Erin Investigates
“Eyes right,” the Senior Wren all but screamed, “And stand straight woman.”
Catherine came to attention more or less correctly, this time remembering where to place her thumbs.
“You are not in Tonbridge bloody Wells now,” the Senior Wren continued to berate her, “This is the Royal Navy,” she continued.
Catherine Havers felt every nerve jingle and for a moment she even forgot that this was all for a docudrama. For all intents and purposes she was back in 1941 getting screamed at by a battle-axe of a woman sailor.
“March her in,” said a weary voice. Its owner an over-tall stern looking man with steel grey at his temples beckoned from through the open door from his place at his desk.
Captain Jerome Grey was the commandant in charge of cadets and quite frankly he would rather have been at sea. All the shouting was doing little for his headache.
“Hats off,” the NCO said at last as she herself came to attention.
Grey looked up to confront a terrified looking red-head with deep blue eyes. They hadn’t met before so he had to pause to remember his script. He had no idea she would be so beautiful.
“A red head I see, always trouble in my book,” he said grumpily as he stalled for a second. Then he read the charge sheet. “Two ticks this week already and that was before you caught smoking on duty…”
Catherine froze before blurting out “Yes Sir,” her stock phrase this week. Then she remembered that it might be ‘aye sir, or aye, aye sir or… Also she resisted the urge to rub her bottom at the mention of the ‘ticks.’ Earlier that week she had acted out a tick sanction, namely six of the best from her cadet captain.
The punishment had been carried out with a short thin stick that had been laid across her bare bottom while bending. It had hurt far more than she had expected, but she was proud of the fact that she hadn’t yelled out or cried. Not even afterwards.
The whole thing had been filmed in case that had been all that Catherine could handle. Erin had explained that the footage could be used in the extended DVD if she went ahead with the main event.
“All right, leave this with me,” Grey sighed.
“Aye Sir,” the Senior Wren bellowed and with a bare nod to the guard they smartly wheeled about and marched out.
“You know what happens now don’t you Havers?” Grey sighed.
“Yes Sir, I mean aye sir…”
“A COs 30; have you anything to say before we proceed?”
Catherine opened her mouth breathily and wondered that she had any spit left. Then she drew it into a determined tight line and shook her head.
“You must answer,” Grey growled.
“Oh sorry Sir, yes Sir, I mean No Sir, nothing to say Sir.” She managed.
“Please remove your tunic, your skirt and your slip etc… leave your other underwear on until I tell you,” Grey intoned.
As he spoke he stood up and removed his own jacket before retrieving a stiff black cane from the cupboard.
“Oh God,” Catherine whispered as she carefully and somewhat slowly obeyed him.
*
Catherine’s dawdling hadn’t gone down well and the usually calm and serious Captain Grey began barking at her like a headmaster. Quicker than she could have believed she soon found herself standing in her period knickers, blouse and tie.
A flush of red at her cheeks spread like a forest fire and twice as hot as filled her face and encompassed her neck.
“My predecessor was a grab the ankles man, but you girls aren’t tough enough,” he said dropping a chair into the middle of the floor. “So you can bend over and grab the base of the seat.”
“Yes Sir,” Catherine said in a thick voice and all of a fluster made an awkward attempt at bending as if the chair might bite.
“Knickers down,” he barked, not acknowledging that he had forgotten the order, “And then bend over.”
There was a shush of cotton on thighs as Catherine’s bare bottom and legs were exposed to the air and she felt her blush reach her ears. This was far worse than before and bending was excruciating especially when he ordered he ‘right over’ so that her bottom stuck right up.
Grey hadn’t counted on the intensity of the view and suddenly became aware of the hidden camera. A life in the real navy had left him curious about the old days, but trying to retain a professional air when confronted with a fulsome a trim bare bottom was a challenge.
He remembered his brief training: 30 strokes at six to eight second intervals. He eyed the clock, it should take around three minutes.
For Catherine herself time slowed to treacle and with her bottom so exposed it felt like days. The touch of the stick to her bottom was electric and she flinched.
“I haven’t touched you yet girl,” he muttered and tapped her twice more.
Catherine’s breathing was audible but even and she tensed.
As per his training Grey waited a beat and then struck.
The hiss preceded the groan and Catherine jerked, clawing the air and then the base of the seat by turns as she rode out the sting. While across her bottom a sharp line emerged like reconnaissance photo in the developing lab.
