Music of the Spheres

At last week's brunch, Bonnie asked about tears during a spanking. My reply was that the only tears I shed are tears that come from laughing too hard. By coincidence, on that same day I experienced one of the times that I laughed till I cried.

Among the implements Ron selected for my spanking was a sturdy wooden spoon that he hadn't used for some time. It was placed on the bed along with two leather paddles and a short cane. Ron started with the spoon. He alternated smacks on my cheeks, as usual, but then he made an observation.

"Listen." Thwump. Thwick. "They make different sounds." He repeated the demonstration in case I hadn't understood. Thwump. Thwick. Thwump. Thwick. Thwump. Thwick.*

"So my cheeks are uneven? Different densities, I guess," I mumbled, my face buried in a pillow. The concert progressed. Thwump thwick. Spock spack. Thwump thwick. Spock spack. Thwump thwick. Spock spack.


"Like one of those Jamaican drums that you can tune." I meant the steel drums of Trinidad, but at the time I just wasn't thinking too clearly.


"You have a Jamaican butt." Ron proceeded to tap out a calypso beat on my bottom as I giggled and tried to sway to the beat.


The spoon was put aside for one of the leather paddles, but after a time its turn came again.
Ron whacked, then listened. He whacked again, then declared, "There I've got them tuned now." and the concert continued as he turned the spoon this way and that to produce a variety of sounds. Thwump thwump. Spock spack spick. Thwick thwick thwick. Spock spock.

I could barely control myself as I laughed and he played. I didn't even feel any discomfort from the spoon as the concert continued, and only noticed a sting when Ron switched to the cane for a little change of pace.

After a dose of the small leather paddle and a longer session with its larger counterpart, the spoon came into play for the third time. Ron tapped one cheek, then the other, then tapped harder. Thuck. Sput.

"They're out of tune again. I'll have to fix that." By then I was practically hysterical, and the tuning effort ended in disaster as he just couldn't get my cheeks to produce exactly the right sounds, or so he said. We were both laughing and even the resumption of the cane couldn't put a damper on our fun.

"I think you've worn that spoon out. I'll check the ones in the kitchen and get you a replacement," I consoled him as I had dried my eyes on my sleeve.


*I really wish I could have recorded that session so you could hear the actual sounds the spoon made but I'm afraid you will have to settle for my attempts to write them phonetically.

Wednesday WIN

It's all about butts today. (Sorry, no ifs or ands; maybe some other time.)

 I saw a sign with this slogan in a gift shop, beside a display of large handbags.

 Hmph! He's obviously not a butt man.

 You wouldn't want it to stay open, would you?

 Not once, not twice, but many times.

Weird, but a good pickup line.

I hope He's listening.

Things that make me go AARGH!

Whenever  I see an apostrophe misused, misplaced or omitted, I want to scream. I'm not the only one who feels this way, as you can see from these images of apostrophe abuse.

From the Top Shelf - Discipline on a Jet

Today's story comes from my good friend Joey. As well as being both a giver and receiver of spankings, Joey is a talented writer. I'm sure you will agree after reading this short tale. To discover how he came up with the idea for this story, read his introduction to it here.

Discipline on a Jet

After a wonderful weekend of spanking fun, I am trying to find a comfortable way of sitting on a plastic chair in the airport while waiting to board a jet back to NY.  My bottom is sore and bruised, but I am relaxed and happy as I remember all of the terrific scenes of this past weekend. I am also relieved that I was able to pass through security with my implements in my rollerboard bag. 

Fifteen minutes later, I board with my equipment and settle into my seat which is on the aisle and ten rows from the rear of the jet. I start reading Runners Magazine and soon one of the flight attendants stops by my seat to chat about running. She is sweet and nice with an athletic build. We trade marathon stories for a few minutes and she returns to her duties.

A minute later, I notice that she is engaged in a conversation with a young man who is texting on his iPhone several rows in front of me. When she turns around, I see that she is in distress so I ask her what is troubling her. 

“That young man in aisle 32 is very rude. He gave me lip when I told him that he would have to stop texting in a few minutes. The pilot will be furious if he does not turn off his phone.”

I try to calm her, but she is visibly upset.

