Keeping it Real

06Feb19

real of7m8kbdgc1v98enro2_500real ofjt35EWyu1v98enro1_500real otkreal spanking-selfie-1I followed a link about Trump that led to a wildly ignorant rant about Europe being socialist and Brexit and I decided to back out. But there was this side thread about marital arguments (following on from a side thread about Brexit et al dividing families).

On this vanilla forum this woman just casually puts out “When my husband spanks me it tends to clear the air. I mean it does hurt, but it is supposed to right? What I do hate is when my husband laughs at my arse because it is all red, especially when he makes me stand in the corner.”

The replies were along the lines of “YOUR HUSBAND SPANKS YOU!!!”

And one that ignored that and asked if he really made her stand in the corner afterwards.

The defensive wife replied, “Yeah well I don’t cry, not really, it doesn’t hurt THAT much and is better than when he grounds me.”

You can imagine the response. If I can find it again I will post any updates, but mostly it was a sea of crap.

I just thought this snippet would go with the section of unrelated reality snaps above. I may have posted some of them before, but hey ho.


Community

05Feb19

12507185741162407049bdsmlr-51540-QUMK79CSvGbdsmlr-56724-KvjOSZMGVObdsmlr-109095-P7wqveVew2bdsmlr-115639-QowPOX7X9KOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAzooey_coffee1A late one this week – I am up to my eyes.

Not a lot to report, the Daily Star (UK) had story on couples spanking but I couldn’t get the web page to load and I can’t post paper (yet). I also stumbled on a thread about older women using spanking to mentor younger women (in the example 20-something) and about how in some cases this can slip into a sexual affair. Sorry lost the thread but will return to this if I can find it.

It is worth keeping an eye on Pandora and supporting her anti-censorship drive. There was (is?) a meeting in London, but online the phrase ‘next Monday’ is too vague for event info – I think we missed it.

Vanilla Spanking had an article on spoilt heiresses in the movies.

Above there are a selection of pictures from BDSMLR and two from Devlin. Also AAA.


Vintage Sunday

03Feb19

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Sinclair methodsinclair_200LSF have just released The Sinclair Method as an E-Book.

Set in the 1950s, it is the story of five women and mentoring method that will improve them all. Alice Bowman is in her late twenties and a former US WAVE. Feeling lost in civilian life after WWII she is reeducated and retrained as a governess mentor schooled in the Sinclair Method.

Her four charges, two of them under court order have to be tamed and trained by thorough and traditional methods. A over the knee spanking is not the least of those to be employed.

Publishers blurs has it:

It’s the 1950s and Katherine, Mary, Jenny and Janet have something in common – they are all subject to a special kind of discipline, regularly inflicted on their bare bottoms by Alice, a strict mentor/governess and proponent of the Sinclair Method. Two of Alice’s charges have signed up to the disciplinary programme voluntarily, but the other two have been referred as delinquents, attending as an alternative to a court appearance. Alice escorts her girls to a large house in Seattle where she provides a disciplined structure to their lives, which inevitably results in some very sore bottoms. This novella charts the progress of the girls as they are put through their paces, enduring private and humiliating public spankings by hand, strap, paddle, birch and cane… for such measures are essential in helping to reform wayward young ladies. A thoroughly spanked bare bottom and an hour or more standing in the corner, bare bottom on display, is a hugely beneficial part of their training…

You can get it here.


21cindy21mariondaviesbachelorfather1931Miss Mildred Richards, Justice Witkower1922, Chicago212121grandmother_spanks1950211_1_4justice00bbf1a28i29cowcatcher27sdaughter9mclintock_bigImagine a world where the spanking agenda was everywhere. Think of times and places where BDSM and its relations informed many of the choices and infused many of the people who dwell there.

That world is not only here and now, but it has been forever, if you but know where to look. Looking back over cuttings and stored articles the pattern suddenly reveals itself. Prurience hides in plain sight.