Grey waited.
The second stroke was worse and this time there was real pain in her tone as she moaned.
Grey focussed on two scarlet lines across very pale flesh before he landed another cut under them both.
“Ah-yah,” Catherine wailed as she bit so hard into her lip she feared drawing blood.
Too slow, Grey thought and quickly added a fourth and then after a slow five-count a fifth and sixth.
Catherine jerked at each, a whine escaping from clamped jaws at each impact. Someone had put razor slashes across her bum and little devils were rubbing in some salt. Her even breaths were louder and faster now and she took a moment to wipe a single tear from her left eye.
Seven was a bitch and eight, nine, 10 only got worse. By her first dozen she chuckled to a sob and tears were falling freely from her blood-rimed eyes.
Grey took the decision to press on to 15, the halfway mark before pausing. By this time Catherine’s bottom, becoming though it was, had become textured with purple lines with red spilling over the welts to form one angry sheen of red from her thigh-tops to a line level with the top of her bottom cleft.
Catherine was no longer stoic and had taken to indulgent sobbing through ragged breaths.
Grey looked around for an intervention, but as Catherine had not made her signal, an opt out he wasn’t aware of, he turned back to the pain ravaged bottom to complete his mission.
The stroke interval grew until by 26 strokes he was waiting more 10 seconds before caning Catherine. The clock told him it had been four minutes now. Her bottom had become an interesting combination of colours and textures to say the least. Grey wondered if he should stop anyway.
Catherine screamed out at each stroke now and her bucking for several seconds afterwards threatened to tip over the chair.
“Please Sir, how many more,” she croaked.
“Just four,” he said gently. Probably broke character there.
Catherine nodded.
Grey caned in hard and then after a slow count to four did so again. He had to wait for the penultimate but when it came he added the last almost at once.
Catherine’s back was arched and her bottom back-jutting and taught as she vocalised the last impact. She had long since stopped caring about any dignity of her posture.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” Grey intoned and as if it was perfectly natural turned away to pretend to exam some paperwork.
The caned woman got unsteadily to her feet and repaired her uniform to parade ground duty, or some approximation of it. She was till buttoning her tunic when the Senior Wren returned to march her out.
*
“How was it?” Erin was grimacing.
Catherine was smiling through tears whilst unrepentantly clawing at her bottom through her 1940s skirt.
“Hard to do actually, by the end,” Grey put in.
The two of them were facing the camera for a brief feedback.
“I’ll say,” Catherine gasped. “That was… oh God… intense.”
“You say you had a great Aunt who experienced this for real during the war?” Erin asked.
“That was real enough for me,” Catherine’s eyes were bloodshot from crying but she was grinning. “But yes, that’s right… I have always been intrigued.”
“I think I held back… I mean it would have been faster during the real… back then,” Grey said sagely, stopping himself from undermining Catherine’s experience.
“Yes, but remember that that is going by the book. What we explored here was the human element. Don’t you think your 1940s counterpart wouldn’t have felt the same?” Erin suggested.
“I suppose,” Grey agreed.
“Catherine, how do you feel about it now?” Erin asked turning to the dishevelled woman.
“Ask me in a few days, oh God,” her hands countered another burning assault as she wonder if the caning would ever stop.
“I’ll do that,” Erin chuckled.
Filed under: DJB stories, Erin Investigates, M/F, military, spanking stories, TV | 7 Comments
Tags: caning, spanking, the cane, war, world war 2, wrens, WRNS
Weekly Round-Up II
I should have added this yesterday but I missed it. Indigo drew my attention to it at 6.45 this morning. But it looks like Pandora is back in business and her persecutors are out of it, having been suspended according to one report this morning.
The press release on Pandora’s site reads:
Pandora Blake, award-winning activist and feminist pornographer, has won her appeal to Ofcom against ATVOD and can reinstate her site Dreams of Spanking, which was banned under the AVMS guidelines in August 2015, triggering widespread anger among free speech advocates as well as porn fans.
The controversial Audiovisual Media Services Regulations came into effect in December 2014, banning consensual sex acts from online porn including facesitting, female ejaculation, and spanking that leaves marks. Pandora Blake took part in the ‘facesitting protest’ outside Westminster, and also spoke on Newsnight and Women’s Hour challenging the sexist and regressive nature of the regulations. She believes that speaking out made her a target for censorship.
