From the Top Shelf - The Nine-Fold Path

This story is twenty years old, so some of the references are a bit outdated, but don't let that put you off. Spanking is timeless! It was written by mel b owen, who wrote F/M stories, mostly pseudo-autobiographical tales about his DD relationship with his psychologist wife, Abby. The tone is light. This couple has chosen this lifestyle and Abby doles out the discipline with a firm but loving hand. Mel has appointed Abby to be his disciplinarian and she fulfills that role with an attitude that is both serious and whimsical. In case you were wondering about the title, it is explained at the end.

The Nine-Fold Path

This is the sixth anniversary of the most memorable spanking Abbey has given me so far in our marriage. I thought that, in honor of the occasion, those who visit this site might enjoy an account of it.

I recall every detail with poignant precision. I remember the damp, lavender soap smell on Abbey's right hand when I kissed her palm, for example. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I suppose the easiest way to explain how the incident began is to say that it seemed like a good idea at the time. Ken, Miles, Frank and I had been reasonably good buddies with Phil. Then Phil was transferred to California from here in Omaha. The transfer only lasted six months, but when he came back, Phil thought he was the coolest thing on earth -- calling everyone "baby" and talking about "crazy" this and that, like it was 1958. It got to the point where the four of us decided to do something about it.

To make a long story short, Miles waited until Phil was in one of his most obnoxiously Orange County moods and then asked him, very confidentially, if he'd like to score some really primo weed. We all knew Phil had no experience with maryjane, but of course he couldn't admit that, so he let himself be suckered into it. Around midnight that Friday night Phil drove Miles to a seedy little roadhouse about sixty miles out of town. I got to be the freak in disguise -- aided mightily by a school-play wig and beard and the dark, smoky atmosphere. I sold Phil a baggie of oregano and a pack of rolling papers for $25. Phil got to work and sat there for half-an-hour like a horse's ass, smoking oregano and thinking he was stoned out of his mind. The others had been sitting around drinking. When we figured Phil had learned his lesson, they came out of the darkness, I took off my lame disguise, and we started laughing our heads off.

Let's just say Phil didn't quite get it. Instead of being properly abashed about his own inanity, he got furious with us. He stormed out and drove off, leaving Miles there with us.

This shouldn't have been a problem, because Ken had driven the rest of us out, and his car was still there. Unfortunately, Ken by this point was too blitzed to drive, and he said his wife Janet absolutely would not let him give the keys to anyone else -- new car, insurance restrictions, etc.

It was now after one in the morning. The best solution was for me to call Abbey and ask her if she could drive Janet out here so that Janet could take Ken home and the rest of us could go home with Abbey. Ninety minutes later, Abbey and Janet were at the roadhouse, with Janet madder than a wet hen and Abbey wearning that tolerant, what-can-you-expect-from-men expression of hers. Janet was chewing Ken up one side and down the other, berating him mercilessly. Finally, Abbey said to her, quite calmly, "It's up to you, Janet, but you might want to try for a little perspective. Boys will be boys, after all. Besides, nobody died and it was a pretty good joke when you think about it. Janet was still spitting and cussing as she piled Ken into their car, but the other guys all looked enviously at me.

With a tolerant sigh, Abbey climbed into our Jeep Cherokee and started the long drive back into the city. The conversation on the way back was mostly about what a great wife she was and how lucky I was. After she'd dropped the other two off and the door had closed behind Miles, though, the conversation changed -- and not subtly.

She turned around in the driver's seat to face me, her neck-length chestnut hair swinging. A devilish glint sparkled in her chocolate brown eyes, and a mordant grin split her lips.

"All right, cowboy," she said. "Paddle or strap?"

"What about 'boys will be boys'?" I asked.

"Boys will be boys, but there's a time for hijinks and there's a time for spankings. When a grown man pulls a stunt like the one tonight, he needs some heat for his seat. Now, one more chance: paddle or strap?"

This wasn't a trivial choice. The paddle is a substantial piece of polished lumber that I made myself. It's eighteen inches long, three-and-a-half inches wide, and a quarter-inch thick. It stings like hell, burns like a clothes iron, and leaves me with a throbbing, pulsing, nettlesome ache for days. The strap is a strip of leather sixteen inches long, four inches wide, and an eighth of an inch thick, with a braided leather handle and a hanging thong. It stings like hell cubed and burns like a blast furnace, but it only leaves me sore for a day or so. The choice Abbey was offering me was a classic trade-off of present pain versus future pain. I opted for present.

"Strap," I said. "I guess I'll sleep on my stomach tonight."

"We're not going to do it tonight," Abbey said as she started the car and pulled away. "It's way too late. You'll get your spanking after you've had a good night's sleep and a chance to think about what's in store for you."

I'd just about had time to digest that when we got home a few minutes later. As we walked from the garage into the kitchen, Abbey said casually, "Make a note on the calendar to be sure I don't forget."

There wasn't any chance of Abbey forgetting, but I obeyed. On the calendar under the phone in the kitchen, I found the square for Saturday. Underneath "Dry Cleaners", "Post Office" and "Groceries" I wrote, "Hard spanking for Mel -- strap." That was the final thought in my head as I climbed into bed.

I got up just before eleven a.m. As I showered and shaved, I could smell and hear breakfast cooking. I couldn't wait to get downstairs to eat it, but my eagerness was diluted by the thought of what was going to happen as soon as the meal was finished.

I groomed myself carefully and put on nice clothes -- khaki slacks and a pullover with a collar. Then I went down to the dining room. At my place I found a feast waiting for me: scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, fresh melon, hot coffee and orange juice. And as I sat down to enjoy it, I saw hanging by its thong from the back of Abbey's chair a reminder of what else was waiting for me: the strap.

I was hugry and, despite my anxiety, I ate the sumptuous repast with delight. When I'd finished, I told Abbey how delicious it was, and thanked her for fixing it.

"You're my husband and I treat my husband right," she said, smiling. "Now, have you had all you want to eat?"

