongoing – if only I could find time. Series left hanging since our sabbatical include Ad Astra and the Sinclair Method; sorry about that. Thanks for your inquiries.

The publisher is absolutely screaming for the latter. (Well OK they just made a polite inquiry – their fourth I think). This will resume soon as will selected episodes of Abraham Heights.

Ad Astra will have to wait until our current series: In the Service of the Wolf and the aforementioned Sinclair Method are completed as they are at least planned out and are much shorter.

I know there are several other projects like Raw, which I would like to return to and many projects that started and did not go anywhere. That is the nature of this blog I am afraid, it is always a work in progress. But as the girl said, hey-ho, one day I will make this my day job. And pigs will fly…

wolf16Part I here

As soon as John left the cabin he knew he was being watched. Damn, he thought, now they have seen me. For a moment he considered going back inside and telling Alice to pack. But there was no way he could ensure her safety even then and that would certainly tip the hunters off to the fact that Alice was important.

He took a deep breath and let the beast rouse within him. He could smell them close and sense their eyes on him, almost as if their gaze was sweeping over him like radar. His muscles bunched up and the adrenaline surged within him. Easy tiger, he told himself, let’s not get carried away and give them any more ammunition. He compared himself to Adam, not for the first time, and wondered if his restraint made him better or worse than his brother.

John took a deep breath and walked openly across the parking lot towards town. The truck would be loaded up by now and he had a job to do.

“Hey,” said a voice as he reached the tree-lined verge demarking the car park. “You one of those Stone brothers?”

John stopped and scanned the vicinity without turning. There three of them, although one was a ways off, probably watching the front.

“Sure you are,” the man continued in a dry faux friendly voice.

“What of it?” John threw back over his shoulder, still without turning.

“My friends would like to talk to you is all,” the man replied.

John turned slowly and weighed the large man up. He was pushing 40 and big like a football star. His curly hair was in a losing battle between blond and grey and already thinning. He looked capable enough and mean.

“And just who are your friends?” John countered as matter-of-factly as he could manage.

“Come see,” the man grinned.

“I’ll pass,” John shrugged and turned to go.

Another man, much smaller and like an eager ferret, stepped out to block John’s way. This one was younger and dark haired with sharp features and a smug grin.

“Oh I insist,” the dry-voiced man behind John said.

“You have the wrong man,” John ventured; he could take the small man easy, even allowing for the concealed gun. But the big man would need the beast to subdue him.

“Adam, Adam Stone, right?” the big man said.

John felt his jaw tense and he nearly lost it. Always it was Adam. Instead he shrugged and said, “See, wrong man.”

“My apologies, you’re John aren’t you?” the larger man laughed and again John turned to face him.

“You have the advantage of me friend,” John smiled. It was an easy smile that hinted at friendship but allowed a measure of steel to touch his eyes.

“Makin, Art Makin,” the man’s smile was lazy now, almost as if the fake friendly game was getting boring. “I am a friend of Coleridge.”

“Of course you are,” John sighed.

The big man blinked. He was hardly aware of it but with his eyes open Stone looked cornered but when he reopened them from his blink John was in his face and mid-air.

The ferret gaped as John Stone cannoned into his friend and knocked him clear across the parking lot. “Sheeet,” he drawled, before remembering his gun. His fingers chewed fabric for the 9mm and he had to look down to untangle it.

John dropped to a crouch and weighed up the threat from the groaning man on the ground. He would be slow for a moment or two, he judged. Ferret was next. By the time Ferret drew his gun John was up close and stood relaxed in front of him an arm’s length away.

“Really,” John said incredulously and looked dismissively at the pistol in the man hands. Then one classic jaw punch put the man out for the count.

By the time Makin got to his feet John Stone was gone.

A moment later a woman ran up and looked aghast. “He took you?” she gasped.

“Oh yeah,” Makin growled.

“What about the girl then?” the woman, a petite fierce-eyed Latina, asked.