ATVOD – the Association for TV on Demand – were tasked with regulating online porn in 2010. While porn critics often focus on the ‘mainstream’ industry, ATVOD made a point of targeting independent niche and fetish porn producers, including a disproportionate number of female filmmakers. In January 2016, Ofcom shut down the quango amid rumours that it was acting beyond its remit.
Pandora Blake said, “The point of Dreams of Spanking was to make ethical porn based on my own fantasies. I’m not ashamed of being kinky and there’s no harm in adults sharing consensual BDSM films. The AVMS regulations effectively criminalised my sexuality. I was singled out because I criticised the new laws. ATVOD tried to shut me up, but they failed.”
“Now I’ve won my appeal I feel vindicated. It proves that it’s worth standing up to bullies. The war against intrusive and oppressive state censorship isn’t over, but this decision is a landmark victory for feminist porn, diversity and freedom of expression.”
You can read more here.
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | 2 Comments
Tags: spanking
Weekly Round-Up
The world still turns and summer is well and truly here. It seems everyone has something new for me to do.
Speaking of new, Kia of Acknowledging Imperfection has a new book out, her first. I haven’t read it yet, but knowing Kia and having glanced at the blurb I rather suspect that this semi-autobiographical.
On the subject of new, Dallas has found some old sessions that he did with his original muse Tikki.
Elsewhere Bonnie has a short discussion on consent. Vanilla Spanking has another go at spanking in the theatre: an unrelated picture above from that site. Richard Windsor, ever first with the news of yesteryear, reminisces about the old days when spanking sites made money.
Other pictures are from: Devlin, About, All Things, CutiePie, Able, Sensual Drift, AAA, Spanking Toons and the Spanking Blog.
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | 3 Comments
Erin Investigates
“They didn’t have the cane when you were at school?” Erin asked the young woman pleasantly.
“Well duh?” Karen Mayfield replied indolently, she was actually chewing gum.
It was anybody’s guess what her natural hair colour was, at the moment it was a scraped back chemical red with white bleached streaks. Most of Erin’s participants had so far been upper or middle class and the addition of a 25-year-old supermarket worker was refreshing.
“Well quite, it has been abolished since the 1980s in state schools,” Erin rolled her eyes conspiratorially.
“I dunno… my mum ‘ad it and me gran… sorry,” she paused to remove the gum, “I’m a bit nervous…”
“So… what is your particular interest?” Erin smiled again, warming to the woman.
“I read about a case back in… I don’t know… it was one of those posh schools. After what my mum and gran had said I was surprised that a girl would get it from a man… I think she was 18 and…” Karen grinned sheepishly and lowered her voice, “On the bare bum.”
“Yes I have read your account and our researchers have had some success in fleshing out the back story…” Erin glanced at the paperwork and in a clipped tone rattled off an impromptu summary: “The school your mention integrated girls into the school from the late 1970s… strict discipline for boys preparing for the military… high pressure sports coaching… it wasn’t unusual for CP to be used on young women up to 18… former students and teachers would neither confirm or deny your bare bottom claims… although cases of thrashing boys… including at least prominent case involving a public flogging are found in biographies for students there before and just after the War…”
“So they are saying I made it up?” Karen snarled as if it was Erin’s fault.
“No actually… we have off the record confirmation and we have found not only the source you cited but the author and have decided to accept the scenario” Erin replied.
“So… what’s the problem?” Karen asked with a shrug.
“Well there isn’t one, but I would like to just make sure you know what you are letting yourself in for and ask you why you want to pursue it?” Erin made a pout, a pen poised over her notebook.
“Like I said, my mum and gran went through it and I know what they told me… I just wanted to know what it was like myself and sort of… well see if it was different for those posh girls. I mean if they can do it…” Karen was the verge of giggles now.
*
“Mayfield,” David Garrick said wearily as he strolled up to his study door, “Here again I see.”
Karen who had been leaning on the doorframe straightened up and quickly checked the hem of her skirt and whether her hair had come lose again. Her real life hair had been dyed to something approaching natural brown, although the white streaks remained as over vigorous highlights.
“Yes Sir,” she replied nervously, “Mrs Bolton said…”
“Yes, yes… come in,” Garrick said in a bored voice as he opened the door. “Late, insolence and what was it…?”