In my school days the literature presented was liberally littered with spanking references, many lovingly described. Of course it was often boys who were caned and beaten. One school book had a graphic picture of a young Churchill being caned to rags taken from a drama at the time. References to girls getting spanked or caned were gold, but not uncommon.

These few snippets were taken from Google Reader that was not at all unlike some of the passages back in the day

I was late and Father was really quite vexed about it. On top of that the rain did rather spoil the picnic, not to say the tennis. It was all quite a bore.

‘What the tennis?’ Deidre asked.

‘No’ I confided, ‘Father of course.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Say? Not an awful lot, but a quick slippering to where he hoped it would do the most good did most of the talking for him.’

‘Oh my gosh did hurt?’

“Well yes, but my dignity suffered more.’

“Oh why?’ Deidre was grinning at me, ‘Did he take your under things down?’

Well I wasn’t going to admit to that and suggested we sat down for some tea before I remembered that I would rather not sit at all just then.

Flappers, as we can presume they were, were not the only gals getting spanked. There is a brief scene in many of the books I read. King Rat has a girl caned on the bare bottom. I also remember a colonial girl getting so soundly caned that two chapters later she laments that she still cannot sit a horse.

Still on the subject of horses, a TV version of Black Beauty back in the 1970s has our 20-sometrhing heroine firmly grounded and sentenced to two weeks of chores for defying her father in order to save the day. In a brief scene where she explains her plight to a friend she is seen massaging her bottom in the yard. The housekeeper comes out to scold her and threatens to spank her like her father did. She is clearly embarrassed by the reminder, having omitted that part in her story. But she replies, “Oh don’t, I think father already has more of that in mind.”

TV was awash with spanking in those days, none of it up front and sexual. McKlintock! Was routine fare and hardly a Saturday afternoon movie was complete without the heroine getting a spanking. In those days it wasn’t only necessary for a hero to spank, but it was cool.

In a scene from a Chicago gangster tale a hoodlum is spanking a would-be prostitute on the bare bottom when the police raid.

“Hey, hey leave that and come with us see,” the cop tried to make with the tough.

I could see half a dozen of them through the door all waiting. So I tells him that the whore ain’t no whore but a runaway I was just putting straight. By this time the girl was bawling and sporting a shiny apple-red tail end. At this the cop grinned and told me to carry on while the others all laughed. One of them even offered me his belt, which I took. No sense in leaving the job half done and in any case it was kind of fun.

Nor was it just fictional cops with this sense of ‘justice.’

In the 1980s a British senior police chief serving Greater Manchester commenting on youth crime said give me a birch and I will tan the bare arses of these little misters and madams myself. He went onto describe in great detail how these youths could be strapped down while he gathered a large judicial birch and ply it to their backsides until they cry for their mummies, until they bleed if it is needed. Are these really the words of a judicial zealot or did he have another agenda of perhaps even he was not aware?

Around the same time a mother of seven, by then mainly grown up children, lamented the decline in corporal punishment and said she had not hesitated to spank her four daughters and three sons when they needed it. Interviewed on early evening BBC TV, she sat with one of her older daughters and both expounded and expanded on her theme. A slipper or hairbrush was her preferred choice of weapon, but warming to her theme she said that a stick was sometimes required.

She explained that a dutiful daughter (or in past times son) would cooperate and would submit to a bare bottom spanking. And how old is too old? The daughter (perhaps 20-years-old) said “It depends.” As a student still living at home was she still liable to get a spanking, the reporter asked?

“Oh yes,” she replied with pride as her mother nodded in satisfaction.

And what about for a daughter not living at home, she was asked? The daughter continued to look amused, if slightly embarrassed.

“Well by then it is hardly necessary, not often anyway,” the mother reassured the TV audience. “My oldest daughter is 27,” she added in a seeming non sequitur.

And when did she last spank her?

“Hmmm, not so long ago,” came the reply. The daughter giggled.