A few minutes later, the Captain asks all passengers to turn off their electronic equipment, but the young man totally disregards his request. A moment later, I see the flight attendant speaking to him again in a firm voice, but he does not even look up at her. In frustration, she heads back up the aisle with a very distressed look on her face.  I stop her and ask what is going on.

“I am very upset. I asked him firmly to turn off his phone, but he will not.  Although the door is locked and we are taxiing to the runway, I must tell the pilot. The Captain will be very annoyed that I cannot handle the situation.  And I am sure that he will stop the jet until the matter is resolved.”

She returns to the rear of the jet and I can tell she is in a heated conversation with someone.  And she is almost in tears because of her frustration with the young man. A few minutes later, I notice that the jet has stopped moving. She starts forward and I ask to speak with her.

“What is going on?” I ask.

“The pilot wants to return to the gate and have him escorted off the jet. This will delay the flight by at least 45 minutes. And, he will blame me for not being able to handle the situation.”

“I have an idea; may I speak with you in the rear galley?”

She nods and I follow her.

“I have experience with providing old-fashioned discipline.” I show her my acrylic cane and whisper my plan in her ear. She smiles and nods her approval. I turn and head for the young man who is named John. I look at John and in my most commanding voice I say:

“Look at me!”

Startled, John looks in my eyes.

“FOLLOW ME. NOW!”

He stands and follows me to the galley. When he passes me, I close a curtain to give us some privacy.

“John. You are in big trouble. In a moment, the pilot will put you off the jet and most likely add your name to the no-fly list. You will not be able to fly for at least five years.”

“You are bluffing me.”

“No. I am as serious as a heart attack.” His mouth dropped and I could tell he was a little scared.

“I have an alternative for you.”

“Tell me.”

“You can accept 12 strokes with this cane from the flight attendant and apologize.” My plastic cane does not look harsh, but it stings like a bunch of bees and leaves a nice after burn.

“Take your best shot.”

I place a stool in front of him and tell him to drop his pants and bend over the stool. When he drops his pants, I find out that he is dressed commando style with no knickers. So, John will get the strokes on the bare. Well, all the better for this rude lad.

I show the flight attendant how to swing the cane and tell her to take a practice swing. I like my plastic cane because it is easy to handle in tight quarters, but packs a mean sting.

“Are you ready?” I say to the flight attendant. She nods with a smile.

“Ok. I will count strokes.”

The first stroke is delivered with a passion that I only see with the most sadistic dommes. John jumps in surprise at the sting.

“Back down, young man!” I say in a firm voice.

Five quick and nasty strokes are delivered and his bottom has five welts. The sixth stroke is very harsh and he jumps and uses the F-word.

“No cursing!  We will start over.”

“What?” said John.

“Keep quiet and keep your mouth shut. Get it?”

“Yes sir.”

Twelve more vicious strokes and his young bottom is nicely striped.

“Get up. Say you are sorry.”

“I am sorry, Ma’am.”

John returns to his seat with his head bowed.

I hug the flight attendant and we both smile in triumph.

I wish all nuisance travellers could be dealt with in such an effective manner. To discover how Joey came up with the idea for this story, read his introduction to it here.

You Completed the Caption

This is the caption from Cheezburger that made me laugh. Now here are yours, and many of you included good wishes to the happy couple, Cora and Ken:

Joey: "Now that we are married, I want you to understand that you may be wearing the pants, but I am holding the paddle."

Congratulations to Cora and Ken. Ken was really moved by the ceremony, I have never seen a groom so red during a wedding. My best to both of them.

Simon: She says, "If you don't decorate this bloody room soon I'll have to use the cane."

Minelle: Now let's get the rules set!

Ronnie: This wasn't what Harold had in mind when his new wife said she'd be talking charge of household matters.

Ken: Wow, its a real honor having one of your posts dedicated to us. Thanks. As far as the caption, I think Cora said it quite well,

"Do you promise to always obey me ..."

Michael: Cora: Get used to this position, Ken, especially now that we are married.
Ken: I would have it no other way, dear.
Michael: Congratulations, Cora and Ken. Here's to a lifetime of love, happiness and spanking.

Kingspan: He had forgotten how much she disliked the cheap jewelry he got her for Christmas until he laughed at the ad where the husband spanks his wife for not buying Chase and Sanborn coffee.

