Permission Granted

Ron and I were discussing the fast-approaching holiday season, and as usual he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I grinned suggestively, and it took him no time at all to realize what was on my mind. I forget his exact words, but he replied something about knowing that I would probably buy him something that he could use on me.

So there you have it - permission to shop for spanking goodies. I must explain that whenever I mention to Ron that I'd like to buy something, do something or go somewhere, his usual words are "permission granted", even though I didn't exactly ask his permission. He didn't use those actual words this time, but I figure he expects me to do some kinky shopping.

Let's see, maybe I'll try Leatherthorne Paddles


There's a certain rose paddle I've always wanted.


Then again, I could check out Spankinc


This paddle looks pretty effective too.


I'll be sure to visit Cane-iac


This might be the time to think about getting a cane

Or a flogger.


I always enjoy browsing at Horse Tack Co


We could use a new riding crop.


But since we're Canadians, I'll stop by London Tanners


for a peek at their Canadian prison strap.



I'll let you know what I decide Ron would like for Christmas.

A' The Best, Robbie

Today is Robbie Burns Day, celebrated with great enthusiasm not only in Scotland but by the Scottish diaspora around the world. It is also the 250^th anniversary of the poet's birth, so I thought a tribute was in order.

Burns is well known as a womanizer; he loved the lassies, but did he spank them too? First of all, I had to do some research on that word. In the Scottish language, spank is "skelp".

Skelp - a slap, a smack, to run, to hurry, to skip or trip.
Skelpie-limmer - female scolding. A hussy.
Skelpin - walking smartly, resounding.
Skelping - slapping, spanking.
Skelpit - hurried.

from the Scots Language Centre, where it was word of the week in September of last year,

The skelp might be administered on the buttocks, earning teachers the unflattering nickname of 'skelp-dowp'... but the preferred skelp was on the hand with tawse.

I discovered only minor references to spanking in Burns' poetry. I have taken the liberty of replacing Scots words with English , for the convenience of the Sassenachs (anyone who is not Scottish).

The first is in his Address to the Devil. Here, the word is used in the true sense:

Hear me, Old Hangman, for a while,
And let poor damned bodies be;
I'm sure small pleasure it can give,
Even to a devil,
To spank and blister poor dogs like me,
And hear us squeal!

The second is in the poem Tam o'Shanter, where it is used to mean hurrying:

Well mounted on his gray mare Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam spanked on through mud and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;

Let's not forget the part of the anatomy most often chosen for our favourite activity. The buttocks are "hurdies", as in the Address to the Haggis, commonly recited at Burns Night suppers:

The groaning platter there you fill,
Your buttocks like a distant hill

Here's a parody on Burns' most familiar poem, from Dave at Anime OTK.



TO A BOTTOM (with tribute and apologies to Robert Burns)
A poem recited by a strict but loving uncle as he looks down on his 18 year old niece Jenny’s pale, pink, bare buttocks across his lap.

Wee, sleekit, cowerin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breasty!
Thou need to shiver away sae hasty
Wi' squirmin' rap!
I mon slap ye so hard and hearty,
Wi' leathern strap!


I'm truly sorry your ill-mannered action
Has broken our social union,
'an justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee submit
to me, thy erstwhile good companion,
an' friend complicit!


I see your buttocks laid bare an' waste,
An' the hard strap comin fast,
so uneasy here, beneath the blast,
Thy cheeks must dwell,
Till, thwack! the cruel leatherin' is past,
an' the pain's like hell!


That wee bit cigarette ye smoked in bed,
Will cost thee monie a sore stripe red!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
wi' buttocks fully bare
To thole the leathers hard weary stroke,
An' thrashin' rare!


But Jenny, thou art not the one alain,
proving pleasure may be in vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Gang aft agley
An' leave you nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

The Corrections Officer

Recently I received a job opportunity by e-mail from a magazine.

Joyful Magazine is currently looking for English Corrections Officer.

Corrections officers are what we call prison guards here; that couldn't be it. They must mean an English-speaking person to administer corrections, I assume. Reading on:

We currently need three english corrections officer, someone who can edit our customer service messages and correct errors in our english customer service messages.

Oh, I could do that too. Starting with the e-mail itself.

Sounds like a pretty good job, though. They offer:

High earnings plus performance results bonus.
Weekly salary of $150
Monthly salary of $10,000 to $65, 000.

I hope they are also looking for a calculation corrections officer. I don't see how $150 a week translates into $10, 000 a month. Unless that's the performance bonus. Of course. Good performance in administering 'corrections'.

The Shoemaker

With apologies to The Spanking Writers

Recently I stopped in at a small shoe repair shop on the way home from work to have a leather garment repaired. I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't anything kinky, only an ordinary jacket.

I had never been to this particular establishment before since I usually patronized one close to my office, but this shop was the only one in town equipped to handle all leather items, not just shoes.

The front of the shop looked like an ordinary shoe store; the walls were lined with shelves full of shoes and boots. On the whole, the merchandise seemed functional rather than fashionable.

At the back was a service counter where the repairs were handled. Behind the counter was a large window that permitted an unobstructed view of the workroom beyond. While I waited to be served I watched a white-haired man busily stitching away at an ancient sewing machine. Next to him was a rail upon which were draped what looked like belts, straps, and a couple of two-tailed tawses. A young woman, dressed in a sweater and pleated skirt, stood beside the man, watching him somewhat nervously.

This, I imagined, was the room where the special orders for disciplinary implements were handled. In my mind I saw what would happen once the man finished the item he was working on.

He would gesture to the young woman to take her position at the work table. She would bend over, lift her skirt and lower her knickers, then hold firmly to the far edge of the table and wait for the master shoemaker to perform the quality control test required for all items that were produced in his shop. Six hard strokes were usually enough to confirm the excellent quality of his workmanship.

The shoemaker stopped his machine and looked up.

What do you think happened next?