You Completed the Caption

Now that's a mighty instrument! Here are your captions.


Measha: Wow, this bow would cause some serious welts. I better be sure not to let the husband see this!

Foothills: Hey down there! I'm holding this big booty in place for you, so spank away with that stick thingy you have!

Sir Wendel: I can’t wait to have my husband Brandenburg my behind with this tonight.

Ronnie: Did he say I should play "Spank my Booty" or spank my booty?

Katie: This instrument better be tuned to perfection - or someone will be singing a tune of her own!

Mike Roby: Wow. No wonder Nero never called 9-1-1.

Mr Kong's interns were delighted that he chose to give up the piano in favor of the violin.

Welcome, Mike!

Sunnygirl: This picture just reminded me of my dad. He used to play that instrument and I remember him dragging it around.

Rollin: Mary, when you said your violinist friend Armand had big hands, I had no idea!

Six of the best: For me, it's music to my ears, when I hear a naughty woman's painful outcries of "Ooh" and "Ouch" coming from her lips, as her bare bottom is being caned.

Prefectdt: The Borrowers attempt at starting an Orchestra was proving more difficult than they had originally anticipated.

Hermione: Gladys played second fiddle to no one.


Thank you all for participating. Have a wonderful weekend, and be sure to stop by for brunch.

Complete the Caption

Why does this photo make me think of spanking? What's that you say? It makes you think of spanking too? Good! I'm glad we're all singing from the same songbook. I'll leave the details up to you.

Complete the caption by leaving a comment and I will reveal your thoughts after everyone has had a chance to reply.

In with the New - Canadian Edition

Bonnie is enjoying her retirement, but she couldn't resist searching for new spanking blogs. She sure did a good job of finding them, and here they are:

Big D lil s Journey
Bob's Spanking Blog
Daddy and Me
Domestic Discipline Stories
Just What We Do
LA Cloutier
Reason or Rhyme
Spank Danielle
Spank Her 4 Real Videos
Spank Me Daddy
Spanky's Spank Joint
The Young Lady Across My Knee
Trixie's Thoughts
Unbetitlt
Words from the Hart


Please join me in welcoming these new bloggers to our community. For our newcomers, Bonnie has some helpful blogging tips that I know she would be glad to share.

Update: Good news! Season and Michael, over at Blossom and Thorn, will be the new forever home of In with the New. So if you see any new blogs, or are starting one yourself, please let them know.

Short Memory

Ron has a fondness for our two carpet beaters. After he broke the rattan one on my bottom, I bought a replacement, but at the same time I also purchased a sturdier delrin model.

Big mistake. That thing is pure evil. I cringe when I see it laid out, ready for application on my posterior. And that's exactly the sight I saw a few weeks ago.

I hate that thing! I whined. "I much prefer the rattan one."

"Your wish is my command," Ron replied, and to my astonishment he picked up the offending implement, disappeared down the hall, and returned a minute later with the other carpet beater.

"Is that more to your liking?" asked my considerate husband.

"Oh, yes, that's much better." and my husband proceeded to make good use of the substitute.

I guess his memory of that incident wasn't as good as mine, because only two weeks later the delrin carpet beater made its appearance once more. I didn't like to complain a second time - after all, I do have my reputation as a compliant submissive to consider - so I kept silent about it.

From the Top Shelf - Who Needs Psychiatry?

I've found a real gem for you today. It's a letter originally published in Corporal magazine several decades ago, which explains the rather old-fashioned values. It is written by Dr. S. Adams, supposedly a Psychiatrist. Whether it's real or imaginary, I hope you enjoy it.

Dear Sirs:

There are times when honest conscience steps in and takes precedence over smug hypocrisy and I am chronicling one of those incidents today.

Personally, though a practising psychiatrist for over a decade, I have always secretly believed that much of the nonsense about neuroses, repressed libidos, transferences, and all the other so called ailments which we make respectable with elaborate jargon, could be done away with at a single blow... or to be precise a number of blows, with a hairbrush or some similar object to instill proper humility and realisation of elemental facts in the patient.