"Yes, I sure have."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good." She stood up, took the strap off the back of the chair, and started rolling up her right sleeve. "In that case, please go into the den for your spanking."

Even though I was psychologically prepared to take my punishment, I was jelly-legged and hollow-bellied as I stood up. My first steps toward the den were halting, and I must have paled. Abbey came over and laid a sympathetic hand on my arm.

"Don't get too down on yourself, Mel," she said. "I feel that you need to be taught a sharp lesson, but I'm not angry with you or terribly upset. This isn't going to be a ferocious flogging -- just a good, hard, old-fashioned, no-nonsense country whipping."

Taking what comfort I could from that, I shuffled into the den. I saw that one footstool had been pushed against the end of the couch. Abbey marched me over to it, gave me our customary pre-punishment hug, then stepped back.

"As you know, Mel," she said, "I believe that adult spankings should be administered on the bare bottom. Pull down your pants."

I did as I was told. I unbuckled my belt, unfastened the clasp on my pants, and lowered my trousers and underpants. They fell quickly to my ankles. I took a deep breath. I was just about ready to handle this. Then, the phone rang. I grimaced in impatience, and muttered an expletive under my breath. With a meaningful glance at me, Abbey went over to answer the phone.

"Oh, hi, Melissa," she said. "Yes, we're planning on coming to the party tonight. Our plans haven't changed. Listen, I'm sorry, but I can't talk right now. I've promised Mel toasted buns for lunch, and I have to go warm them up. I'll call you back in a few minutes."

She hung up the phone and strode back over to me.

"This isn't about getting something over with, Mel," she said. "It's about learning an important lesson. Are you in the right frame of mind for a constructive disciplinary experience? Or should we put this off for a couple of hours while you reflect on things in the corner?"

"No," I said contritely. "I'm ready."

"We'll see." Abbey shifted the strap to her left hand. She held her right hand out to me, palm up. I bent down and kissed it tenderly, drinking in the perfume of the lavender soap I mentioned earlier. Then I straightened and braced myself....

"Now: acknowledge your fault, and ask for your punishment."

"My behavior was foolish and childish, and I deserve to be soundly whipped. Please give me a hard spanking on my bare bottom."

"That's exactly what I have in mind," she said. "Kneel down on the footstool, bend over the end of the couch, and present your bottom for the strap."

I did as she said, easing myself into position and offering my soon-to-be-abused posterior for chastisement.

"Scrunch forward a bit, and raise your bottom a little higher in the air. I want to be sure to get plenty of licks on the part you sit down on."

With considerable trepidation, I obeyed the instruction.

"All right, honey," she said almost tenderly. "Hang on. This isn't foreplay, this is discipline."

There was a brief HISS, and emphatic SMACK!, and a gasp of pain from me. A sharp, emphatic sting blitzed through both cheeks of my bottom. I could already feel the scorching, red heat begin to build in them.

Abbey had promised me a good, hard, old-fashioned, no-nonsense country whipping, and that's what she delivered. HISS-SMACK! HISS-SMACK! HISS-SMACK! Three seconds or so apart, each one searing my tender bottom. Her reproaches rained down on me along with the strap: " . . . juvenile . . . (HISS-SMACK!) . . . . irresponsible . . . (HISS-SMACK!) . . . thoughtless . . . (HISS-SMACK!) . . . . inconsiderate . . . (HISS-SMACK!) . . . nonsense . . . (HISS-SMACK!)."

As the strap bit again and again relentlessly into my bottom, my gasps turned to grunts, then my grunts turned to groans, then my groans turned to yelps, then my yelps turned to squeals, and I knew I was on the verge of tears. What finally brought the sobs that eventually shook my body, though, wasn't only the scorching sting of the strap but my realization of what lesson Abbey had wanted to teach me: I had let my buddies down; I was the mature one in that group; they might be ninnies, but I should have had the sense to see what the consequences could be. I knew she was right, and I wept with remorse even as my heart warmed with gratitude.

Finally, after four-dozen strokes, she paused. My bottom was throbbing, and I was panting in an effort to get my crying under control.

"Wait here a moment," she said.

I heard her walking across the room and picking up the phone.

"Melissa? Your affair tonight -- is that buffet or a sit-down dinner? Buffet? Great, thanks. We'll see you there."

She came back over to me.

"It's a buffet tonight, with munchies on paper plates, so you won't have to sit down. We can review the nine-fold path to marital harmony."

"Yes ma'am."

"First," she said.

"Pain induces reflection."

"Correct." HISS-SMACK! "Second."

"Reflection induces remorse."

"Correct." HISS-SMACK! "Third."

"Ahhgh! Uh, remorse induces contrition."

"Correct." HISS-SMACK! "Fourth."

"YEEOWW! Fourth. Let's see. Fourth: Contrition implies a firm commitment to do better."

"Correct." HISS-SMACK! "Fifth."

"OWWWWW! Fifth. A firm commitment to do better produces improved behavior."

"Correct." HISS-SMACK! "Sixth."

"OHHH! IT HURRRTS! Sixth: Improved behavior leads to a more constructive attitude."

"Correct." HISS-SMACK! "Seventh."

"YEEEEEOWWWW! PLEASE HONEY! Seventh: A more constructive attitude increases self-knowledge."

"Correct." HISS-SMACK! "Eighth."

"YIIII! Eight: Increased self-knowledge leads to enlightenment."

"Correct." HISS-SMACK! "And ninth."

"OHWOWOHWOWOHWOW! OH MY POOR BOTTOM! Ninth: Enlightenment leads to marital harmony."

"Correct." HISS-SMACK! "Now, do you think you'll remember?"

"UMFFF! Yes, yes, I'm sure I will. I deserved that spanking, and I know you gave it to me for my own good and because you love me. Thank you for disciplining me."

"You're welcome. Now go stand in the corner while I check this spanking off of our to-do list for today and have a cigarette. Then you can clean the kitchen, and it will be time to start getting ready for Melissa's party."

"Yes ma'am."