The mother appeared in many TV chat shows and even a documentary for a while after that. The TV executives must have developed a profound interest in youth behaviour by then or did they have another motive?ih006012


wolf23Part I here

Alice was naked and afraid as she waited. The barn was cold and dark and only the ropes at her wrists burned her. She shook them off and watched them fall like discarded snakes to the floor. No, she thought, she needed them or else it was her fault. The thought made no sense, nor did picking them up and wrapping them back around her wrists.

“Let me help you with that,” John said pleasantly and gently retied her hands.

Alice blushed and then seeing Adam watching she dipped her head.

“We only have the one whip, we will have to share it,” John said with some regret.

Alice stole a glance at Adam who grinned wolfishly and brandished the heavy bull whip.

“Don’t worry, I can make every stroke land across your ass,” Adam said proudly, “We won’t break your skin.”

“Will it hurt?” Alice whispered.

“Of course,” John said reassuringly, “We have a bet to see who can make you scream first.”

Alice was dizzy with arousal and wanted to run.

“You can if you like, we can chase you,” John told her, he was grinning wolfishly like Adam.

Alice wondered how he knew what she was thinking, but it didn’t really matter.

“Hey, she has enough ass for us both, let me punish her and then she can run, that way we can punish her twice,” Adam snarled.

“I was going to anyway,” John said dismissively and then offered Alice a conspiratorial smile.

“I know, but it should at least make sense,” Adam cracked the whip and moved nearer.

“It doesn’t, it doesn’t make any sense,” Alice protested.

“It makes perfect sense,” wolf with the whip said.

“Run,” said the other wolf.

Alice woke with a start. She was sweating all over and the nightmare threatened to pull her back in. The continued arousal made her half want to. Memories of the previous day and a night came flooding back.

Alice tried to be horrified, she tried hard. Everything she knew or thought she knew was dust. She was beyond the Land of Oz and in a landscape she did not recognise. Apparently Adam had turned into a wolf before her very eyes; a trick of some kind no doubt, but she felt sick and uneasy at the thought knowing that the trick or something else playing in her head was a lie.

The wolf was less shocking to her than the whipping she had watched, although yesterday Stacy and Augusta had separately spoken after of a spanking. Stacy had even laughed. Was that worse? A grown woman had been put in her place and brutally. Alice felt her mouth go dry as she replayed the punishment in her head. She had to work moisture up in her mouth, ignoring that elsewhere that was still no problem as the dream lingered on. Behind it all John and Adam still watched her with wolfish grins.

“You have to remember that these people were brought up in the 19th and early 20th century by people who probably drew on old world values from a century or two before that,” Stacy had sounded almost eager as if writing a chapter for her book.

Alice got up and hit the shower. She had to get away from here.

*

Breakfast was the usual organised chaos, with most of the men seated as they were served by the women. There were exceptions. Stacy for one was helping herself to pancakes and bacon and anything else that was going. That for her meant coffee. As Alice entered she looked up and smiled.

There were a few women sitting with the men on equal terms. Mostly they were older and all of them Alice guessed worked the ranch with the men or were guards.

Then she saw Marsha. She was standing over the back away from the melee and at first Alice thought she was helping prepare food with the other women and then she noticed she was eating.

“You want a place at the table Marsha, there is plenty of room,” Augusta called over.

Marsha blushed for America and held up her half empty plate as in acknowledgment. “No thanks Mrs Stone… I eh… I would rather stand,” she said with an embarrassed smile, “I am almost through anyway.”

“You sure? I can always fetch you a pillow,” Augusta said without a hint of mockery.

Several of the men laughed and Marsha’s blush deepened. Then she sucked it up and smiled. “No thanks Mrs Stone, I kinda think that with or without a pillow I will be standing for mu meals for a day or two.”

This brought more laughter and Stacy grinned as she looked over at Alice knowingly.

I really have to get out of here; Alice thought and dropped into an empty seat for her meal. What was Stacy playing at?

*

“Mr Stone,” Alice called as she saw Garrick crossing the yard, “Mr Stone can I…?”

A man stepped between them and regarded her with contempt. The morning was young and the smell of bacon and eggs still lingered on the air. Beyond the compound fence there was mist hanging silver in the sunshine. It reinforced the unreality Alice had been feeling since her arrival at the ranch.

