You Completed the Caption

Your clever captions were the perfect antidote to a stressful week in the spanking blogosphere. Here's what you said:


Six of the best: In years of old, when knights were bold. They spanked the ladies hot, when cold.

Underling: 'My name is C-3PO, ma'am, protocol and discipline droid. I am fluent in over six million forms of communication... and thirteen implements!'

Sunnygirl: C3PO couldn't resist the charms of Princess Leia and her charming braids.

DelFonte: Just remember C3PO, you have the buns of steel not me!

Sassafrass: When Hans is away the princess will play!

Welcome, Sassafrass!

Rednakedy: Yes, Ma'am, I am a fully functioning battery operated device. Why do you ask?

Welcome, Rednakedy!

Fiona: Thank you Sir, May I have I another?

Ronnie: Princess Leia couldn't get the hang of the moonwalk dance no matter how many times C-3PO showed her.

Sir Wendel Jones: Princess Leia: Want to try a threesome with a Wookie?

TL Bucko: When I said I wanted something battery operated for the bedroom, Han, this wasn't what I had in mind. Though still not as awkward as kissing my brother.

(Maybe Han likes to watch.)

Kingspan: "I say, Princess, what about a little role play to spice things up. How about Master/Slave?"
"Sorry, C3PO. Too many memories of Jabba."
"Quite. What about Prisoner/Warden?"
"No thank you. My interrogation on the Death Star was plenty for me."
"I see. Perhaps Daddy/Daughter?"
"Seriously? You don't see the problem with that one?"
R2D2: "I suggest a new strategy. Let the Princess top."

Tim: "But Mistress, a request to spank you violate the laws of robotics!"

1.A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2.A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3.A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

Bonnie: "Princess Leia, I must tell you that I was so impressed with your brass bikini scene. Would you be so kind as to re-enact it with me?"

Hermione: Dorothy's relationship with the Tin Man ended shortly after she gave birth to a six pack.


I hope everyone has an enjoyable and productive week, and I invite you to return next weekend for some more caption fun. If you can, please drop by tomorrow for a special celebration.

Complete the Caption

This is quite the pair! What do you think they have in mind?

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will publish what you have to say in the next post. If you haven't joined in before, why not try it today?

Friday FAIL

Because I know you love them, here are some more candid shots of our friends the Walmartians, doing what they do best.

Sting and Thud

As we prepared for our regularly scheduled spanking last week Ron announced, "I need to start the potatoes at 5:00 so I can put them in at 5:30." Ron was making ham and scalloped potatoes for dinner. It was the last subject I wanted to discuss at the moment; i had other things on my mind. "I hope you can squeeze me into your busy schedule," I remarked sarcastically. "Oh, I think I can accommodate you." Then he started spanking my bare bottom briskly with a broad, light wooden paddle, as if in a race against the clock. The implement lineup was a mixture of wood and leather. Some sting and some thud - just the way I like it.      When he used the wooden shoehorn, Ron concentrated his strokes on the area just at the top of my thighs, a place that I consider especially tender, and I complained loudly. That only prompted him to apply the paddle and the other implements that followed more vigorously to that area. "Does that hurt?" "Ow! Yes!" "That's good, eh? Hurting is good!" And he continued to prove his point on my rapidly reddening backside. "Yeah, I suppose." But not really. I was wearing a short-sleeved cotton shirt with no bra underneath, and it kept riding up, partially exposing my breasts. I reached back and pulled it down to my waist. Ron immediately pushed it back up. A few minutes later, after more wriggling on my part, I felt it ride up again. I pulled my shirt down; Ron pushed it up. I got the point; he was in control. With a last flurry of very hard strokes from the big leather paddle, Ron announced, "you're done". But as I struggled to regain my composure and stand upright, he landed one final whack on my posterior. "Ow! That hurt!" I whined. "Bummer," was his unsympathetic reply. "Smart ass," I retorted, but I had to laugh.