At Melissa's party that night, I walked a little stiffly, but I was happy, contented, warm and -- and what? There was something else. I was . . . SMUG! That was it! I was smug! I looked around at my buddies and their wives and the tension subtly abrading their evening, and I thought, "I got my bottom spanked, and it's the best thing that ever happened to me." Abbey and I had achieved catharsis and closure -- and I had DEFINITELY learned a sharp lesson.

Quite the way to end the year!

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for December 29

Does the spankee wear special attire? Here's what you said:

Ed: She expects me to wear low rise briefs daily and I am spanked in whatever I am wearing which is usually a low rise. The exception is that I am put in a pair of her panties after a punishment spanking about a third of the time washing them every night until she gives me permission to wear my own underpants.Getting caught without them on when she has ordered is punishable.

Anon 1: Indeed! I love my wife to be in stockings/suspenders when she spanks me. Doesn't always happen, of course, but it enhances to the scene when she does. Not only is it sexy, but it makes her look even more strong and authoritative to me. Especially the wide-ish suspenders rather than the skinny ones!

Anon 2: My wife has had me wear my pajamas after a spanking no matter the time of day. Just recently I have had to put on my pajamas prior to a spanking. She could care less if I'm seen getting spanked in my pajamas or afterwards. Act like a naughty little boy, get treated as such. I hate the pajamas, I feel so little, and especially when she pulls the bottoms down before going over her lap. I have kicked off the bottoms and stood facing the wall with just the top on.

Roz: No specific requirement for dress. However I usually know when a spanking will be forthcoming and ensure I am definitely not wearing every day underwear lol. I usually ensure I am wearing a nice, low cut brief and bra set.

Yorkie: Nope. We only have one outfit - our birthday suits!

KDPierre: :-( When I was first reading this, I thought you were going to ask if we had any special clothes we traditionally wear for Christmas Eve or Christmas and instead it went to general "spanking attire". All I can say is what I choose to traditionally wear for the holidays with my family is way more interesting than the total absence of attire normally associated with spankings. (Some of our more interesting quirks and habits may very well transcend the limited scope of 'all things spanking'. Why limit it? It may well have been a more "colorful" rather than fleshtone response to hear what people choose to wear for Christmas. LOL)

Because this is a spanking blog, I try to keep our discussions related to that subject.

Joe: As with some others my spanking attire is no attire.

Rosco: Irene will sometimes require me to wear a pair of girly panties - mostly nylon pettipants these days. Sometimes she’ll make me where them all day.

Irene herself often changes clothes several times during our “dates”. She has several costume dresses - flamenco, drindl, etc. as well as lots of fun lingerie, short skirts, a crotchless fishnet bodysuit and much more. She’ll tie me down, spank me, and change her outfit several times before deciding it’s time for cunnlingus. Fun times.

Wendel: Once a year the birthday suit is required for the spanking. For the Halloween season we dress in costumes and usually test them out for spanking.

Barrel: Not normally, but when we plan an extended or intense session, she will have me wear something appropriate for the day to further my mental preparation for what is to come. Usually pantyhose without socks for a half day at work or if we go out for lunch. She likes to make me lower them to mid thigh to mark her “lower limit” of the spanking range as I kneel on the bench just before I am restrained. My wife likes to torment me by saying, “no, a little lower because I want the tawse to really mark those thighs”, or “a little higher since I want to concentrate the hard strapping to just below your cheeks to maximize its intensity”. She knows it makes my mind race wildly just before she starts.

Occasionally or when it is really hot, she will make me wear one of my three pairs of sheer, female thong panties all day. These are usually not removed before the spanking, just snugged up to mark the “upper limit” of the spanking range.

We are planning just such a session in a couple of weeks after I see the doc.

Bonnie: Yes! Dressing me for the occasion is one of my husband's favorite aspects of spanking. I should write an entire blog post about this topic. When we have time to play, he likes all sorts of different themes - just a bra and thong set, a cheerleader uniform with pigtails, form-fitting blue jeans, pantyhose, a bikini swimsuit, pastel leggings, a short nightie and thong set, white nylon briefs with a garter belt, stockings, and heels, a very short pleated wool tartan skirt and coordinated sweater, and more.

Other times, he just lifts my skirt or drops my slacks and goes for it. As for me, I am pleased to indulge his fascination. As long as I get my spanking and all of the adult fun that follows, I'm all in.

Hermione: Ron sometimes asks me to put on a teddy or a short, lacy nightgown if he has plans for after-spanking fun. But usually a bare bottom is enough for him..

Thank you all for revealing your outfits, and Bonnie, we want to read that post:) Happy New Year everyone!

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #311

It's a festive time of year and getting dressed in our finest clothes plays an important part.While deciding what to wear yesterday before dinner guests arrived, I thought of a discussion topic that Barrel suggested, and here it is:

Do you have special attire the spankee is required to don before a spanking? If so, is it used regularly, seldom, or only on certain occasions?

Leave your response as a comment and I will publish an edited summary of our conversation once everyone has had a chance to speak.

Friday FAIL

I hit the Boxing Day sales yesterday and got some great bargains. I picked up luxury chocolates at half price because naturally nobody would pay full price for chocolates with a gold bow after Christmas. There is one store I didn't go to. Can you imagine how busy Walmart is on Boxing Day?

I don't know about you, but Walmartians drain away all traces of my Christmas spirit.

Christmas FUN

It's Christmas Day. How is your tree holding up? If you have furbabies in your house you'll need to keep a safe distance between the tree and them. Here are a few ideas to protect your baubles and your sanity.

Enjoy your Christmas feast! Must go now and watch the Queen's speech.

From the Top Shelf - Scroob

Christmas Eve is here once again and by Dickens, it's time for a story. So come on, Virginia, just sit up here on Santa's lap and I'll tell you a good one, first told to me by our dear friend Rollin Hand.