Congratulations, Cora and Ken!

Sunnygirl: "I told you I was in charge, now do you get it?"

TL Bucko: All those jokes about knowing my place and being barefoot and in the kitchen aren't so funny now are they?

Congrats Cora and Ken!

Lillie: Although a beloved American household icon, there was a more complicated side to Betty Crocker that only her husband knew.

 Ian: "Any Saturday night at Steven Harper's house."

And we both wish an Irish wedding blessing to Cora and Ken:
May the roof o'er your heads be as well thatched, as the pair below it be well matched,
Congratulations!

Vfrat25000: Not every plan goes as expected. Willy Barnholder thought leaving the computer screen set to a spanking webpage might add a little excitement to a 20 year marriage. It did but not at all how he had imagined.

Frank Founderhoppen found out that marrying a teacher had its consequences when it came to household disagreements.

Mary Punkenwhistle hinted for months to have Wayne, her husband, give her a good old fashioned paddling. After trying everything she could think of without success she decided maybe a practical demonstration might be in order.
“Ouch! Stop! I get your point. I promise…Tonight you get to be the naughty schoolgirl….Owwww!

Dang lady, all I said was, “You have a nice butt”

Katherine…Kate…Sweetie….This is NOT how Kiss Me Kate is written!

Madam President….When you get through with the Secretary of Defense I believe the Vice President needs a session as well.

Dr.Ken: He says, "Aw geez, honey, you're not still mad about the spanking I gave YOU last night, are you?"

Ricky: Please, Please, Please! Don't stop! I beg of you!


Thank you all for participating. Please come back whenever you can.

Complete the Caption

Today's picture is dedicated to Cora and Ken of Spanked by my Lady, a couple in a female-led relationship who tied the knot last week. Read about their wedding on their blog here and watch the video here. The ceremony was very striking!

Complete the caption by leaving a comment, and I will publish your contributions in the next post.

Friday FAIL

The hype surrounding "The book that shall not be named" is dying down, but there are still some humorous references to be found on the interwebs.

What's your favourite?

Last week Ronnie invited all Tops to submit a review of their favourite spanking implement. I thought it would be fun to ask Ron about his weapon of choice and then pass along his review.

When I posed the question, Ron paused for a moment or two then replied, "the shoehorn."

"Really? That's interesting. Why?" I glanced around, looking for pen and paper so I could jot down his thoughts.

"Dunno," was his succinct reply.

"What is there about it that makes it your favourite?" I persisted.

"Dunno." It was obvious that the subject was closed. I wouldn't be needing that pen and paper after all.


This trusty implement was the subject of one of my earliest posts. Sorry Ronnie, I can't send you an official review, but he likes it well enough to use it fairly frequently, it makes a lot of noise, and it stings like the dickens!

Wednesday WIN

This picture reminded me of a recent post of Joey's, about women whose bodies Nature has more generously endowed. The charming term he used was "fluffy". This sketch of a fluffy female is a reminder that good things come in big packages too.

For those among you who are geeks and like to do things by the numbers, here's an interesting graph.

 

 It must have been created by a vanilla geek.



Finally, I wonder what will happen when this naughty man is returned to his long-suffering wife.

Rita probably has a hairbrush in her handbag to cure his wandering ways.

Butt Rip

From Just for Laughs Gags, a clever gag about the danger of sitting on a wooden park bench.

From the Top Shelf - The Tally Man

Today's story is an excerpt from "The Tally Man" by Vincent James, from The Janus Book of Spanking Stories. Tally man is an old term used for a debt collector. The tale is set in England just after the Second World War.

When I knocked on the door of number 12 Foundry Terrace on that dismal Monday afternoon, I little knew what was in store for me or what a difference it would make to me in the future.

I was working as a collector for a large firm of credit drapers in a small industrial town in the North of England, and it was my unhappy task to try to collect the weekly instalments from the difficult customers. In this particular town there were a considerable number of unemployed at that time, so it was even harder to collect debts than usual.

I had been to the house at least half a dozen times and got nothing but excuses and vague promises. I had come to the conclusion that the young woman concerned was more than a little improvident for I knew that she was married and that her husband was in the Navy,and therefore she got her money every week.