“I told her to fuck off Sir,” Karen admitted sheepishly, “Sorry Sir.”
Garrick eyed her sternly to see if her dangerously graphic explanation was an attempt at further insolence. But she looked sincere enough. The details had already been explained to him by an irate Mrs Bolton.
“What did I give you last time?” he asked as he approached the cane cupboard.
“Eight Sir,” Karen admitted.
“Eight gets you ten, plus two for the vulgarity,” Garrick sighed.
“Yes Sir,” Karen groaned.
“Fair?” Garrick asked without looking at her. His hand reached for one of his thinnest sticks.
“Yes Sir,” Karen licked her lips nervously.
The nerves were all too real.
“You know the drill, get on with it,” Garrick snapped as he slashed the air for a test run.
Karen jumped and quickly fumbled for her blazer buttons. She knew the drill, it had been explained, but in the scenario this was her fourth or fifth caning, for the real Karen Mayfield it was a first.
The drill required the removal of her blazer and the taking down of her own knickers. Then she had to bend over the back of the ancient stuffed armchair so that her head was in the seat and her bottom was well elevated; Garrick would them flip up the hem of her skirt and fold it out of the way.
She ran through the drill in her now spinning head as she worked a Saharan mouth free of a sudden coat of sand. The blazer was easy and once she started it became automatic. Only a glance at the partially covered camera interrupted the spell.
The back of the chair was hard on her hips and she felt disorientated by being upside down. The unveiling made her gasp.
Now Karen felt very strange. Her bottom was bared to a stranger and she was pinned only by her own will with the assistance of gravity. I am crazy, she thought.
Garrick eyed the smooth pale cheeks where they were taught and tried to stay professional. He too knew the drill, but with considerably more experience.
The cane cut with a zip and Karen gasped as she blinked in consternation. She was tempted to think it wasn’t too bad and then it really was. Then it really, really was.
“Oh God,” she whimpered.
The next stroke came before she knew it, immediately followed by a third and then a fourth. Karen bucked and squirmed as if she had been electrified, small angry yelps bursting from her lips.
Garrick took her quickly to six and then paused to study the neat dark lines across her bare bottom. He felt his cock stiffen and hoped the baggy 1950s suit covered him from the camera. He even felt guilty, this was science.
The welts on Karen’s bottom grew puffy and turned an angry red. He noticed too that she was gently crying.
The next six began under the first set of scores and travelled up filling in the gaps between. Karen’s response was an unbroken throaty wail.
The whole caning took barely a minute and a half, a traditional short sharp shock, efficiently delivered.
“You may rise,” Garrick said.
“Yes Sir,” Karen sniffed.
She remembered the ritual handshake and said, “Thank you Sir.”
“See that you apologise to Mrs Bolton,” Garrick said in a joshing tone.
“Yes Sir,” Karen smiled through tears and wiped her eyes.
*
“Thoughts?” Erin was grinning as Karen left the study.
“Oh-my-God,” Karen grinned back still smiling, both hands were gripping her bottom and she was visibly squirming.
“You were in there less than five minutes, how did it feel?”
“Like days,” Karen gasped, “Oh God, I am totally buzzing here.”
“Sorry?”
“Oh totally, I’ll never be later again, sorry Mrs Bolton,” Karen giggled.
“And seriously?”
“Oh it was… you know, amazing… I won’t sit down for a few days though,” Karen sniffed away some residual tears and whipped her eyes.
“Glad your school days weren’t like that?”
Karen frowned, “You know, I think I would have bucked my ideas up more if they had been.”
“We will talk more later… go and get some ice on your bottom,” Erin laughed.
Filed under: DJB stories, education, Erin Investigates, M/F, spanking stories | 14 Comments
Tags: school, spanking, the cane
The Art of Spanking
Filed under: art | 2 Comments
Tags: catoons, graphic story, spanking, spanking art, toons, Victorian
Weekly Round-Up
A bit tied up this week – a lot on. Here is what I have so far. Images from various sources.
Have a great Bank Holiday.
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | Leave a Comment
Tags: spanking
Spanking in Advertising
Spanking is not the force it once was in the advertising world, for one thing it has to be said that in a vanilla environment it is hard to get away from the accusations of sexism. Also we live in less innocent times and such content is far too blatant. But the idea that spanking was only deployed for its comic affect or conservative punitive ideals should move over.