SCROOB - A Christmas Story

"I want that brief finished before you leave, Pratchett," said Evelyn Scroob, the managing partner of Scroob and Associates. She had ascended to the top of the firm when her husband Mark had died. Some said she had had driven him to an early grave. A dark haired, voluptuous vixen whose appearance belied her starkly predatory and often insensitive nature, her ruthlessness and aggression were legendary as was her disdain for her employees, especially the associates.

Bob Pratchett sighed. "But it's Christmas Eve, Ms Scroob. I'm trying to get home to fix dinner for my invalid mother. After Alice died I have to do everything now and I haven't finished shopping for little Timmy's present. He wants an Xbox so bad, and..."

"Spare me the whining, Pratchett, just get to it."

Bob got back to it, wondering when he was going to get out of there.

She pointed a warning finger. "I'm going back to my office now, Pratchett, but I'll be back." And she swooped out of the room.

Alone in her 30th floor corner office, she slugged down a tumbler of Gentleman Jack from the bottle she kept in her desk. "Just something to get me through," she mumbled to herself. "Gotta get back to work. Those lazy slobs, especially Pratchett, better get this done. All this Christmas bullshit." It was downright annoying.

Instead she fell asleep in her chair. Then a sound awoke her. With a start she raised her head and gasped. It was her husband Mark, just standing there.

"What do you want?" she gasped. "You're dead."

"True," said the figure. "No thanks to you, I might add. You were cold as ice and hard as nails. Every time we wanted to have fun, you nixed the idea and went back to tearing some poor dweeb's guts out in the courtroom. You could never make enough money or cause enough misery. Look at the way you treat your associates. And it's Christmas, too."

"Go away! This is just a bad dream."

"No it's not," said the figure. "And I'm going to show you exactly what you need."

Mark's figure faded, but a new one took his place. A figure in the outfit of a schoolgirl.

"W-who are you?" stammered Evelyn, staggering to her feet.

"I'm Patsy," she said. "From your past. C'mon, I have few things to show you."

Evelyn couldn't move. Patsy's hand grabbed her and the interior of the condo melted away. She was back at Strathmore, where she'd gone to school in her teens.

"Recognize where we are?" said Patsy.

Evelyn squinted. It looked like Dean Hedly's office. She had been the oft-feared disciplinarian at Strathmore. Evelyn had avoided an appointment with Dean Hedly during her tenure, but only by pinning blame for her many offenses on others.

"In a minute Sally Camden is going to come through that door. And do you know why, Evelyn?"

Evelyn thought she remembered. Oh God, no. She'd stashed the stolen necklace in a panic-had put it right in Sally's things when they had started searching the dorm. Sally had no explanation. Her denials were not believed.

"The thing that iced it," said Patsy, "was when you said that you thought you saw her stuff something shiny under her pillow." Patsy chuckled. "Her goose was cooked then. They gave her a choice though--suspension or ten good licks with Hedly's paddle."

The procession marched into the office. It was Sally followed by the dean and two witnesses.

"You never saw the actual paddling she got," said Patsy, "just the aftermath." Indeed Evelyn had only seen Sally's bruised and vivid red behind after it was over. Sally had sobbed herself to sleep as Evelyn had congratulated herself on how clever she'd been in covering up her crime. It had been a close call.

But now she was going to witness the reality. Dean Hedly took out a book and wrote in it. From her desk drawer she produced the dread paddle, a wooden implement about four inches wide with holes down each side. She moved to Sally's side and gave a command as she swished the paddle through the air, apparently limbering up.


Sally nervously pulled her skirt up to display a rather cute bottom clad in skimpy white panties. She bent forward, resting her elbows on the desk. As a result of that posture most of the flesh of her bottom cheeks was on display. She flinched as Dean Hedly tapped her bottom with the paddle. Then the dean drew back her arm and delivered a fierce whack that made Sally's behind quiver. Evelyn could not hear, but she could see. A bright red band appeared across Sally's bottom. She threw her head back, wailing in apparent anguish. Again and again the awful paddle smacked Sally's buttocks. Sally's bottom quivered and danced. Her mouth was open and her lips moved in obvious distress, pleading and yelping in pain as the paddle cracked down on her rapidly reddening bottom cheeks. When all ten swats had been applied a tearful Sally was permitted to stand. She rubbed her inflamed bottom as Dean Hedly scolded her, then dismissed her.

"Painful looking, wasn't it?" asked Patsy.

"Yes, it was." It sure did look painful. She'd had no idea. Evelyn felt very uncomfortable being shown this.

"If you had owned up, it would have been you. It should have been you...." And Patsy's image faded. In her place a new apparition appeared.

"Who the hell are you?" sputtered Evelyn.

"I'm Presley," said the tall guy with the slicked back hair. He did look like Elvis. "From your present."

"I'm here to show what's happening now, little mama." Evelyn stumbled in shock when she heard that familiar sounding baritone. "Whoa, mama, don't step on those shoes---they're blue suede."

"Wha-what are you going to show me?"

"Take a look," said the figure.

It was as though the corner apartment in the building across the alley had projected itself into her office. She was there as an observer, this time close up and not through that telescope that stood by her window. The telescope looked to all who were allowed in, like a fanciful prop. It wasn't. In fact she used it frequently to spy on neighboring apartment buildings. And sometimes she got an eyeful. This time it looked hot. The young blond wife of the guy in that corner apartment was dressed in a baby doll nighty-a red and green thing trimmed with fake white fur. She handed her husband a box with wrapping paper while she knelt at his feet.

"She's been more naughty than nice lately," said Presley, "so she's making up for it."

The sexy looking husband pulled off the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was some sort of leather paddle. It was oval in shape and the husband's eyes twinkled as he patted his palm with it. The naughty wife rose smiling and laid herself across her husband's lap as he sat on the couch. She lifted her hips to allow hubby to peel down her panties, revealing a very shapely bare bottom. Settling herself in, she looked back at her husband and licked her lips. She thrust her bare behind upward as if begging him to begin. He did. He began to apply the little paddle with brisk wristy swats that landed on alternate cheeks, making them ripple. She squirmed as the paddle connected in a volley of sharp spanks causing her to writhe about on his lap.