“I have a minute Miss Eden,” Garrick said from behind the man blocking her way, “Let’s talk.”

The man stepped away letting Alice see her host for the first time close up. Garrick looked a little over 60 and the straggled grey hair made him look like a hippy from the 1960s, that or a biker. He wasn’t tall, although taller than Alice, but he was powerfully built with a barrel chest and piercing grey eyes that announced that he would get his way.

“Mr Stone I am… well you know…” Alice took a deep breath and moved closer to offer the man her hand. “I have been trying to talk to you for days now.”

“You want to talk to me about some damn legal papers? Now?” Garrick had a scolding tone and Alice felt her buttocks clench and remembered Marsha.

“If you will only take a look at them, all I need is your signature. It really is just a formality. Then I can go and get out of your hair,” Alice tried to sound like a lawyer asserting herself in court.

“Sure, I will look, I will even sign once my lawyers have checked over the documents; but you’re not going anywhere, not right now,” Garrick said sharply.

“But why? I mean you can’t keep me here,” Alice protested.

Garrick drew his visage into a furrow forming a uni-brow on his forehead. “I am not accustomed to explaining myself to anyone,” he sighed. For a second Alice thought that was the end of the conversation and sank dejectedly where she stood. Then he added, “By now Coleridge and his people will have road in and out of Pulver watched. You wouldn’t get a mile. If they get you then either they have some leverage or they think they do. Either way it was bad for us and even worse for you.”

“So you are saying I have to stay here until… what you have a fight with these people?” Alice said indignantly.

Garrick looked her up and down and offered her a genuine smile. “Something like that,” he said and turned away.

“Do these people really think you are a werewolf? Is that what this is all about?” Alice tried to sound superior, like she was talking to a backwoods fool about old wives tales.

Garrick rounded on her and she flinched, even taking a step backwards.

“Miss Eden,” he sighed, “I know full well what these people think, so do you. What do you think, really?”

Alice didn’t want to go there and right then she thought about Marsha.

Garrick smiled paternally and shook his head and then he turned away. It never ceased to amaze him the lengths city folk would go take to deceive themselves.

*

Alice was fuming. Garrick had given her the brush off and the twins hadn’t as much as said hello since they had abducted her. She now decided that it was about time she confronted them. It took a moment before she could calm down and then she took I the scene.

The compound was bustling with people. There were lots of guns, armfuls of them being carried to strategic points. The only person she recognised was Marsha, the woman she had seen punished the day before and at breakfast. She seemed no worse for wear though, but as she crossed the yard Alice noticed the woman kept grabbing her behind and she was walking with a slightly awkward gait as if suffering lower back pain. Very low, Alice thought wryly and realised that she was smiling. She frowned and shook off the faint sense of schadenfreude that assailed her now. For some reason her dream came back to her and she blushed.

For a moment she considered looking for Stacy, but something told her that the writer would be of no help today. After breakfast she had muttered something about sussing something out; forever the journalist, Alice groaned inwardly. Then mid thought she saw Adam. He was striding confidently across the yard to some out buildings and she watched John and another man fell into step with him. They were talking seriously and the man nodded vigorously at something Adam was saying before sprinting away.

Alice watched them for a long minute more and then steeling herself she began to walk fast in their direction. As she went she made a plan in her head.

Firstly she would thank them for saving her. Then she would ask about the… no scratch that, she amended, her legal brain told her that was irrelevant. Second she would… she thought about the wolf again and stopped for s second to take a deep breath. Then walking on she fixed firmly on her intention to find out why they had brought her here and thirdly when she could go.

Satisfied that she knew what she was going to say she broke into a trot. “Hey, hold up,” she called as they disappeared around a corner of the out buildings.

To be continued


margot 1amarriedmasked 5medievalmedical-sadist-spanking-artmartin_van_maelemartinvanm1It has been a while since I ran a celebration of spanking art. Here is an eclectic mix.