Wednesday WIN - The Naughtiest Girl

Do any of you remember The Naughtiest Girl series of children's novels, written by Enid Blyton in the 1940s-50s? The main character is Elizabeth Allen, a very spoiled girl whose misbehaviour causes her governess to leave. She is sent to boarding school, and is determined to behave so badly that she will be expelled. The early book covers tell the story of a young spanko.

NG has a fondness for rulers, which she applies to her classmates' bottoms when the mood strikes her.

Now it's lacrosse sticks that she uses, but her fellow students seem to give as good as they get. (Hmmm, a mixed boarding school? How very progressive for the 1940s.)

Tennis racquets don't hurt all that much, but they cover a large area. The young fellow in the background is eager to experiment.

When all's said and done, a good old-fashioned hand spanking really hits the spot.


I'm sure the actual books aren't anywhere near as naughty as the covers lead me to believe, but it's fun to speculate.

From the Top Shelf - Ellen's Story; The Die is Cast

I was pleased with the favourable response I received for last week's excerpt from Ellen's Story. Even Chross liked it! Today I have an excerpt in which she experiences corporal punishment for the first time. I hope you enjoy it.

Perhaps my obsessive preoccupation with corporal punishment stemmed in part from an unconscious longing to receive it myself. Everyone else around me seemed to be getting it - so why not me? My behaviour certainly merited it. As a child I'm afraid I was quick-tempered, fractious and cheeky, always getting into scrapes wherever I went. I must have led my poor distracted mother a terrible dance, but all she ever did was scold me, never giving me the stricter punishment I so deserved...

I had, of course, had my bottom slapped plenty of times by the boys in the village - but that was only in fun, occurring in the thick of the wild coltish games we played in and out of the barnyards and up and down the leafy lanes from dawn till dusk. My first taste of real corporal punishment came some years later, after I left the dame-school in the village where dear old lavender-scented Miss Beale had given up years ago trying to curb her boisterous, unruly pupils - and I began attending the newly-built Church of England school in nearby Bishops Stanton.

The headmaster, Dr. Smallwood, was a tall, grey-bearded, scholarly gentleman who, although ruling us with a rod of iron, was nevertheless patient, humorous and capable of great acts of kindness. His wife and he had been missionaries out in India, but tragically she had died of cholera, and shortly afterwards he had returned to England with his young son, Roderick...

The compulsory school uniform was accordingly all part of his grand plan to bring civilised order and discipline into our, hitherto, chaotic, unruly lives. The boys were, henceforth, exhorted to wear grey shirts, grey knee-breeches, and grey stockings, while we girls were expected to attend in black skirts, scarlet bodices and white pinafores. As a special concession to our vanity we were allowed to wear blue ribbons in our hair...

Provided the subject I was studying captured my interest I was a good pupil. But if I became bored or unable to understand something I quickly grew fidgety and began plotting mischief. Arithmetic was the bane of my life. Despite all Dr. Smallwood's patient efforts I conspicuously failed to appreciate the logic behind all those endless rows of figures. Then I became sulky and fractious - which was when the other side to Dr. Smallwood's nature would emerge; that of stern taskmaster.... Once, when I jibbed more rebelliously than ever beneath my mentor's just reproof, he did not hesitate to employ harsher measures. Perhaps all along I had somehow been trying to goad him into doing this. He made me stay behind after school, then gave me such a tongue-lashing - "A lazy, slothful girl, Ellen, is like a ripe fruit ready for the Devil to pick!" - that had me quaking in my shoes, after which he pulled me down across his knee, lifted up my skirt and petticoats at the back, and spanked me with all the fierceness of his pent up anger, directly on the seat of my drawers, so that my eyes watered with tears and I pleaded with him for mercy.

The whole thing was over in a couple of minutes, but it left me numb with shock - and feeling more than a little cheated. All that I was conscious of immediately after the event was a sense of gross indignity, coupled with the hot smarting in my bottom. But later on the incident began to take on a different hue in my mind. The more the spanking receded in time, the more thrillingly exciting it appeared to my girlish imagination. From that day forth I worshipped the ground Dr. Smallwood walked on, and I spent the remainder of my days at school simultaneously dreading and hoping that he would chastise me again.