We have hypochondriacs and frustrated people galore, all of whom pay persons like myself a handsome living to prescribe some cure, all for their mixed up, unsatisfactory lives. They seek a panacea, some magic formula, to make everything alright. They suffer from the stage-struck, self-pitying, self glorification which can well be expressed by Hamlet's neurotic lines; 'The times are out of joint, a cursed spite, that ever I was born to set them right."

They aggrandise their simple feelings into a maudlin set of would-be noble motives. And the simple truth is, so many of them are just downright, but without the fortitude to admit it, masochists.

But let me come back to the real reason for my having written you this letter. Yes I have observed patients' foibles for quite some time and there are times when I am brutally frank with them. Some of them take offence and go to one of my competitors who will coddle them and blow up their egos. Happily, and interestingly, two weeks ago I encountered a patient who at least had the courage to meet my frankness with an equal candour.

She was the spoiled daughter of wealthy parents, now separated. At 23, she was superbly attractive, with flaming red hair, an ivory complexion, oval sensitive features and the figure of a young nymph. Her health was excellent, but she had been visiting my office for clinical diagnosis and consultation for the past six months.

She complained of moodiness, of sudden inexplicable feelings of being unwanted and unneeded. In short, she was feeling very, very sorry for herself.

She tried to fix the blame on her parents, or on an unhappy childhood, although the only unhappy thing about her childhood was that her career-minded and somewhat philandering parents never once had a meeting of minds about her but simply gave in to all her whims and petulance. All she had to do was threaten to throw a tantrum. It's what I call psychological blackmail.

She had been engaged half a dozen times and had broken it off each time, flippantly putting it down to the lack of mature stability on the part of the male who temporarily had infatuated her, with a further claim that all had really been more interested in her money than in her.

She didn't have to work for a living. She was well read, too well in fact, so that she could quite glibly quote me all that a layman knows about Freud and Jung. She loved the sound of her own voice, and made it as poignant as she could, her large blue eyes welling with tears as she lay on the consultation couch, telling me of her childhood dreams, her fears, her current distaste with life and her worry about what was to become of her. Needless to say, each face was presented with the maximum dramatic effect.

One afternoon, when hers was the last appointment, I lit a cigarette and while my red-haired, rich, neurotic young lady was in the full flower of speech, detailing how utterly miserable she was, I interrupted her bluntly and said, "Gerry, if you'll pardon me, I think I could solve your problem and your outlook by one very drastic step, if you had the guts to go through with it."

She eyed me for a long moment, then asked indignantly, "Oh, so now after 6 months treatment you suddenly think you can cure me in one easy lesson, Dr. Adams?"

"I can't 'cure' you, Gerry, and I doubt that anyone can. You have to do that yourself. But what I can do for you is apply a simple, elemental catharsis. Then you just might wake up and smell the coffee!"

"Doctor Adams! You are very sarcastic and vulgar this afternoon," she accused me.

"Guilty as charged," I admitted, "And do you want to know why? Maybe sometimes even a psychiatrist gets human and wants to eat through a whole heap of sham and pretence and fancy sounding verbiage to get right to the heart of a problem."

"Now what's that cute and cryptic remark supposed to mean?" she demanded haughtily as she sat up from the couch, reached into her purse and pulled out a cigarette.

She waited for me to light it, but for once I didn't oblige. Instead I stared coldly at her and continued:

"Gerry, at the risk of alienating you and driving away a very profitable patient, I'm going to tell you what you really need."

"Oh," she tossed her head,confident of herself now, and a slow knowledgeable smile came to her lush mouth. "I know now, Dr. Adams. You are secretly and madly in love with me and if I yield my body to you it will cure all my fixations and whatnots."

"You're so wide of the mark, it's laughable." I said. "And that last remark is just another fine example of the intellectual stupidity which you have trotted out ever since you became my patient."

"Well, I like that! How dare you!" she flared.

"I don't expect you to like it. But it's the truth. To quote an old cliche, the truth always hurts."