The top image is by Hardcastle and the second by Patty. The last two are by an artist called Martin Van Maele, an early 20th century artist who explored a range of risque images including spanking. More on him in a separate article.

I am not sure who the other artists are, although the third image up with the sci-fi theme has the look of a Tarsis, one of the great spanking artists of the age.


Community

28Jan19

c 89576-a1511049533810c bdsmlr-30593-dptdqtagp3c bdsmlr-54098-d55xwoo16pc bdsmlr-54098-rlmlbh5circ boots_and_her_buddies_1951-01-07_spankc fhs01c firmhandspanking-teenstrapping-003c pic07c 112c yasm_0005-630x350c zooey_coffee1vin tage-otk-752c waitingnew11xThe BDSMLR project seems to be gaining ground in its bid to replace Tumblr. You can check out the Annex here as a way in. The main difference from the Tumblr is that you have to be signed in to view in most cases.

Although as we saw last week there are other new projects launching and gaining pace, many old favourites seem not to be updating. In due course I will have to do a cull of the links.

The big news is that Pandora Blake is pregnant, so congratulations to her. This is going to impact her work massively from now on and in ways I doubt she can fully appreciate. Good luck Pandora.

Other professionals featured this week are: AAA, FHS, and GBS.

There are also contributions from Devlin, Vanilla Spanking, The Spanking Blog, Asa, Contemporary Life, the Spanking Blogg and Chicago Spanking.


Vintage Sunday

27Jan19

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wolf22

Part I here

Garrick knew that Marsha was strong; more than that she was born with the lupine curse and at least that had some benefits. Ultimately she would bounce back from almost anything that didn’t kill her; not that he intended to go quite that far. In his time he had given a few human women the same treatment without any dire consequences. Not that you would think from the fuss this warrior woman was making, he sighed inwardly. He gritted his teeth and scrutinised her bottom for any real distress. Most of his kind could handle pain too and they healed damn fast. If he held back he risked wasting his time.

Marsha’s bottom was a smooth deep red and was bordered at the curves by firm but gentle standout welts. Shiny enough to shave in, as his Pa used to say after he had whaled on the tail end of one of his sisters. The shaving reference back then was a pun on the strop he used.

“Are you howling for the pack to come running?” Garrick addressed the tender bare bottom still uppermost across the trestle. “I ain’t hardly started,” he added in a tone that suggested genuine puzzlement.

“No Sir, sorry sir,” Marsh panted, “It’s just that,” she drew a breath edging to a sob, “It has been a while.”

“Too long maybe,” Garrick mused and drew back his arm and with an unerring aim brought leather cracking across bottom.

Marsha tried to regulate her heavy breathing, her open mouth hidden under hair in the middle of a wet face. “Maybe,” she sniffed.

Garrick wasn’t convinced at this implied contrition. She sounded somewhat surly if anything. He lashed the leather down again and then taking a half step backwards he brought the spanking strap up and under her bottom to burn her right where she once day hoped to sit.

Marsh screamed.

“Instead of making a fuss you ought to be telling me exactly why I am having to tan your tail,” Garrick scolded her.

Marsha grit her teeth in annoyance and frustration. Damn him, she thought, I am too old to get a licking like a little kid.

“Nothing to say?” Garrick pressed her.

She remained silent.

In response he powered in the strap again and again, making sure to cross the split bottom, top, right and centre. Adding another couple to the under curves where the bottom and thighs met and most often came into contact with a chair.

Marsha broke her silence with a shout and then growled angrily as she rode out the burn.

“Let me tell you how this is going to play out,” Garrick said paternally. “I mean there are options and I can be a bit of an old fart, so you might want to go another way. But I think I am going to tan your hind end for a good while and you are going to wish the gods hadn’t given you a bottom. You are probably going to continue to play dumb and get your hackles all up while you glower into the floor thinking this is so unfair. You going to think what a bastard I am. How am I doing?”

Marsha was panting hard and wished she could think of something neutral to say.

