And to Continue


Corner Art3

Still here, still working it out.

Vintage Sunday


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wolf30The touch screen keyboard fills the screen and I cannot see what I am writing. So I might pass on writing a short pithy post.

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Sorry for the delay in normal service. I am still working off mobile devices with no archive access. I can’t write anything much on my phone, certainly not a whole story or even an article.

I have been trying to configure an old lap top, but I am now away with very little queued up.

Please note I have no access to my email for now, hence no replies there.

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Sadly I am still operating with mobile devices and no archive. I will keep you updated. Meanwhile here is some music… I mean a picture.

Vintage Sunday


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_C carrie-and-the-robot-1A few days ago my PC either died or became very sick. I currently have no access to files and I am posting this on a handheld device. Normal service will be resumed…?

Woman machine2

Amelia’s bare bottom was a deep red from the paddle session and still vulnerably directed at the ceiling. The indignity was an affront to her pride, but the apprehension of what was to come was worse.

The first cane stroke fell like the sword of justice and cut twice as sharply. Amelia screamed with a voice she never previous knew she had. The sawing pain of the stroke started off being beyond endurance and then got worse.

“I’m sorry, God, oh God, I’m sorry,” she gasped.

“That is the first extra stroke,” Anette intoned.

The reminder that her court awarded punishment would have been over had it not for her attitude made her feel foolish now.

“I’ll never do it again, never,” she promised, as much to herself as to Anette and Dan.

Dan caned her again and she gave another shout.

“That’s two,” Anette said unnecessarily.

Amelia clenched her jaw and found some fluff on the carpet to fix her gaze on. It always helped when she had jabs.

The third stroke wiped out her composure and she babbled denials that the punishment was happening. Such denials, apologies, and pleadings characterised the next several minutes as stoke followed stroke and she was convinced her bottom was being shredded.

Anette could find no sympathy as she admired the long bumps that formed in long white lines on Amelia’s bottom. They looked sore and she watched as they slowly grew dark and maroon in hue. The girl would be fine, she decided, although just then she was a sobbing mess.

“I hope you are learning your lesson?” Anette said pompously.

“Yes Ma’am, oh yes ma’am, oh Sir,” she added to Dan.

“Almost done,” Dan said and readied the last three strokes.

Amelia composed herself and steadied her breathing as time stood on its end.

“Ready?” Dan said.

Amelia, who had been, flinched at his voice and her bottom did a little shimmy.

He caned her.

“Ffffff-Jeeze-hmmmm,” she groaned and rode the burn.

“Lucky 13,” Anette grinned.

Dan caned her again and Amelia gave a short shout and they could hear her tummy thumping on the pad as she shook out the pain.

Fourteen found a narrow space between two previous welts on the place she used for sitting and she prayed for it to be over. Then even as Anette counted it, the last stroke came.

“Now what were you saying? Did we know who you are?” Anette asked crisply.

“I’m sorry,” Amelia sobbed.

“Sorry, who are you?” Anette pressed.

“I’m very sorry,” Amelia sniffed, for once in her life she saw how shallow and preposterous some of her posturing was.

“Okay, we’re done,” Dan said, “Come and see to her will you?”

“Sure,” Anette said breezily, welcoming a closer look and a chance to smear something stingy and cleansing liberally over the girl’s sore bottom. Maybe she would utilise the small stiff brush and show Amelia that sometimes the after care can be as challenging as the actual punishment. “When do we have to release her by?”

“By law, midnight, but best if she is discharged by the shift change over at six,” Dan said absently as opened the door and left.

“Plenty of time then,” she said to the space where he has stood and grinned. Even if she were called away she could leave Amelia to savour the first stage of after care. It was all a part of the service.


After her shift Anette thought more about how much she would miss her job if the authorities went ahead with the automation programme. How would it even work? She knew that the far wing had an experimental automated set-up for familiarisation and training purposes, although as yet it had not been authorised for use. No one would be there at that time so abusing an emergency fire work around, she entered the wing through a maintenance door and went to have a look.

The punishment room looked little different than the one she usually used, except the padded bench was more like a padded barrel and there columns either side with various openings. There were also very many more camera feeds in the corners of the room and set to view the miscreant’s face and business end. Anette had heard that public humiliation was to play a greater part of the automation went ahead.

Another difference was the observation booth on the other side of the one-way mirror. This room was L-shaped and Anette was able to walk from the rear to the face to watch the action. The control consul too was more complex.

“Let me see, how does this work?” she muttered and keyed the access.

The console came to life and she could see at once the intuitive set-up array. Anette smiled and for fun she typed ‘test subject one’ and opened a mock session.