Ellen did not have long to wait. A pupil she despised, called Priscilla, taunted her and insulted her mother. Ellen retaliated and the two girls scuffled.

Suddenly an iron grip seized me by the collar and dragged me bodily into the air. It was Dr. Smallwood. "Whatever is the meaning of this disgraceful brawl?" he thundered. "How dare you two girls behave like wild animals in the school playground! Older girls, too, who ought to be setting a good example to the juniors," he added, glaring into our faces.

"It was Ellen who started it!" Prissy whined, wiping the blood away from her nose.

"She should never have said those terrible things about my mother!" I retorted, still shaking with rage.

But Dr. Smallwood was not in the least interested in the whys and wherefores of who started what. "Come with me, the pair of you," he snapped angrily. "You have obviously forgotten all that I've taught you about behaving like ladies. Let us see if a good dose of the cane apiece will help to remind you!" and so saying he marched us, one on each arm, back to the empty classroom.

We waited, ashen-faced and weak-kneed, while Dr. Smallwood went to his room to fetch the cane. Prissy started to snivel and blubber babyishly. Like all bullies she was essentially a coward at heart. As for me, I was in a turmoil with all sorts of different emotions bubbling away inside me like a cauldron. I felt dreadfully afraid - and not a little excited. Would it hurt terribly? Would he cane our hands or our bottoms - and if the latter, would he pull our skirts up beforehand? I was glad I was wearing nice clean fresh drawers, and hoping spitefully that Prissy's would prove to be ragged and dirty. Even at that early age I was fastidious about my underclothing, a trait I inherited from my mother.

The actual caning was executed by Dr. Smallwood with an air of almost clinical detachment. I am sure he found it an extremely disagreeable business, an unpleasant necessity. For me it was a short sharp lesson in pure pain, and totally non-erotic at the time. He must have thought we were too old to have our skirts and petticoats raised, and I felt a small but definite pang of disappointment, recalling how he had partially unveiled my bottom before spanking it on that previous occasion.

This time there was no such ritualistic preparation. He merely ordered Prissy and me to bend over and grasp our ankles, while he applied four whistling cuts with his rattan cane across the tightly stretched seats of our black skirts. It happened so quickly that it was all over practically as soon as it had begun - but it left our bottoms aflame with those four thin lines of needle-sharp agony inscribed on our flesh. He had dealt with Prissy first, who disgusted me by bursting into tears even before the first stroke fell and who, by the time the final stroke landed, was howling unashamedly.

Then it had been my turn, and, summoning up all my courage like a condemned prisoner before execution, I gave the world around me a last farewell glance before bending down and offering up my bottom for its painful, humiliating punishment when, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the grinning face of a boy at the classroom window. He quickly ducked out of sight as soon as I looked in his direction - but in that brief second I recognised the flushed, excited features of young Roderick Smallwood.

The realisation that there was a secret witness to my shameful ordeal only augmented my feelings of abasement and mortification as I gasped, twitched and cried out loudly with each fiery cut of the cane...

There is little more to relate about the incident. Immediately afterwards both Prissy and I were sent home in disgrace, nursing our sore, smarting bottoms. I began to panic about what my mother would say when she found out. I resolved to keep quiet about the whole ignominious affair, in the hope that no word from Dr. Smallwood would reach her ears.

I suspect Roderick is also a lover of the rod, but we learn no more about him now. At home, Ellen examines herself in the mirror as she recalls the caning.

I was, although small in stature, quite a well developed girl for my age, and my awareness of this embarrassed me considerably. My breasts were by now plump, firm little melons that I habitually tried to conceal beneath loose-fitting blouses - and the delight the village boys took in slapping my now prominent and shapely rear caused me no end of blushes and agitated discomfiture.