The door was opened by the girl's old grandmother who shared the little four-roomed house with her. "Ah, thought 'twould be you," she said, "Better come in, I've put the kettle on."

She walked slowly, with the aid of a stick down the passage to the kitchen, and I followed her. The little cramped kitchen was darkly lit by the dull afternoon light, which filtered through the lace curtains at the small window. A nice fire glowed in the old fashioned black cooking range, and a big copper kettle steamed gently on the hob.

My client was sprawled inelegantly in an old armchair reading what appeared to be a girls' weekly gossip mag and did not, at first, seem to notice my presence. She was an attractive girl of about twenty-two, with a gorgeous figure, and a pretty, though weak, face and thick, dark hair. She affected me, physically, very strongly, so much so that I was always extremely careful in my dealings with her to try to remain as polite and distant as possible.

She was lying back in the chair with the end of her spine just resting on the edge of the seat; her knees were bent and her skirt rucked up well above her knees. I couldn't help but see the soft gleam of her parted thighs, right up to where the tight legs of her brief white knickers encircled the plump flesh.

I sat on the edge of the kitchen table while the old woman made the tea and poured three cups. She hobbled over to the other armchair and, when she had settled in it, gave the recumbent girl a hearty prod up inside her skirt with her stick.

"Hey, Pat, sit up and look decent! It's the Tally Man come for his money!" she said in a cracked voice.

The girl jumped as the stick prodded her none too gently between her legs. "Oooo Gran," she gasped, "Don't do that, you'll do me a mischief one of these days!"

She suddenly realised I was there and endeavoured to pull her skirt down over her knees.

She gave the old woman a reproachful look and then, turning back to me, said with a pout;

"I forgot you were coming - I haven't got any money this week," she hesitated for a moment and then said, "My money didn't come but I'll give it to you next week."

This was what I expected. It happened every week, and usually she got away with it, but this time I was determined to win the battle of wits. I was just about to answer when suddenly the old woman burst out, "She's a lying little bitch, she had her money alright, but she's spent it."

Pat stared, open mouthed at her gran, then her face flamed. "Shut up, you old witch," she yelled, "You mind your own business." She turned to me. "It's not true, don't take any notice of her." She sprang up from the chair and stood in front of the fire, her hands on her hips, her long legs astride.

"She's a liar," her grandmother reaffirmed, banging her stick on the floor. "She always wastes her 'usband's money. What she needs is a good hiding like she used to get. I've still got the leather strap I used to tan her lazy backside with."

She pointed to something hanging under the mantleshelf. I saw it was an old leather strap about eighteen inches long and about an inch wide. It was black with age and had evidently been there a long time.

"Used to tan 'er Ma with it too," the old woman continued. "She was just the same, needed her behind warming regularly. Can't do it now," she moaned, "I got the screws something dreadful , or I'd soon have this lying little hussy dancing about a bit lively." She paused for breath and glared at her granddaughter. Pat glared back at her.

"Be quiet, Gran," she said, her face blushing. "He doesn't want to hear all that, anyway you're too old to tan me now so that's that!"

"Haaa!" snorted the old woman, "I might be but he isn't!"

Pat swung round to face her. "What are you talking about, you silly old fool, what's it got to do with him?"

The old woman cackled and looked up at me, her eyes glinting in the firelight. "Got plenty to do with him if you ask me. He's not going to get his money again, and if he had any sense, he'd have you over his knee with your skirt up and larrup that cheeky backside o' yourn for lying to him. Go on, Mister," she taunted, "A strong young chap like you ought to be able to handle her, do 'er the power of good. Make her buck her ideas up a bit if she had a good tanning. Not afraid of her, are you?"

I looked from one to the other, not knowing what to say, for things had taken a surprising turn. It was the first time I'd been invited to chastise a grownup young woman, and a married one at that.

"I hardly think it's my place to punish your granddaughter." I stuttered.

Pat appeared to be at a loss for words too, and just stood in front of the fire looking at me. I was very conscious of her ripe figure outlined by the firelight. I couldn't see her face too clearly but she seemed to be regarding me very intently. There was an air of tension in the way she stood and I noticed that her hands were now behind her. I imagined them spread out across the seat of her dress, as if protecting her bottom from assault.