“As far as we know she is a civilian,” Makin said, “Probably just skirt. We will let Coleridge call it.” The whole time his eyes glared towards town where John must have fled to.

“What about that truck? We could…” the woman began.

Makin shook his head. “Coleridge said to just watch for now.”

“Then what was this all about?” the woman asked looking at the still stunned ferret-faced man on the ground.

“I thought it was an opportunity, but news flash: we fucked up,” Makin snarled turning on the woman.

“We did,” she sighed, but it had been Makin’s call, she hoped Coleridge would see that.

John made the store in five minutes flat. Sensing no immediate danger around the truck he made his thanks and swung himself up into the cab. Margaret Dangerfield came out to see him off.

“You want to check the…” she began.

John waved her away with a polite smile. “I’m good thanks, I am sure you did a great job,” he said.

Margaret nodded. “My respects to Augusta,” she smiled back.

John nodded and then the truck roared into life. Damn fool letting yourself get distracted, he chided himself. But the street was clear and in a moment he was tearing up Main Street and away home.


Stacy Dane finally finished her last coffee and gathered up her papers. Nancy was polite as she saw the writer to the door, but she could help shooting a harassed glance at the clock. They should be closed by now.

Outside Garrick watched the lights in the diner go out before Stacy had even cleared the door.

“All freaking day,” Adam groaned, “How much coffee can this girl drink?”

“Maybe she was waiting for someone,” Jared said dismissively, his dark gravel voice having none of the impatience of his young brother.

“Maybe,” Garrick mumbled, his eyes now fixed on the prey. This was the first time he had really seen Stacy Dane and there was something about her that made him uneasy.

“What’s wrong? You think she is in with the hunters?” Adam asked his father.

Garrick shrugged off the question.

“That’s what we are going to find out neh?” Jared rasped already making a move. “Bring the car,” he told his brother.

Adam shot a quizzical look at his father, but Garrick sat back in his seat, all his attention now on Stacy. I guess Jared is running the show, Adam decided and reached for the ignition key.

“Make sure no one is about,” Garrick said, but Jared was already out of the car and striding along the shadow side of the street matching Stacy’s pace step for step.

At the last house Stacy suddenly swung off the sidewalk and began crossing the road towards her stalker. Like a ghost Jared stopped and slunk back into the shadow of a porch. Meanwhile Adam slowly brought the car around behind him willing the car not to be noticed until Stacy had finished crossing the street and ducked down the side alley towards the motel. He did not relax even when she passed from sight and Jared followed her. Instead he sped up and made the turn to follow them.

At the sound of a car behind her Stacy half turned, but as she did so something swept her up and carried her effortlessly into the shadows. There was no time for panic and whoever had her, stopped her mouth with a large hard hand. Coleridge, you bastard, she thought, curiously unafraid. The hunter’s strong arm tactics probably posed no danger to her and he was just grandstanding.

Still she was angry and wriggled desperately against the leather vice that held her. She could smell the stale cowhide and something else: tobacco, whisky, the deeply masculine scent somehow disturbed her. Suddenly she wasn’t sure it was a regular hunter.

It took a moment more to sense that the man who held her was familiar somehow and then she was bundled into the trunk of a car.

“Damn you,” she cursed in a muffled voice once the trunk was closed.

Then she felt the car speeding away and for the first time she was afraid.


By the time Garrick and his sons reached the ranch with Stacy, John was already back with the truck-load of supplies. John Stone had wasted no time in telling Sundance about his encounter with Art Makin and Ferret Boy, as he styled him.

“They have had eyes on us since you all left,” the Navajo told him, “I have put every available gun at the perimeter and Augusta has been reorganising the place for a siege. It is good you have those supplies. Once your father gets here I doubt if anyone is leaving for a while.”

John had thought about the next full moon and the hunt. Hopefully this would all blow over by then or things could get complicated.