Evelyn was mesmerized. Good God, this was hot. She could feel her own juices start to flow. Why hadn't she done this with Mark? Their arguments had ended in cold silences. If only, she thought. Look at her grind her pussy against his leg. She was raising her hips now, lifting them to meet the descending paddle. Her bottom went from pink to a vivid red color as the smacking continued. She imagined she could hear the moans in response to the crack of the leather paddle. But her face bespoke of pure lust. She was reveling in the spanking being meted out by her husband. Finally neither could contain themselves and the husband threw the paddle down and swept his wife into his arms. He ripped off her nighty and tore off his own clothes revealing an erection that made Evelyn swoon. He tumbled her back on the couch. She raised her hips in readiness, her eyes pleading.

"A pretty hot time, looks like, hunh mama?" Presley grinned. "Stings, but it's a good sting, they say. I guess they made up. Reminds me of a time in Vegas...." He started to say, but the apartment image faded. Presley faded. A new apparition appeared.

This one was a leather clad woman flicking a riding crop. She looked like one of those dominatrixes she'd heard about. She'd heard the staff snickering, calling her Mistress Evelyn, the whipmistress.

"Oh. No. Somehow I think I'm more afraid of you than the rest," said Evelyn, her hands clutching at her throat.

"You should be. Take a look."

It was the lunchroom. Staff and associates were having a party, whooping it up. "Ding dong, the witch is dead," several sang as they popped champagne. People were dancing around, doing the bugaloo. The sounds of Elvis singing "Blue Suede Shoes" could be heard on the boombox.

Evelyn slumped into a chair, her face in her hands. "No, no. It can't be," she cried. She looked at the black-clad figure. She raised her hands in supplication. "Please, please. Tell me how I can avoid this terrible fate, Miss er Mistress....."

"Futura," said the figure. "Mistress Futura. $350 for a one hour session...or...look, there is poor Bob Pratchett down there slaving away. And it is Christmas eve." She gave Evelyn a meaningful look with raised eyebrows, then handed her the riding crop. Then she vanished.

* * *

Bob was in a daze. His mother, his sisters, and his children including Mary and little Timmy stared in shock as he shuffled into the house carrying bags of presents, a turkey, a ton of groceries for a Christmas feast and accompanied by none other than a smiling Evelyn Scroob, humming Christmas carols as she blew into the house hugging everyone in sight.

"What got into her?" asked little Timmy. He'd heard stories about the famous slave driver, Ms Scroob.

What indeed, thought Bob? Just an hour ago she'd entered his office all contrite, apologizing for keeping him from his family on Christmas Eve. The attitude had been surprising but what came next had been startling. She'd said how sorry she'd been to everyone, how she'd erected a shell to keep people away and had berated people for no good reason. Then she'd handed him a riding crop, had bent across his desk and raised her skirt. She had asked his forgiveness for her being such a bad person. She had peeled down her panties and had asked him to thrash her on her bare bottom with the crop to help her atone for her obnoxious behavior to everyone. Well what was he supposed to do? She was the boss---and she was hot. He'd watched those swaying hips in the tight sheath dresses she wore. Many's the time, he told himself, he'd wanted to put her right across his knee and spank some manners into that shapely ass of hers. And here she was, bare bottoms up, over his desk and actually asking for it.

So he'd whipped her. At least ten good zingers with that crop right across the crowns of those sumptuous bottom cheeks had had her writhing. He'd obliged, amazed at the sight of the way her bottom cheeks rippled with the swish of the riding switch. But she had stuck her bottom out and asked him to please continue until she was striped with red weals. Then he'd called a halt. But that wasn't all, oh no. After he'd stopped, she'd been a woman possessed by lust, it had seemed. She'd grabbed him and kissed him and torn off his clothes in a mad frenzy. She'd gotten naked herself and had had him right there on the desk. Then when it was over and they'd dressed she said she'd start making it up to everyone, starting with him. And that was why they were here now. His head was still spinning.

They finally got little Timmy away from his Xbox to sit down for Christmas dinner. His dad brought a pillow for Ms Scroob to sit on. He didn't understand that part. "Timmy why don't you say grace tonight?" said Aunt Debbie, Bob's sister.

Timmy thought for a minute, then said, "Bless daddy and mommy in heaven. Bless grandma and Aunt Debbie and Aunt Cathy. And bless Ms Scroob, most of all. Bless us one and all. Amen."

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for December 22

How do the holidays impact your spanking routines?

Jack: Nothing really change, I do get stressed, at times not really in the mood to celebrate, visit people. My wife has learned that a trip to the bedroom, a hairbrush properly applied does wonders. My mother-in-law knows when we visit if I've been given a spanking. Other places I try not to act like I've been spanked. If I'm really in trouble while visiting, my wife waits until Saturday or Sunday morning and prior to church I'm given a spanking that insures others will know. So this time of year nothing changes.

Sam: More than ten years ago, one Christmas eve, we were spending the holidays at my Mother in laws home. At dinner i consumed more wine than I should have. After dessert while the men gathered for a Brandy or two, my mother in law asked me to give a hand with something in the garage.

My wife and two other females were there and before I knew it I was leaning over an automobile and my pants and boxer shorts were  around my ankles, as my wife's mother delivered a caning to my bottom. Thankfully she allowed me to leave with my wife.If the men knew I wouldn't have to face them.

The following year my wife casually told me we needed to be at her folks an hour early. My mother in law was in the garage and my father in law was in the same position I had been the year before. He had received what the ladies referred to as " A REMINDER " He watched as I was given 25 with the cane. We never mentioned to each other, but each year we both received "A REMINDER."

A couple of years later my brother in law joined us.  Currently before any family gathering such as Christmas, 4thof July or Thanksgiving, the three of us meet and our mother in law canes her "bad boys". Neither my father in law, brother in law or I have ever mentioned it to each other. Its like it never happened

QBuzz: We don't have a tradition (yet) but this year my girlfriend is planning to dress as Mrs Claus and (with me in my striped naughty-boy pyjamas) give me a sound seasonal spanking with her brush, strap and paddle. I'll let you know in the Recap if it happens!