"My, my," she taunted. "Aren't we getting just too, too homey and philosophical, Doctor? " She puffed furiously at her cigarette. "Well, if it's not a passionate love session, just what is the magic treatment?"

"A good sound spanking on your bare bottom, my dear girl," I said quietly.

She stared at me in disbelief and then screamed, "What? You're out of your mind!" and rose from her sitting position as if to leave.

"I told you that you didn't have the guts to take the treatment. And I'll bet you, if you leave my office and find another, more hypocritical, psychiatrist who will cater to your pampered illusions of grandeur..." her face was reddening with rage, "...you will wind up a thoroughly frustrated neurotic with nobody who gives a damn about what happens to you except the leeches who make money out of you."

She faced me and she was clearly steaming. Nobody had ever talked to her like that in all her 23 years of cloistered living.

After a long silence she said, "I actually think you're serious."

"Never more so, " I replied. "But you haven't got the guts. You're so busy feeling sorry for yourself and bewailing the lousy tricks life has played on you that you don't take stock of all the good things, like fine health, good looks, a good mind and all the things what would make a decent man happy, and yourself too into the bargain. Instead of getting a job, all you're interested in is the so-called smart repartee with a socialite set that's nothing better than a bunch of egotistical, opinionated snobs."

"How dare you call my friends snobs!"

"Well, you are one yourself, Gerry, and that's why you get along so well."

"Damn you, Dr. Adams, you are going out of your way to be nasty this afternoon."

"Alright, Gerry. You know you're at liberty to cancel all further appointments, and I'll mail you a bill for today's session. No, on second thoughts, I'll contribute this one appointment, gratis, as my good deed for the day."

With this, all the resentment and fury building up in her came to a head and she slapped my face. Then she stamped her foot. Then she screamed a tirade of insults at me, telling me what a brute and vulgar idiot I was, how dare I step out of my professional role in order to make such ridiculous suggestions ...etc.

And then she wound up her hysterical dissertation by giving me another slap. That did it. I truly stepped out of character, and even at the risk of trouble, I caught hold of her wrist deftly, and swung her round as I sat on the couch. A very surprised redhead found herself lying across my lap in the classical position. She started to kick and squirm, insisting I let her up or I'd be sorry.

I clamped my right leg over her silk-sheathed calves, and swiftly used both hands to tug up her skirt and slip, exposing a superbly spacious, jouncy round pair of buttocks, tightly encased in a white satin panty-girdle. She shrieked vituperative threats at me and reached back to claw at me with her nails. Parrying those with my left hand, I swiftly unfastened the stocking tabs, then put my left palm down on her back and pinned her along the couch while I used my right hand with energetic strength to ruck down her panty-girdle.

That was quite a job considering her furious twists and struggles. My receptionist had left for the day and the office was empty, which encouraged me to disregard her yells and much of her language, which I may add, would have been worth of a truck driver in a freeway tie-up.

At last I had her bare from the waist to the tops of her beige-toned silk hose, and the creamy firmness of her bottom told me she was about to receive her first ever spanking. I sardonically asked her to confirm that this was indeed the case.

She swore at me, and said that it was. But she added that this would be the last time I ever dared to humiliate a patient and that I was going to be hauled into court so fast it would make my head swim.

She redoubled her efforts to get loose, and actually managed to slip down from the couch, remaining clasped between my legs. I reached down, hauled her back up and flung her, none too gently, along the couch, then I gripped both her wrists at the small of her back in my left hand, tightened the pinion of my right leg, and applied the first smack that had ever been visited on Geraldine's snobbishly pampered backside. She yelped with surprise more than pain, and turned her head to regard me with blazing eyes and a very red face.

"Goddam you, stop that and let me up or you'll have your licence taken away for good." she screamed.

"I think it would be a fair exchange, when I have to deal with noisy, profane, spoiled brats like you, young lady," I said. Then I let her see my hand coming down on her other cheek right in the juiciest spot. It was a resounding whack and this time she squealed with considerable feeling.