Imagine, therefore, how I felt when I saw in the mirror the four parallel crimson cane weals, standing out proud across the rounded summits of my buttocks. I groaned aloud, mortified at having such a deeply demeaning badge of shame emblazoned across my bottom. Horrified, yet simultaneously excited beyond words, I traced with trembling fingers the painful ridges and indentations that Dr. Smallwood's rod had created. Was I scarred for life, I wondered, or would the awful marks fade in time?

Perverse girl that I was,I commenced rubbing the afflicted areas in order to deliberately exacerbate the stinging smart - and discovered that the sensations thus engendered were not all together unpleasant...

In my mind I pored lasciviously over every tiny detail of my caning. I recalled the disgustingly vulgar way in which Prissy had wriggled her hindquarters with each successive stroke. I tormented myself with the highly improper - but strangely exciting - thought that, instead of caning us over our clothes, Dr. Smallwood had instead made us lift up our skirts and petticoats and then lower our drawers so that his son could watch us being caned on our shamefully bare bottoms...oh, what a dreadful, awful prospect!

It seems that the enjoyment of spanking runs in the family, but you'll have to wait until next time to hear more on that subject.

You Completed the Caption

This was the most popular caption for the photo on VeryDemotivational.com.  Now here are yours. 


Six of the best: Question. :Whats better than a 'cool drink on the rocks'. Answer. 'A knickers down good spanking on the rocks.'

Fiona: "That was such a naughty little girl," he scolded sternly. "Get in position on the rocks. You can pretend that your looking at something, but stand there until you feel three strong strikes."

Vfrat25000: I think I want to be a Marine Biologist

Harry your idea of jogging the beach in rubber wet suits really sucks

The view at this beach is WONDERFUL!

Oh Herman look at the that beautiful ocean
What ocean…Oh, that ocean…yeah it looks OK!

I wonder what the chances are of me giving that bottom a really good swat and then blaming it on a seal.

Hey pervert, why did you slap me on the bottom?
A killer whale was about to bite you and I scared it off
Oh…OK…Thanks

I am giving up my cello lessons TODAY. Sitting in a stuffy music room when beautiful bottoms like this one are roaming the beach is ridiculous

GaryNTboy: 'I tell ya, if that girl doesn't stop bending over like that, I'm gonna give her such a good smack with my yellow flipper'.

Bobbie Jo: My, my. What have we here? Hey, guys, may I borrow one of your flippers? I need it to make an impression.

Ronnie: "I don't care who's around. I told you if you splashed me again you'd get spanked, now bend."


Thank you to everyone who participated. Do come back next week for something completely different.

Complete the Caption

Summer is here in the Northern hemisphere, and a day at the beach is always fun. But sometimes the fun gets a little out of hand and stern measures are necessary.

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

Friday FAIL

Its' Friday, and time for some more spelling slips and grammar gaffes seen in the wild.

Hooray, summer has arrived! Have a great weekend, everybody.

Big Love and Carpet Beaters

A while ago I told you about one of my favourite episodes from the television series Big Love. It featured a lot of talk (but unfortunately no action) about spanking. As I was watching one of the episodes from Season 4 last week, I came across another interesting scene.

In the episode, we find Wanda in the back yard of her humble home at the polygamist community of Juniper Creek.  She is energetically beating her rugs and quilts with an old-fashioned carpet beater. Vacuum cleaners have not yet reached Juniper Creek.

Here I must insert a word or two about Wanda. She is somewhat mentally unbalanced and feels that it is perfectly acceptable to attempt to murder anyone who threatens her family. So far, she has poisoned two people with antifreeze, although they both survived. She isn't a person you would want to trifle with.

In this scene, her brother appears and they have "words". I was expecting her to attack him with the carpet beater but she managed to restrain herself and he walked away unscathed.

As for the implement itself, it looked very much like this metal one.

*Shiver* Not something I would want applied to my backside, by friend or foe.

Wednesday WIN

Let's take a peek inside this neighbourhood bar and see if we recognize any of our friends.

She doesn't look familiar. I've never seen that thong before.

These two are displaying more than is absolutely necessary. Doesn't this place have a dress code?

I think I've seen this gal somewhere before. I recognize those...