The treatment of the college art school project in the cutting above must dispel that one. Please note the bare rueful and casual reference to Daddy spanking his adult daughter.
The cigarette advert is evidently real, although the graphic has been enhanced to remove any subtlety in case we missed it.
The bride is less spanking focused and more recent, but is apparently a still taken from an advert for a bridal wear company. There was another more blatant spanking scene from an advert that I have seen but couldn’t find. Racy to the point that the bride is spanked in a thong, but that now banned scene was played for laughs. I think it was an advertisement for an employment arbitration service.
The most recent outing for a ‘spanking’ scene was the one where a woman is birched on a massage table on the beach. This was shown in the UK for a few months, but again I couldn’t find it and don’t remember what it was advertising.
Filed under: retro, TV, web round-up | 8 Comments
Tags: spanking
Erin Investigates
Erin Seagrove sat back in her office chair and flicked her eyes from the file to the rather intense woman sitting in front of her. Ellen Bright was a smart brunette with dark polished eyes and a sophisticated ageless demeanour that could belong to anyone between 25 and 40 or so. The birth date on the file had been left blank, which suggested an age leaning towards the upper end of that bracket, so Erin decided not to make anything of it. Not considering the medical report on this woman, she certainly knew how to take of herself.
Next to her latest participant the blonde and less ambitiously curved Erin felt wanting. God she hated women who could out poise her.
“You do know what our programme involves?” Erin asked, trying to reassert herself over the situation.
“Oh yes,” Ellen replied in a cool unhurried tone.
“Now your story is about a nurse serving in the Middle East, in what, the early 1970s?” Erin said. “A conviction for petty theft it says here.”
The woman nodded slightly as if it was unimportant and gave up a smile that was just the right side of superiority.
“I have to say 50 lashes is a lot… but I am not entirely clear about your relationship with this nurse,” Erin said, her gaze returning to the document she had now read two dozen times.
“Would it suffice to say that she was a distant cousin?” Ellen extended an open palm to heaven as if to say that if that answer didn’t work she could find another.
“Yes,” Erin agreed and closed the file. “But I do need to be clear that you understand what we are trying to do here. I mean 50 lashes is a lot, why do you want to… explore this experience? You do understand that we will faithfully recreate the entire event and you will be flogged just as Rachel Saunders was?”
Ellen remembered all the times the older Rachel had regaled her with her dread experience, how she had repeatedly said such things as ‘you have no idea about the world, not given what I went through.’ Ellen had had nothing to say. Could it have been so terrible, could it have had such an effect on one life?
“My reasons are my own,” Ellen said lightly with a dismissive wave or her hand.
Erin held her gaze for a long moment and then shrugged. “Okay then,” she sighed. “You have read the script, does it match your expectations and the facts as we know them?”
“Oh yes,” Ellen purred with a barely contained impatience.
*
The impression the scene conveyed was one of unrelenting heat and sinister still air. The sunlit walls were a little too starkly bright and the shadows too dark and threatening. The low whitewashed buildings were typical of any number of countries in the Middle East and only the Coca-Cola advert and the small details like shoes or the wrist watch on the uniformed guard suggested it was the mid-20th century.
Ellen, in the guise of Rachel, managed to look beautiful and composed even in a rough cotton smock. This, although her face was devoid of makeup and her mid-length dark hair was tied roughly back and off her face.
The female guard who led her into the large minimalist room was casual and patient as her prisoner composed herself, although neither of them looked at the wooden frame or the meter long leather bound stick lying across it. Not until the man arrived and then the small dark uniformed woman looked up at a clock.
“It is time,” she said and indicated the double A-frame trestle.
Ellen nodded and appeared to make a small swallow. Then like a queen she moved across the room to face the punitive furniture head on.
“Please take off your under things,” the woman said.
Ellen made a sour expression but obeyed without hesitation, elegantly stooping as she reached under the smock and tugged at her functional cotton briefs before stepping out of them.
“You kneel on the lower padding and bend over the large pad across the top,” the guard said with a cursive wave of her hand.
This time Ellen paused before taking that last step forward to kneel down. Her ample spherical hips ballooned out as she dipped her back and leaned forward, even this motion was dignified. When she finally folded herself over the top it looked like a yoga exercise. But by now the cotton was taught across her bottom, which was thrust upwards like a double dome.