The men were still talking when Garrick’s party drove in. Garrick got out at once and crossed the asphalt to where the two men were standing. Seeing Sundance’s body stance and the concern etched on his face the old man said, “Yes, I smelled them.” The hunters were way too obvious for his liking. They were either supremely confident or amateurs and neither boded very well for the pack. Then to Jared and Adam he said, “Take the girl to Augusta… and Jared, make her feel welcome. She is going to be scared about now.”

Jared snorted and his face suggested that soothing the foolish woman was not high on his agenda. But Adam nodded emphatically and even gave his father a reassuring half-smile.

Stacy was blinking and confused as Adam helped her from the trunk, but before she could even speak Jared took her arm and half led and half carried her towards the house with Adam striding after them.

Garrick and Sundance watched them go before saying any more.

“So we have a siege, boss,” Sundance sighed.

“Looks that way old friend,” Garrick agreed. Then he smiled at John. “Saying some fond farewells while you in town?” The old man winked.

John frowned and wondered how his father could possibly know about him and Alice.

“Didn’t that motel have a shower boy?” Sundance chuckled.

The two older men exchanged knowing looks and grinned. John blushed. He realised they could smell Alice on him. He decided he would definitely shower before he confronted Adam; if only to be tactful.

“Dad, I had a run in with some guy called Makin. He and two others were waiting for me outside the motel,” John changed the subject.

Garrick glared, his eyes flickering in his head as if a thousand thoughts were running through his mind. “They openly attacked you?” he asked with some urgency.

“I didn’t exactly give them the chance. But I think they were about to take me to their leader,” John explained in a grim voice.

“Shit,” his father sighed and then waving his son away, “This is escalating too fast.” Then he took Sundance by the arm and began leading him to one side. You had better fill me in as to what has happened while I was in town,” he said as they walked away leaving John to wonder what he was going to tell Adam.


Stacy was bundled into a room without ceremony cursing and fighting all the way.

“Who the hell are you?” she raged slapping at a grinning Jared who marched her just ahead of him.

“I think you know who we are, I think you know far too much,” his voice steel cold.

“Jared,” Adam cut in, “Back off a bit will you?” the younger man was concerned that this was overkill.

“Yes Jared, please leave her to me,” came a woman’s voice.

Looking around and expecting to see a dungeon, Stacy was surprised to be confronted with a large ranch kitchen and a rather stern but gently smiling woman who appeared to be in her 40s. She knew at once she was looking at Augusta Stone, the matriarch of this strange clan and Garrick Stone’s wife.

“Who the hell are you?” Stacy decided to play dumb.

“I’m Augusta, and I will thank you to moderate your language young lady,” Augusta said in a frim maternal voice.

“My language, are you kidding, what the hell lady? I just got jacked off the street and…” Stacy snarled.

Augusta held up a hand and glared at the girl. “I know that this is all very unfortunate, my husband seems to think you are friends with Mr Coleridge, but please moderate your language, I won’t tell you again.” Then to Jared and Adam she said, “You can go now gentlemen.”

“Okay mom,” Jared said, looking like he was free of a tiger.

Adam snorted in amusement and both men left.

Once they had gone Stacy relaxed and turned to confront her new captor. She was in. After all these months she had hit the god-loving mother load. Now maybe she could use this to her advantage. “So what the hell is this all about?” she snarled and squared up to Augusta.

Augusta sighed and shook her head in disappointment. Then she reached out to steady the excited young woman with both hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Listen, I think you know who we are. I think you have been interfering in our family business for some time now. You, my dear young woman, are somewhat out of your depth. For that reason I will cut you a tiny bit of slack. But I warn you if you were my daughter and used language like that, then I would turn you over my knee and bare your little bottom for a good sound spanking. Believe me young lady, you are not too old.”

Seeing hard cold honesty written in the older woman’s face Stacy quietened down and visibly gulped. I am not your daughter, she thought, nor am I about to let you spank me like I am a kid, but she said none of this. She opted instead for, “Yes Ma’am.” Yes ma’am, are you going lame?