Suddenly I realised that she thought I would do as her Grandma suggested, and was still not sure of my intentions. The room seemed very quiet, and there was a strange feeling of tension in the air. I licked my lips and put my hand out towards Pat.

She came towards me slowly. Her eyes were on my face. She came close and my raised hand touched her hip. I felt a tremor run through her at the touch of my fingers and my heart started to pound in my ears. It was as if an electric current flowed between us. She said nothing, neither did I, but we both knew what was about to happen.

I took her hand and drew her close to me. I was still half sitting on the edge of the table, with my left thigh on the table and my leg hanging over the side. I loosened her hand and put both of mine on her hips, and held her before me, between my legs.

Her full lips were moist and parted and her eyes bright. I wanted to enfold her and kiss her but daren't, not with the old lady watching.

My hands slid from her hips, moved back and encompassed the the full firm curves of her bottom. I felt the warmth of her flesh through her skirt, and even through the thick material my fingers were aware of every curve and valley of the two hemispheres, which overflowed my outstretched fingers.

The only sound in the room was that of heavy breathing, both hers and mine.

I began to work her skirt up, slowly and quietly, by sliding my hands down over her rump and pulling up a little of the skirt at a time. When the hem came withing reach, I took it and drew it up to her hips. Pat started to tremble as my hands went once again to hold her soft bottom, this time the only barrier being her tight white cotton panties. Suddenly, she gave a little moan and went down over my left thigh, stretching herself out along the table. Quickly now I pulled her skirt up out of the way and let my eyes rove over her lightly-clad bottom.

As my hands had told me, she was well-developed and, positioned as she was, her bottom was displayed to full advantage. The cheeks were deep and adequately plump, filling the tight panties to bursting point. The twin curves of her hips, as they flared out from a slim waist, was a sight to set any man's pulse hammering.

I put my fingers under the waistband of her panties, wondering if I dare take them down, then I caught the old Grandma's eye. She nodded vigorously in encouragement.

Pat made no move as I slowly drew her last defence down over her hips. The panties were so tight, that they wouldn't come more than half way down. So I had to roll her from side to side so that I could free them from under her. At last I was able to get them down to her thighs and feast my eyes on the beauty thus revealed. Her skin was clear and unblemished and white with a faint warm pink glow of good health. A surge of primitive pleasure engulfed me as I gazed at this lovely vision spread so temptingly before me. I raised my hand and began to spank the firm white globes. Not hard at first, for I was still unsure of myself, but quite gently, just letting my hand fall lightly on each cheek in turn. The feel of the soft flesh moving as my hand met it, was delightful, the skin at first cool to the touch.

For quite a while I enjoyed myself at pretending to spank her and then, as she made no sound or movement, I essayed to spank her a little harder. Still there was no protest from Pat's recumbent form nestling across my leg, and so I continued to spank her lovely bottom, with sharp, well-aimed spanks, which made crisp, staccato sounds as my hand bounced off the elastic firm flesh. Gradually the whiteness of Pat's skin was replaced by a bright pink flush, which soon spread outwards from the centre of each cheek until it covered most of the area of her bottom.

Her legs, which had been quite still, began to kick a little, and she bent her knees and lifted her feet from the floor. She started to roll her hips from side to side, and to gasp as each smack impinged on her reddening rear.

I had never dreamed that spanking a girl could be such an exciting and sexually stimulating experience, but I was really enjoying myself and the sight of Pat's superb bottom, as she twisted it about and uttered little gasps and cries was having a tremendous and embarrassing effect on me.

"Smack, smack, smack" went my hand and "Oooo, owwwwww, oooooo" answered Pat's muffled voice from behind my arm. My hand was stinging, and the hue of Pat's bottom had turned from pink to a bright scarlet.

I was amazed that she had not tried to escape, for I was not holding her down. But although she gasped at each and every smack, she did nothing to evade them.

My hand rose and fell in a steady beat, and the cheeks that had once been so white bounced and trembled beneath a constant barrage of heavy impacts. The sweat was dripping from my forehead onto the lively jerking form beneath it. The droplets spattered away as my hand smote where they fell.

I managed to get my left hand beneath Pat's body and to cup one of her breasts. The full globe hung heavy and soft in my hand, unconfined by any bra under her dress. I gently squeezed and kneaded it and felt Pat press her breast into my hand.