Graham: We have occasionally used New Year's to "clear the air" from the preceding year. We jointly made a list of things I did that either of us feel were not adequately addressed earlier. Making the list is actually lots of fun, as we both inevitably learn something.

My spankings may occur all in the one day or may be spread over several days. It's a wonderful experience that we highly recommend.

Happy Holidays!

KDPierre" Christmas is usually too busy for much of anything, but for the past few years we have done a "close out the old year/warning to behave in the new year" collaborative punishment. There are three external parties involved along with my Rosa as the primary ....but not sole...enforcer.

This year however, I have seriously considered dropping part or all of this though due to my persistent negative feelings towards punishment lately. But Ana is home and she seems interested and I am OK with her input. I wish I could see something to help me shake off this mood though, but so far nothing. A bit of teasing innuendo from the other parties would go a long way.

Roz: There is usually no Christmas spanking here, spanking did tend to take a back seat. However, recently spanky action has slowly crept back in after a loong hiatus and I guess you could say I had a Christmas spanking last night :)

Anon: My wife well this time of year gets carried away. Spends too much, parties alot and she saids she gets into the tradition. It was a few years back she was brought home by the police, too drunk to drive, her and her girlfriends each got a ride home from the police. The lady cop who brought my wife home said no charges, but hope you address the problem. It was Saturday night and in the morning we were going to church and I addressed the problem, my wife just shrugged it off. I was mad, and she was just in her panties when I pulled her across my lap. Don't you dare she said, we are going to church and I pulled her panties down, and applied several hard spanks to her bare bottom. Stop she said and I saw the hairbrush in reach, No you don't, and I soon was applying the hairbrush. Oh she squirmed at church, gave me the look, but she did calm her tradition down. This year like every year I lay the hairbrush out in full view and place our bible beside it. It works wonders, most of the time.

Barrel: We don’t have any special or unique Christmas spanking traditions. We do get very busy with parties and try to play as much golf as we can with my time off work which consume lots of time and energy. This year, we have a child who lives on the other side of the country visiting for an extended time, which is putting a damper on our normal routine. We are planning an extended session when he leaves...I can’t wait.

Merry Christmas!

Wendel: Every year we have spankings under the mistletoe.

Joe: I am hoping to start a tradition of getting a sound spanking on Christmas day.

Yorkie: There is no alteration to our spanking activities at all, it is situation normal which means RARE. However, it was two years ago we tried the 12 days of spanking which was fun but our circumstances have changed and, even with half the “kids” moved out, spanking activities are still at minimal to non existent at home. :(

Hermione: It depends when Christmas falls.  This year it's in the middle of the week, and family will be here for dinner before the week is over, so our regular Saturday spanking will happen as usual. Having said that, if Ron finds a new implement under the tree, he just might want to try it out before the Queen's speech.

Happy Holidays everyone!

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #310

The holidays are upon us once more and we are all busy, busy, busy!

How do the holidays affect your spanking routine? Does spanking take a back seat to other activities? Do you celebrate with a special spanking? Has this changed over the years?

If you have a spare moment I'd love to hear from you. Please leave your response as a comment, and I will publish a summary of our conversation before St. Nick arrives, I promise!

Friday FAIL

In this busy season don't forget to stop and laugh at any silly signs you might see.

Don't you feel better now?

Cheers!

Today KDPierre is hosting a holiday cocktail party, and here is my contribution. It isn't a cocktail as such, but a very Canadian liqueur to be sipped and savoured after a meal.

Maple liqueur

1 cup Canadian maple syrup, - light, medium or dark (dark has the richest flavour)
1 cup Canadian whisky (or choose your favourite whisky)

Mix together then pour into a clean bottle. Enjoy throughout the holidays.

Bottoms up!

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for December 15

We shared unusual spanking positions and here's what you said:

Bernie: I sure hope there were no kidneys or other offal on that plate [in the picture of the 'full English' in the previous post]. If there was I'd be praying to the porcelain god while getting my butt whacked. Does that qualify as an unusual position?

The best to you all and Merry Christmas.

KDPierre: Now as to your question...it's an easy one and one that I remember distinctly despite it having happened nearly 40 years ago! I was being spanked (for the second time in one night) by a friend as part of a dare. She thought the second installment should be more creative than the first which was just me arched over some pillows. This time she wanted me bound in the diaper position with my feet up in the air.

I am not very meaty even now and was even thinner then. The diaper position for a skinny guy is horrible and when a paddle is used instead of something strappy, you just get dull impact on bone. I wasn't injured though, so it could have been worse. And yet despite the spanking I think my recollection of the event is way more rooted in what I realized later must have been a very revealing position for someone with whom I was not even romantically involved! I noticed her smugly watching me as she spanked and thought her expression and direction of her gaze was somewhat odd...until I realized that she was watching the clenching of a very particular and flagrantly exposed modesty center each time she struck...nd finding it amusing! >BLUSH!<

Anon: Diaper position. Absolutely awful!

Roz: This is an interesting question. Unfortunately my answer isn't lol. Haven't really been spanked in any unusual positions. Usually OTK, OTB or couch.

Simon: I have spanked a lady and been spanked by her in the wheel barrow position. It's a very revealing position especially for a lady and I wouldn't have suggested it with anyone else. We both enjoyed it immensely.

Ronnie: The diaper position. P's idea. I didn't like it.

Hermione: Thankfully we haven't tried the diaper position:) I think the strangest position for me was being bent over a piece of homemade furniture with my hands tied under it with a piece of sparkly Christmas cord. Then I was spanked with more ofthe same sparkly cord.

Thank you all for sharing!

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #309

Welcome back, dear friends. It's a busy time of year, so I am delighted to see so many of you here today. Before we get started, I have an announcement that may interest you. Our good friend KDPierre is hosting a holiday cocktail exchange on Tuesday, December 17. It's a chance to share your favourite cocktail or holiday drink recipes (non-alcoholic ones included). If you would like to participate, leave a comment on his post here.