The man grunted and then leaned in to take the flexible stick and then stood back. Then he nodded.
This was a signal for the woman to move forward and seize the hem of the smock and turn it up and off Ellen’s bottom so as to leave it bare. The gasp was audible and neither the watching Erin nor the actors were quite prepared for the eroticism.
“Oh God,” Ellen whispered as she suddenly felt exposed.
The female guard licked her lips with nerves and then as officiously as she was able said, “F-fifty, you may begin.”
The man stepped into the stroke as it described an arch at shoulder height and then with moderate force lashed Ellen across the bare bottom.
She grunted.
There was a pause as everyone studied the effects, namely a deep red line swelling across both cheeks. Then the guard struck again.
“Hmmm,” Ellen’s grunt was more pained.
“That’s two,” the woman said as she tried to appear unmoved.
The third, fourth, fifth and sixth fell slowly over a minute and each time Ellen groaned, and each time a red swollen welt was left across her flesh.
“Six.”
At the seventh Ellen screamed. In fact she became quite vocal for each of the next five, after which she was openly crying and wailed even between strokes.
“That’s a dozen,” the woman announced. “Can we have a nurse please?”
The nurse was a qualified one and took only a moment to agree that both the bottom and the woman were holding up.
“Are we sure?” Erin asked from off camera.
“I’m alright,” Ellen said angrily, if rather muffled by her posture.
“We’ll cut that last bit in the edit,” an unseen male voice said.
The next dozen took slightly longer, but Ellen coped better and only at the last did she scream out; mainly as the 25th stroke took her unawares.
“Let the prisoner up for a break and get her some water,” nurse instructed.
The previously poised and together Ellen responded by bursting into heavy sobbing.
*
The rest of Ellen’s flogging was three times as bad as the first part. Even from the start she was still riding the lines of pain. It was odd though. For one thing she felt so exposed and instead of fear of the whip, she wondered if the posture was too revealing. Also she was aware where her elbows rested on the padding and took her weight, that and a small uneven crack just below her nose.
It wasn’t just this trivia floated before her; it was as if that was all she was. Then there was the woman screaming out every time she was struck. Ellen could even feel her pain, lines and lines of it right across and wrapping around her upturned bottom. Oh do be quiet, she told her, I can’t hear myself think and besides you are distracting me from the…
Then the pain was hers again and she boggled at the mind flip. Rachel had never spoken of it.
This was forever now, a simple deal. The stroke would bring pain and she would trade for a scream. It made her feel better and made her want another. Only she didn’t, she really, really didn’t, but no one cared. She would have it anyway. So…
She thought about the crack before her nose. Had it always been there? If so it was just like the whip and her bottom. They were eternal and belonged to one another.
*
“That’s 50,” the woman said. She sounded relieved.
Ellen was sobbing vigorously, but had no strength to rise and the woman guard and the nurse had to help her.
“Is it over?” the punished woman asked.
“Yes, yes dear it is over,” the female guard said, momentarily breaking character.
Ellen felt bereft and a profound sense of loss. She took comfort from the unrelenting throbbing in her bottom, after all it dominated all else for the moment.
*
“How do you feel about it now?” Erin asked.
Ellen smiled. She looked less imperious now, but just as beautiful.
“Better,” she laughed.
“You mean physically?” Erin put in.
“Oh that too,” Ellen laughed again, “Talk about pain… I couldn’t sit down for a week and three weeks later I still have some interesting colouring down there.”
“But how do you feel about it all?” Erin said.
“At the time I felt… humble, like… I don’t know… I like I didn’t matter or rather everything I thought mattered didn’t. But that soon passed and I felt… euphoric.”
“Was it what you were expecting?”
“No, no, not at all… I thought… I thought that I would get something over on someone. On Rachel… and I thought I would put up with the experience to do it. But instead… I feel a tremendous sense of achievement… and… and instead of besting her I feel closer to her now.” Ellen enthused and smiled more genuinely than she had before.
“Would you do it again?”
“Ask me again in six months,” Ellen laughed.
Filed under: DJB stories, Erin Investigates, judicial, M/F, spanking stories | 7 Comments
Tags: cane, spanking, testle, whip
A Voice in the Corner 