She was beginning to whimper a little , and her cries got louder and shriller as the spanking neared its end. My arm ached and my leg had pins and needles from supporting her weight. It began to look as if I would have to give in first. There was only one choice and that was to spank a lot harder. I concentrated on one cheek and gave it six really hard full-blooded slaps that echoed like a fusillade of pistol shots.

Pat's yell of pain was loud and long and her fluid hips contracted in a sudden spasm that forced her hard down on my leg, her cheeks contracted and drew close together, then her bottom cheeks opened and she reared up, forcing her hips high in an abrupt arc, and it was while she was in this provocative and shamefully revealing position that I attacked the other cheek.

Pat gave way to a shrill yelp, gasped out "No more...please, no more," and kicked her legs and swung her bottom about in a frantic effort to reduce the stinging pain that was setting her bottom on fire. One of her hands sought to protect her flaming rear against further punishment, but it was unnecessary for my arm was too tired to spank anymore, even had I wanted to.

She lay gasping, her outspread hand gently fondling her bottom while I recovered my breath. I felt rather ashamed as I looked at Pat's red and finger marked cheeks. The whole of her poor little bottom was an angry red and the flesh continued to jerk and twitch in little spasms of pain as I watched. My right hand joined hers in soothing the hot lush curves as my other hand continued to fondle the lovely breast which filled it.

She seemed quite happy to just lay there and allow me to fondle her. She soon recovered her composure and, apart from her heavy breathing showed no signs of distress. Her whole attitude, before and during the quite severe spanking she had endured, puzzled me considerably. I would have expected her to protest at the very idea of being chastised like a naughty child - especially by a virtual stranger, but she hadn't made a single move to defend herself, and during her obviously painful experience had not attempted in any way to escape from me.

It was very pleasant just to fondle and massage the lovely bottom, and to gently squeeze the twin cheeks, so that they moved and rolled in my hand.

The old lady began to chuckle to herself in her chair by the fire. "Heh, heh, likes it doesn't she! You too I'll wager. I'll bet you never spanked as pretty a bottom before. Ought to give her a few with the strap though before you go!"

Pat struggled upright, blushing deeply. "Shush, Gran," she said quietly, "Enough of that"...'

It's my opinion that Gran and Pat cooked up this scheme to avoid paying off what Pat owed, but how did they guess he was interested in spanking? We can safely assume that until her husband came home from sea, she never paid any drapery bills!

You Completed the Caption

You all outdid yourselves with this strange flash from the past:


Kingspan: The last guy who pinched her bum had his tail turned red in a woodshed. This one would have his tail reddened in a lobster pot.

Sir Wendel Jones: No. No. No. It’s called “The Crabs”.

Elle: Come on! It's just a little pinch! ;)

TL Bucko: When I said I wanted you to pinch my butt this wasn't what I had in mind. You don't have to be so literal!

Michael: First Girl: "I'll let you spank me when lobsters come out my butt!"
Second Girl: "Then I better get the hairbrush."

The lobster paddle worked better in theory than in practice."

Young Lady: **sobbing** I am so sorry I told everyone you gave me crabs!! I will never lie again!!

Sunnygirl: How dare you pinch me? You will be red all over when before I'm done with you.

Smuccatelli: This is not what I had in mind when you said: "Let's go to Red Lobster"...

Ricky: The latest is lobster traps, perhaps?

SNP: Remember when you said the spanking my husband gave me probably did not hurt THAT much? Well, let's have this lobster pinch you and then you tell me if it hurts or not?

Vfrat25000: Twilla and Mabelina, twin sisters from Detroit, became famous after trying to rescue “Big Fred” the famous lobster from the Hurricane Seafood Restaurant. After Big Fred bit Twilla on the butt the twins saw the error of their ways and Big Fred became lunch.

That’s not a Lobster, that’s a shrimp…You should see the lobsters ever since that truck full of radioactive medical waste spilled off Jones’s Pier.

Hey Jim, look at the wives! Yours has a lobster hanging from her rear end. Mine is trying to pull it off her.
Forget that Bob, why are they dressed in swimsuits that look like its 1920. Gosh I hope no one figures out they are with us.