Now on to today's discussion topic:

What is the most unusual spanking position you have ever found yourself in? Whose idea was it? Will you be repeating this position in the future?

Please leave your response as a comment. Once everyone has spoken, I will publish an edited summary of our discussion.

From the Top Shelf - Once Upon a Time, part 3

We have reached the final part of "Once Upon a Time" by Gerald Sinclair, first published in Janus magazine. The king has sent out first one knight, then another, carrying the handkerchief of a well-spanked princess. Both knights failed to slay the dragon that was terrorizing the countryside. What will the king do next? Read on!

'Now, Master Erasmus,' said the King severely next day. 'Are you quite sure this time? We've plenty of knights left but we're running out of princesses.'

'I've checked and re-checked,' said the anxious magician. 'This time it's a hundred per cent certain. If a virgin princess is publicly whipped, her tears will mean death for the dragon.'

'Very well,' said Queen Marguerite. 'Lisette – where's Lisette?'

The plump, mischievous honey-blonde had certainly been in the Throne Room a few minutes earlier. Now, her chair was empty.

'I wish I'd had the sense to disappear in time yesterday,' murmured Miranda to Crystal.

'The Lord Chamberlain will organise a search party,' said the Queen. 'I take it everyone is volunteering to help?'

Everybody was. It took them an hour and three-quarters to track Lisette down to a remote garret in a disused wing of the palace. Before they got her back to the Throne Room she had bitten two ladies in waiting and kicked a Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod in an acutely sensitive area.

'I'm surprised at you, Lisette,' said King Fedor. 'After all, this is for the benefit of our beloved people. Just think of the poor peasants cowering in their scorched fields.'

'Sod the poor peasants!' said Lisette. 'I'd rather have their fields scorched than my arse!'

'I've always said she spent too much time in the sergeant's mess of the Household Cavalry,' remarked Queen Marguerite.

'My dear,' said King Fedor, 'you've dealt admirably with Crystal and Miranda. Now it's time for me to do my share.'

He paused, noting the rebellious eye of his tousled and defiant daughter, and glanced at the nearest courtiers. 'Perhaps some of you would like to help?'

Eager hands placed a sturdy, richly-upholstered stool in the centre of the floor. Others hauled Lisette willy-nilly across it to lie face downwards, kicking, cursing and helpless. It was the King himself who turned up her skirt and lowered her lacy black panties to reveal a plump, pearly, dimpled bottom so inviting that a sigh of anticipatory pleasure arose from the spectators.

'I've had a birch-rod soaking overnight,' said Queen Marguerite, and produced it from behind the throne to hand to the King.

'For the good of the country!' said King Fedor, solemnly, as he took careful aim at Lisette's beautifully-rounded rump.

The courtiers watched spellbound as the stinging twigs hissed down to scorch Lisette's squirming, smarting buttocks, rose and descended again, rose and... Some of the court ladies, flushed and bright-eyed, were visibly wriggling, either in sympathy with the frantic contortions of Lisette's suffering bottom or with some other emotion.

'Wa-a-a-a-h!' wailed Lisette, tears streaming down her pretty face. 'Don't, Daddy, please, not in front of everyone! Aaaaah! Oooooh! Please, I'll be a good girl, I'll take my bedtime spankings without any fuss. Yowch! Aaoww! Please, Daddy, you know how you love to have me across your knee with my pyjama pants down. You can slipper my bare bum every night for a month, but no more birch, please!'

Later, as he tied a tear-drenched handkerchief to a lance, Master Erasmus enquired, 'Who are you going to send against the dragon this time, your majesty!'

'You're sure this will work?' said the King.

'Convinced!' said the magician.

'In that case,' said King Fedor, 'you go!'

When Master Erasmus had recovered from his hysterics a couple of grinning men-at-arms hoisted him onto a horse, handed him the lance and pointed him in the direction of the western provinces.

The following evening, the weary messenger staggered into the palace, muttering bitterly that if some people thought he was going to spend his life running bloody marathons to bring news it was time that someone invented the bloody telephone. He handed the King a roll of parchment.

King Fedor unrolled it and read, 'Illustrious Majesty. The dragon is no more. It burst like a soap bubble at the first touch of the lance. However, I shall not be returning to claim any reward you see fit to offer, as I find the post of Court Magician too hard on the nerves. By the time you receive this I shall be over the border and on my way to a lucrative engagement at the London Palladium. Respectfully yours, Erasmus.'

'I'm sure we'll all be glad to be rid of the dragon,' beamed the King, 'and some of us will be almost as glad to be rid of Master Erasmus. All the same, someone should be rewarded, and who better than my three lovely daughters who have suffered so nobly in the cause of sauricide.'

'Eh?' said the Lord Chamberlain.

'Dragon-killing, you fool!' snapped the Queen.

'What would you like, girls?' asked King Fedor.

'Your Majesty,' said Lisette, 'Crystal and Miranda and I have been hoping you'd ask, because we know exactly what we'd like.'

'Yes?' said the King.

'We want a free hand with the court ladies,' said Lisette. 'Every cute little countess who sniggered at Crystal having her bum strapped. Every blue-blooded beauty who found Miranda's spanking so amusing. And especially, every demure, delicately-nurtured damsel who enjoyed the sight of my birched, burning bottom! Let them find out what it's like to be on the receiving end.'

'What do you think, my dear?' The King turned to Queen Marguerite.

'An excellent idea!' said the Queen. 'As I look around this Throne Room – guard the doors, men-at-arms! – I can see at least three dozen young ladies who would benefit from having their aristocratic bottoms soundly whipped. Start whenever you like, my dears.'

She rummaged behind the throne and produced the tawse, birch-rod and hairbrush. 'I thought it might be as well to have these handy in case they were needed.'