By now you've probably checked the calendar because you thought it was Friday and these were all FAILs. But look again.

Clever bar stools that give everyone who sits in them a new look!

A big thank you goes out to my friend Sunnygirl for sending me these photos. I assume it's where she and Ray spend their time on the weekend :)

In the News

Our daily newspaper includes a weekly summary of the local criminal court cases, and this one caught my eye. "Man Strips, Uses Belt" was the headline. A local cab driver bore the brunt of a drunken rage as an intoxicated man stripped off his clothes and beat the cab with his belt.

It seems that a taxi driver was sitting in his cab at around 1 am when a group of intoxicated young men surrounded the vehicle. The taxi driver was unable to drive away and summoned police on his phone. One of the men took off his clothes and began whacking the cab with his belt. After they decided that the vehicle had been sufficiently punished and had learned its lesson, the group left the scene. Police apprehended the belt-swinging suspects a few blocks away.

That cabbie had a good story to tell his wife when he got home. Perhaps he even re-enacted it for her benefit.

From the Top Shelf - Ellen's Story

Ellen's Story is the autobiographical tale of a young woman living in rural England in the early part of the 20th century. The anonymous author brings the simple people to life in a farming community where impromptu spankings were quite common. In this excerpt, Ellen recalls an incident that happened one summer, long ago.

Haymaking was a time when everyone in the village turned out to lend a hand. Work began as soon as it grew light, when the sound of the old horse-drawn mowing machines could be heard clickety-clacking up and down the fields, chopping down the long grass and scattering in their wake the buttercups, poppies and moon-daisies that were just coming into flower.

The harvesters worked like Trojans until early evening, cursing and sweating beneath the blazing sun. Then, when it got to six o 'clock, everyone would gaze hungrily towards the distant farmhouse, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Betsy Partridge, a plump rosy-apple-cheeked girl in her early twenties. She was the Bailey's servant-girl, and her job was to fetch the food which she and her mistress had prepared for the famished farm workers; bread and butter, thick slices of home-cured ham, cheese, cakes and gallons and gallons of tea.

...I remember being there in the hayfields one sultry July at around teatime when the back-breaking work had finally ground to a halt and everyone was hot, thirsty and ravenous. Twenty minutes went by and still no Betsy. The men began to grumble loudly and one or two - 'Little' John Witcombe, a hulking young ploughman, included - began taking long cooling draughts from a large stone jar of farmhouse cider which they kept in the shade of the hedge and which was an accepted part of payment for their services.

At long last Betsy came into sight, staggering under the weight of the heavy basket which was laden to the brim with provender.

"What time of the day do ye call this, Betsy, ye great lazy trollop!" cried Bob Pritchard, slapping her so hard on her bottom that the basket slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground.

"Now see what ye've made me do, you cheeky devil!" Betsy exclaimed combatively, squaring up to Bob, all set to give as good as she got.

Then Little John Witcombe stepped forward, rubbing his hands in glee, his grey eyes flashing. He was spoiling for a tussle with Betsy, especially with a bellyful of cider in him. "I reckon what 'er needs is 'er bottom warming good and proper to teach 'er to get 'ere on time!" he chortled, making a sudden grab for her.

Betsy shrieked with excitement and backed away, but he was too quick for her. Frog-marching her over to an old wooden bench by the hedge, he pushed the strapping wench down across his brawny lap, whipped up the back of her dress, likewise her red flannel petticoats, and, much to the amused interest of the general assembly, began belabouring her ample bottom, tightly encased in thin cotton drawers. The men uttered loud whoops of delight and the few women remaining in the fields (most had gone home with their children to prepare supper) either sniggered knowingly or else tut-tutted and clicked their tongues, pretending to be shocked by such abandoned behaviour.

Betsy received a hearty spanking on that well-fleshed posterior of hers. Little John probably didn't know his own strength, for had big bulging biceps, and hands like great slabs of meat. While Betsy roared, screamed and flailed her sturdy legs in protest, he continued with boundless enthusiasm for a good five minutes more to give the plump servant-girl the bottom-tanning of her life. I watched the whole unseemly performance, spellbound. I noted, with gloating delight, how Betsy's thinly clad buttocks twitched convulsively and in a very vulgar manner whenever Little John's hand came walloping down on them.