Gertrude why are you pulling on my swimsuit?
You have a huge lobster stuck to your butt.
Right…..Next thing you will be telling me that someday woman will actually be able to go the beach in two skimpy pieces of cloth with their stomachs bared. Now lay off the gin and tonics and let go of my swimsuit

Petunia, this lobster is a reincarnation of my old creepy uncle Charles. He always did like women’s bottoms. The old geezer couldn’t keep his hands off em!

Ronnie: I knew it would come back and bite me on the bum.

Hermione: The lobster toss was always a highlight of the Sandy Shores Highland Games.


Well, that made me feel much warmer! I hope to see you all again soon.

Complete the Caption

The temperature is dropping fast here and snow is in the forecast, but in some parts of the world there is fun to be had on the beach.

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will apply SPF15 to your suggestions in the next post.

Friday FAIL

I only have one FAIL for you today, but this one's a doozy!

There's also a missing apostrophe, so it's a double FAIL.

Come Spank with Me

During the holidays, when regular television programming was interrupted by daylong marathons of a single show, I discovered Come Dine with Me Canada. It's an adaptation of the British show, Come Dine with Me, that I used to enjoy but is no longer available here. The premise is simple. Five strangers get together, and on five consecutive evenings each one takes a turn hosting a dinner party. At the end of each evening, the guests rate the host on a scale of one to ten. On the final evening, the scores are revealed and the highest-scoring host wins a thousand dollars.

Each evening, usually between the appetizer and the entree, the guests go snooping through the host's home and find something unusual or bizarre. Then later, during the entree, one of the guests will bring up their discovery and try to embarrass the host. Discovered items the I can recall include a stolen flag, a diary, cheerleader pompoms, a beauty queen dress and sash, puppets and a massive shoe collection. On one memorable episode, two guests prepared to open a bedside table. What would they find? I guessed it would be an electronic gadget of the personal variety, and I think the two snoops did too. We were all surprised and disappointed to discover a drawer filled with bags of bulk candy.

I often wonder what the guests (or the program producer) would do if a display like the one below was revealed. I suspect the cameras would stop rolling and the guests would be redirected to another part of the house.

Or maybe not. I think the subsequent dinner table conversation would go something like this:

Guest #1: You know that room downstairs beside the powder room?

Host: What room?

Guest #2: The one with the padlock on it. Good thing Jimmy here used to be a burglar.

Guest #1: Aww, that was easy. So, what were those things hanging on the wall?

Host: More gravy, anyone?

Guest #2: Yes, what were they? They looked like (giggles) paddles.

Host: Er...yes...they're antique paddles. They belonged to my grandfather. They have great sentimental value.

Guest #1: And that picture. Who was that?

Host: (blushing) So, everybody, how's the meal?

Guest #3: Picture? What did I miss? Maybe we all need to see that picture.

Guest #4: Was that a picture of your grandmother? I'd like to see it.

Host: I don't remember any picture. Here, have another roll.

Guest #2: Jennifer, you've been holding out on us. You're a professional dominatrix.

Host: (Panic-stricken) Dessert anyone? (rushes from the room. Guests #1 and #2 high-five each other.)

Narrator: When we come back after the break, will Jennifer provide the evening's entertainment in her dungeon? And will her dinner guests give her a perfect score, or else?


(The above photo has appeared on several other blogs and I have been unable to determine where it originated. Please let me know if it is yours so I can credit you.)

Wednesday WIN

The holiday shopping season is over for another year, but Valentine's Day is just around the corner. Here are some lovely (and ever so suggestive of spanking) gift ideas from Toscano. It's not often that so many spanking-themed items are seen in a single issue of a catalogue, but here they are:

A palmistry hand sculpture predicts that there will be spankings in your future.

 A useful ebony marble cane vessel.

The same in ivory marble. Also handy for holding  riding crops and carpet beaters when not in use.

 

A cheeky gothic vampire ready for a spanking.

A wall sculpture described as a "breathtaking beauty stares down her fate clear-eyed and oh-so-ready!"

"Babette" is the name of this suggestive table.

Meet Suzanne "Melding the classical beauty of the female form with the edginess of erotic art, this contemporary wall sculpture commands attention."

Finally, an hourglass for timing your spanking. It runs for 5 minutes, but turn it over as often as you like.