'Thank you, Mother!' said Crystal, seizing the tawse and beckoning to a wide-eyed, auburn-haired young beauty. 'You, Lady Penelope, can be first. Take your knickers down and bend over!'

A fitting reward for three brave princesses, don't you think?

Holiday Goodies

For the ultimate chocolate/peanut butter experience, try these Chocolate Peanut Butter Globs. This recipe by Ina Garten is chock full of yummy ingredients that you may change or omit to suit your taste.

    6 tablespoons (¾ stick) unsalted butter
    12 ounces semisweet chocolate chips, divided
    2 ounces unsweetened chocolate
    2 large eggs
    1 tablespoon instant coffee powder
    2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
    3/4 cup sugar
    1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
    1 teaspoon baking powder
    1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
    1 cup whole walnut halves (not chopped)
    1 cup whole pecan halves (not chopped)
    2/3 cup peanut butter chips

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Line a few sheet pans with parchment paper.

In a bowl set over simmering water, melt the butter, 6 ounces of the chocolate chips, and the unsweetened chocolate, stirring occasionally, until just melted. Remove from the heat and cool for 15 minutes.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, or a hand-held mixer, beat the eggs, coffee powder and vanilla until combined. Add the sugar, raise the speed to medium-high, and beat for 2 minutes, until the batter is thick and falls back on itself in a ribbon.

With the mixer on low, slowly add the chocolate mixture to the egg mixture. Combine the 1/3 cup of flour, baking powder, and salt in a small bowl and fold it into the chocolate mixture with a rubber spatula.

In another bowl, combine the walnuts, pecans, peanut butter chips, the remaining 6 ounces of chocolate chips, and the tablespoon of flour and fold it into the chocolate mixture. With 2 soup spoons or a small ice cream scoop, drop rounded mounds of batter 1 inch apart onto the prepared sheet pans. Bake for 15 minutes exactly. Cool on the baking sheets for 20 minutes then enjoy!

These blogs are participating in this year's cookie exchange.

Baker

blossom

Cat

greengirl

Hermione

Jz

Lindy

little monkey

messymimi
morningstar

Mrs. Fever

olivia

Ronnie

Ryan

Sassy

selkie  (blog here, recipe here)

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for December 8

What are your spanking rituals?

Roz: Great question! It used to depend on the nature of the spanking. If it was for role affirmation/maintenance, whatever you prefer to call it, the spanking was preceded with discussion and naked kneeling. If it was discipline it was preceded with discussion and no rituals as such if for play.

Peter: Spankings from my wife occur on Friday evenings.Our kids go their grandparents on Friday for an overnight. When I get back from work I go at once strip naked and wait standing in the corner, with nose pressed against the wall. Often I have to wait as much as an hour before she comes into the room. She sits on a chair near the window and I kneel before her and confess to any wrong doings. Then she chooses what sort of punishment if any I deserve.

Wendel: We do not have any real ritual. The closest would be that the spanking is announced and shortly after given.

Rosco: Irene usually directs some sort of role play, with a number of variations. Yesterday she was especially enthusiastic because the leather ping pong paddles we ordered from Orvis had arrived at last.

Irene instructed me to go into the bedroom and wait for her. When she arrived, she told me she’d heard reports that I’d misbehaved, had been trying to peek up girls’ skirts when they went up the stairs. Laura, Irene and Sarah had reported me. (Irene herself was playing the part of Ms. Smythington - perhaps a teacher but not authority figure at any rate.)

First came the lecture, then the paddling. Ms. Smythington then made me sit on a hard chair in her dark closet with a hot bottom while she took a shower. When Irene returned and opened the door, she played the part of all the girls who had been invited to see the spanking I’d received and to add a few swats of their own.

This routine is one that’s developed over time. Originally based on my fantasies, Irene really loves it. It’s a very fun game. Conversation pretty much comes to a halt when she’s ready for my tongue, but picks up again after during intercourse.

Barrel: Like Roz, it depends on the spanking about to be given. If it is just part of our normal intimacy play, then my wife tells me “I deserve the hair brush, please get it for me”. She occasionally tells me how many I will get or how red she wants it before she is done. Not much more than that.

However, we plan “sessions” in advance. Our sessions are longer and more intense, so she gives me a week to get my head ready for what is to come. The day of the session, we go for lunch or happy hour where my wife will openly discuss the implements she will use, how many strokes of each and the severity. At that point, my apprehension is building and she will calmly look me in the eye and tell how she knows I really want to be thrashed. She will hold my hands and comfort me until I admit I want the session and am ready. We then return home, I prepare the bench at the end of our bed with restraints, pillows and towels. We then hug and over the pillows I go. Once securely bound, she will tell me how much better I will feel when the stress is relieved with the whipping and caning I am receiving. This is repeated during pauses as she changes from one implement to another to another. My wife doesn’t scold or lecture during the punishment, but will tell me how red it looks, yet not red enough, and she continues. She will ask how I am doing. To date, my responses are, “Fine, thank you Miss”. I haven’t tapped out yet as I do feel less stress when she is finished. We just had one on Friday and it was glorious.

Prefectdt: Unless requested otherwise by the woman doing the spanking, I usually put on a man thong. As the majority of my spankings are with non-sexual playmates and it just feels inappropriate to have boy parts swinging about. Does that really count as a ritual or is it a courtesy? I'm not sure.


Hermione: Ron chooses three implements, then I am allowed to choose a fourth. I remove clothing below the waist and bend over the bed. Sometimes Ron scolds me while spanking, but more often not.

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #308

Come on in! I'm glad to see so many of you here today to enjoy good food and good conversation with like-minded friends. My good friend Barrel suggested today's topic.

Is there any ritual or protocol that you customarily follow to set the mood for an impending spanking?  Is there a discussion?  Is scolding involved?

Please leave your response as a comment. Don't be shy; I want to hear from YOU. You may remain anonymous if you wish. Once everyone has spoken, I will publish an edited summary of our discussion.

Lifestyle Pot Pourri

S few fun photos that will bring a smile to your face.

Tank you, Boru, for your contribution.