Betsy Partridge was a powerfully built girl but she was no match for Little John. When finally he took pity on her madly squirming rear, desisted from lambasting it, and pushed her off his lap with one last resounding 'SMACK!' across the seat of her drawers, a prodigious change had come over her. She was no longer the saucy, provocative hoyden of a few minutes before. Grimacing with pain at the raging fire Little John had lit in her bottom, Betsy tried to laugh it off and pretend it was all a joke - but I saw her eyeing Little John somewhat mistily as if on the verge of tears...and it was a look of new found respect too, signifying that at last she'd found a man who would put up with no nonsense from her.

He patted his lap as if to say, 'Let's be friends now' and, almost shyly I thought, she allowed him to sit her on his knee, wincing a little when her tender bottom touched the rough fabric of his working breeches. Then, flinging his sun-burnt arms around her waist, he planted a great smacking kiss on her lips, which she returned with equal fervour.

Late in the autumn, Little John and Betsy were married. Under the firm but loving yoke of his domination, Betsy became a different woman. She never as much looked at another man again and, I'm sure, stayed faithful to Little John to her dying day.

Incidents like these were a common, everyday occurrence when I was a young girl, growing up in the wilds of West Shropshire. Is it any wonder that I nursed the deep-rooted conviction that girls were especially created to have their bottoms whipped ....or that men were created to do the whipping?

I'd say it was a bit of both, wouldn't you?

You Completed the Caption

Feats of daring inspire your very best captions! here's what you wrote:


Simon: Simon's Mistress had a slightly different conception of cornertime to most. And he'd also been told that if he misbehaved again he would do it in the nude.

Katie: "For crying out loud, I've spanked her so many times for the same thing that I've lost my mind! I need a little balance in my life!"

Six of the best: "Jumping Johosephat and fly me to the moon, if that is not Hermione's voluptuous bare bottom I see before me. And most spankable at that." said 'Six of the Best' in delight.

Tex: "EEEEEeekkk!!!... a MOUSE!"

Bonnie: When Fred's psychologist discussed the need to achieve a healthy work-life balance, he completely missed the point.

Sunnygirl: NUTS, is the only thing that comes to mind.

*Bonnie*: "Hey hold my beer and watch this!"

Tim: When Tim had been told his punishment would involve him not being able to sit down for a week he had envisaged something quite different...

Ronnie: "I wonder if this is what she meant when she said I need to get some balance in my life."

Ricky: I'll build a chairway to Paradise,
with a new chair every day.

With apologies to the brothers Gershwin, to wit:
"I'll build a stairway to Paradise,
with a new step, evr'y day!"

(I know, I know . . . groan!)

Sir Wendel Jones: Aw crap! Forgot to close the car windows.

Dr. Ken: "'Scuse me, Occifer, but are you sure this is a perfectly legal field sobriety test?"

GaryNTboy: Barney the birdman of Broadway was suffering more bouts of amnesia. This time he'd completely forgotten to strap on his wings.

Hermione: "Bend over that chair" took on a whole new meaning for Paul during his first encounter with Mistress May.


Well, that was invigorating! Have a safe, sane and consensual week, everyone.

Complete the Caption

I can't imagine what this guy is doing up there. Maybe you have some ideas.

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

Friday FAIL

Today's collection of wardrobe failures will leave you scratching your head and wondering, "Why?"

Standing in a window with ripped jeans isn't a smart way to get your 15 minutes of fame.

He must have been holding his copy of Getting Dressed for Dummies upside down.

A rear with a view. Unfortunately, it isn't the view we want to see.

Jeans with a thong attached? No chance of an accidental glimpse of  those cheeks.

This guy isn't taking any chances. A second pair of jeans under the first pair ensures that his lovely bottom will remain hidden, in spite of fashion.