“Better,” August smiled and lifted her firm hands from the woman. “Now let me explain. You are to be our guest for a week or two. Here there are rules and you will obey them. I know this is a huge inconvenience and I won’t embarrass us both by inviting you to lie by asking too many questions of you now. I have a good stout hairbrush and some soap for liars as well as cursing and you don’t want to find that out.”

Stacy glowered at the woman, unsure if her blushing was from anger or something else. In any case, she felt an odd gooey feeling in her tummy that reminded her for some reason of her grandmother.

“You are either in league with our enemies or you are unwittingly in danger from them. Either way you are safer here. Do you understand?” Augusta continued.

“Not really,” Stacy sighed. “But what the h-heck, I guess for now I have no choice.”

“Good girl,” Augusta said warmly. “Now you must be hungry.”

To be continued

Community Page


1C Dreams Amelia1C strong-me-67 RW1C violet_vegas11C b1031C burlesque-dancer-spankingThis is another round-up of the community, although some people are still not posting, with even the legendary Chris Chross going quiet for a while now. While I was dark his blog had a make-over. While it looks better it is harder to use.

Back in the day bloggers used to wait once a week with baited breath, as it were, to see if they had been Chrossed. That is mentioned in his recommendations for the week. I the early days of my blog my hits would double when A Voice got Chrossed.

Another big change has been with the valiant Pandora Blake who has expanded beyond Dreams of Spanking (still one of the best spanking blogs around) and is exploring new territories. She has being doing a sterling job of challenging government censorship in the UK.

Other professionals include the one and only Dallas and AAA Spanking.

The semi-pros are still about in the shape of Richard Windsor, who has been beavering away collecting rare old spanking photos and Devlin O’Neil is as he ever was.

My stats have been respectable but slow to grow from a good start and I notice people commenting has dropped away. When I get a chance I am finishing off extant serials, but I have published one or two stand-alone stories recently. More of those to come.

I hope to expand this feature but for now here are few pictures culled from the aforementioned above.

Vintage Sunday


2vin 1920s reclined2vin 1930s field workers2vin 1960s2vin broadway 1940s2vin chair2vin kneeling

1 This sporting lifeA few years ago it was reported that an entire women’s soccer team were spanked by their (female) coach following a bet that they would not lose. Nor it seems are they alone in the sporting world.

The spanking here may be seen as a bit of fun but famously according  to her autobiography, Romanian gymnast Corina Ungureanu spanked by her coach Octavian Belu.

She said “I received many spankings from Mr Belu, but I believe competitive sports require a Spartan education. His spankings helped me a lot. It was like an impulse to snap out of my tired and exhausted state.”

Daniela Silivas though, another Romanian gymnast from the 1980’s agreed that the “correction” spankings she received from various coaches from that time were no big deal.

“Spanking was very much part of the Romanian methodology,” she explained.

Was she and other gymnasts spanked on the bare bottom?

Ms Ungureanu is reporting as saying, “So what?”

Ms Silivas was more evasive, but did say, “It was whatever was appropriate to my failings and the situation.”

Another unnamed colleague said “spanking is a great leveller sometimes. I mean you have young woman getting all this attention and it can go to their heads. Maybe a good spanking on the bare bottom reminds them that it is all about the sport.”

Trawling some of the vanilla and not-so-vanilla forums threw up some interesting stories. While most of these cannot be verified and may seem incredible here are two brief snippets.

“Yeowch, spanking, not always that much fun, but what can you do? I was spanked by my tennis coach. Big hands leave big red marks on my bottom, but not all bad. I later married him.” Kelly J said in a comment on Women Matters.

Davina T writing at Spanking Life asked about spanking by sports coaches. She may have had a fantasy in this area, but claims she was spanked by a fitness coach in college.

Evidentially she agreed to it in advance if she didn’t meet certain targets, assuming it would never happen.

“Boy did it hurt. I was as shocked as hell when he spanked my bare bottom and I was kind of wierded out by it. But later it was all I could think about. I guess my spanking fetish kind of grew from there,” she said in a comment.


The number of visits to this blog

  • 16,916,218 thanks