If it had been that brat Amelia she would have had some real fun. On a whim she tapped in a sentence of 48, with 36 penalties. It was a theoretical maximum that only the medic safe guard could mitigate, slow down or override.

The word, ‘implements’ flashed up and she studied the options. There was a choice of paddle, strap, birch or cane. The birch was new and according to the specifications the strap too was a judicial style heavy one with the option of a slight serrated edge.

“Spare the rod and spoil the brat,” Anette giggled and punched in 15 paddle strokes, 15 strap and 18 with the birch for the main course. Then with a grin she divided the 36 penalty strokes evenly between the birch again and the cane. “Pity it is not for real Amelia,” she snarled.

Then she noticed the other options: ‘Full public shaming, extended duration, force level medium, hard or maximum.’

“Yes, yes, and maximum,” Anette giggled, “That will teach you.” Having completed the theoretical session the panel asked if she would like to save the pre-set. “Sure,” she answered the silent words on the screen with a button press only to be told that it could only be saved as a queue item or she could shut down. “Ahh, tech, I hate it. Queue it then,” she cursed and pressed some buttons until the screen went away.

Frustrated she looked for a manual setting and found it. She pressed the paddle icon and the right hand column inside moved to extend a paddle on an automated stick.

“Stroke one,” she said and hit the button.

The paddle spanked the padded drum with a satisfying thwack. Anette giggled. She tried it again.

I have never been spanked, she thought, and was suddenly curious. It was stupid idea, she thought even as she noticed the manual could be set with a delay and a swat count. She looked around and licked her lips. It was easy to set a delay of 30 seconds and with a deep breath she set three strokes at medium force. Then she ran into the punishment room and bent over the padded barrel.

There was a long silence and nothing happened. Anette began to feel foolish bent over with her tail in the air and she hoped no one would walk in. Then there was a distant click and something churned away.

The automatic swat stung her clothed bottom and she gasped. “Medium I said,” she yelped, but the second swat was no gentler. “Oh,” she sighed, but she rather enjoyed the tingle in her behind.

The barrel rolled and tipped her further forward so that her feet left the ground. “Okay…” she was suddenly apprehensive. The third stroke stung lower on the bottom and she began to pant. “Damn that hurt.”

She was just about to wriggle free and get down when the automated voice announced, “Next queue item loaded; test subject one.”

“Oh God that would be embarrassing,” Anette laughed and made to get down.

The machine made a clank and the barrel rolled again so that she was thrown forward and very slowly back. For seem reason the edge of the padding had encased her wrists and for a moment she could not let go. It was suddenly in a very embarrassing way she was elevated with her bottom uppermost.

“Dignified,” she grunted and pulled hard to free her wrists. Nothing gave.

“Clothing detected,” the automatic voice intoned.

“Okay, emergency override, shut down,” she called.

There was another whirring and a clank. Small hooks and arms extended and she felt her clothing loosened and pulled away from her hips and upper thighs. “Stop this,” she squealed.

“Punishment in progress,” the automated voice announced.

“Override, stop,” Anette yelled in a panic, but she was answered only by the right hand column extending a paddle and lining it up with her bare bottom.




When I was at school all the girls in class either had a pony or wanted one. Many of them worked for peanuts at a local horse farm on Saturdays and in their holidays and competition for these jobs was fierce.

One day I was in science class with a girl called Laura who had a job at this particular farm and asked about it. She said the best bit was exercising the horses but that mostly the older girls and women did this. If she had a turn, it was usually the less biddable horses that weren’t so much fun.

I asked what did she do then, use a whip or something? I had no idea about this stuff and was just making conversation. She gasped and said something like, “God no, if I did that she would use the crop on me.”

This was more my interest even then and I asked if they would really do that.

Laura muttered something like, “Sometimes,” and quickly changed the subject.

As it happened a friend of mine’s older sister, Janet, worked at the farm, she was 18 or so at the time I think, so I asked her. I was told they were pretty strict and I might be surprised what went on.

Of course my imagination worked over time for years, but I never found out much more than that until much later.

Then a few months ago I got an email from Kerry complimenting the blog and saying it was good it came back. It is always nice when women say such things. She asked about horse related stories and told me a short anecdote.

She said that when she left school she had worked as a stable girl and that the owner was given to swatting and swiping girls across their bums if they were lazy or late. “It must have been hard to resist all those tight bottoms in jodhpurs.”

She said “one day I entered one of the stables to get a broom and shovel to use to clean out another stall and walked in on the owner with one of the young women across her knee getting a spanking on the bare bum.”

Kerry made a swift exit but thinks the girl had been cruel or impatient with one of the horses.

She hinted at other such stories but hasn’t got back to me.




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