“Eventually Augusta will drop by and watch a while. Finally she will suggest I leave off for now and take you into the house for some of her motherly TLC. Maybe some rubbing alcohol, maybe goose grease. My Ma favoured mustard mixed with olive oil; happy days,” he paused before continuing, “Then instead of supper she will have you facing the wall with your strides around your ankles where everyone can see. Then for the next few days, a week maybe, you will be on laundry duty or some other shit shovelling chores. Finally she will take you in hand and either send you back to me for a further little chat or take you over her knee for a good long talking to. Either way you will end back here answering the same damn question: why am I so pissed at you?”

Marsha drew a deep breath and then let it out in a long mournful wail ending in a true sob. She was crying and properly too.

“Give me strength,” he groaned, “You just want me to send you to Augusta now? Most of the men don’t get a choice, but you can stand down from the crew if you want.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Marsha sobbed, “I screwed up, I should have… I shouldn’t have…”

“Should, shouldn’t, you did it, you made a call,” he bent low and tried to see her face as he spoke. “Why did you let them out?”

“I thought… I thought I would get into trouble if I didn’t,” she sobbed, “I didn’t know what to do.”

Garrick nodded. “You think you’re in trouble for letting them out?” he sighed.

Marsha cried on for a bit and then took a deep breath. If letting them out hadn’t been wrong then… she racked her brains.

Garrick waited. “Letting them out was a good call,” he said at last. “I probably would have tanned your tail for it anyway, but maybe not if you had faced me down and taken responsibility.”

“I was too chicken shit either way wasn’t I?” Marsha sniffed from somewhere under the cascade of long blonde hair that fell over her upturned face.

“Finally,” Garrick sighed, “I just wish you hadn’t needed cue cards.”

“I feel kind of dumb,” she offered. This time she sounded sorry.

“So what do we do now?” Garrick asked. “You want another chance?”

“Yes Sir, please don’t send me to Augusta. I am so sorry. I guess I need my butt leathered and good, I earned it. But…” Marsha sound confident now.

“I make it a rule to finish a punishment on a contrite bottom so we ain’t done yet,” he sighed.

“No Sir,” Marsha said ruefully.

“You’re a strong girl, two or three dozen and then you can face the wall for an hour or two,” Garrick told her.

“Yes Sir,” Marsha said bravely.

“You think that should be a time-out inside or outside the barn?” Garrick asked as he lined up the leather.

“Outside I guess, with my pants and panties down,” she sounded if she was going to cry, “I know I deserve it.” She knew that she did.

“Right answer,” Garrick lashed her bottom and she yelled.

The second she was ready for and held herself to a grunt; her bottom was truly on fire and it was going to be a very long time before she was going to be able to sit down again.

Outside Alice and Stacy watched Marsha’s punishment in horrified fascination.

Alice was aroused and embarrassed that she was. She felt ashamed for her lack of compassion, but God help her she kept seeing John or Adam in Garrick’s place and her in the woman’s. Every time the strapping stopped and Garrick began to scold her, she almost prayed it would begin again.

Stacy’s reaction was more complex. Of course there was eroticism in the scene, she had been around, that was no biggie. The fact that Garrick’s intentions were almost entirely old world punitive and oblivious to the sexual side of this made it doubly so in her mind. But deep inside she felt something else and her own buttocks clenched in sympathy. Almost as if…

Inside the punishment finally ended.

“You’re done,” Garrick said.

“Yes Sir,” Marsha sobbed and got unsteadily to her feet.

“One hour nose to that wall,” Garrick said sternly, “You can stay in here until you are sent for.”

“Yes Sir,” Marsha sniffed, she could have kissed him for the small mercy. “I am sorry,” she added.

“I know,” Garrick smiled, “Be a good girl now,” and then he left.

Alice and Stacy watched him go and then gaped in amazement when the woman took hobbled steps to the barn wall and stood to face it.

“Oh my God, that’s priceless,” Stacy laughed out loud.

“We are in a mad house,” Alice said with distinctly less amusement.

To be continued.