Without further comment I began to spank her firmly, giving her a cadence of about eight a minute, alternating on the cheeks of her writhing bottom. She fought with all her strength and I was hard put to keep her in position; she tried to fling herself to the right and off the couch, she arched and twisted and wriggled her backside, she tugged her wrists, and she kept looking back over her shoulder, her face redder and redder, eyes ablaze with hatred and anger.

I really laid it on, going after the initial spanks at the summits of her posterior, from the base to the top, then back down again to the tops of her thighs, and followed that pattern until she'd had fifty good hard spanks. Her bottom was a uniformly fiery red, and must have hurt, but she refused to cry, instead she kept crying out furious threats and insisting I let her go or I'd regret it. But her face was twisted and tight with suffering, and her eyes now sparkled with moisture so I knew that real tears were not far away.

"Now I'm ready to hear your apology for all those foul names you called me a while ago" I told her.

"You can go right to Hell, you dirty swine!" she cried and again tried to break loose.

"That's all I needed to know, Gerry," I chuckled. "Now you'll get a REAL spanking." And with that I unbuckled my pants belt with my right hand, keeping a tight rein on her jerking wrists, and, when I had the belt free, I doubled it, lifted it up and ...WHACK!! It slashed down over the summit of her writhing hips.

"Ow!" she yelled, "Stop that! Damn you!"

WHACK! Down it came again.

"Stop that!" she squealed. "I've had enough. Damn you to hell!"

"As long as you can still curse like a trooper instead of pleading like a well bred young woman, you haven't had half enough, Gerry," was all that I would answer, then gave her another hard whack across her fiercely blushing behind.

I resumed her spanking. Slowly now, about five whacks a minute, I laid the belt over her bottom, from the tops of her splendid hips to the tops of her stockings, then returned to the swelling promontories of her burning behind.

Now she began to show that she was far from impervious. Tears had begun to trickle down her red contorted cheeks and her face turned back to me more and more often; each time the belt collided with her burning, angrily crimsoned behind, she flattened herself, then jerked and twisted her hips convulsively from side to side, with a series of sharp cries. Her language was still atrocious, but it was improving slightly with each whack of the belt.

I paused a moment.

"Want to apologise?" I asked gently. Her bottom was twisting and wriggling all by itself, and her breath was hoarse and panting. I heard unmistakable sobs from her, but I determined to be hard hearted and finish what I'd started.

She shook her head defiantly, then buried her face in the couch as if daring me to do my worst.

I did not disappoint. Raising my arm even higher, I brought the belt down in vigorous volleys that swept the doubled leather diagonally across her furiously streaked and swollen buttocks, often visiting her thighs in order to alter the pattern of pain and humiliation. Now her head rolled from side to side, muffled sobs shook her shoulders, and her arms writhed feverishly as I felt her long lovely legs stiffen, then clench, then arch and twist under my over pinning right leg.

I increased the tempo - crack! smack! thwack! The belt fairly rained down , and at last she began to cry without inhibition, like a child, and turning a piteously tearstained, anguished face to me, moaned, "Oh for God's sake, stop, please, please, I beg of you stop. I've had enough! I apologise!"

I suspended operations, freeing my leg over hers. "Very well. You see how easy it is to get what you want when you ask politely?"

She lay there, just weeping as if her heart would break.

Then she tottered to her feet, biting her lips and rubbing her red bottom furiously, facing me and looking deep into my eyes while the tears ran down her lovely face.

"Oooooooh ...you near killed me ...but I needed that, didn't I," she moaned.

"Yes, you did indeed."

Then, to my amazement, she put her arms around my neck and gave me the loveliest kiss of peace a girl ever could and murmured, "Thank you. I think that is going to help me. I feel a lot better already ...even though I'm very sore."

I kissed her tenderly in return and patted her bottom which was very hot, and said, "You'd better let me put some cold towels and cold cream on that for you, Gerry."

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "I want to feel the lesson just the way you gave it to me or it will be worth nothing at all."

She put her clothes back on and left my office, walking painfully. The next day, she called me at home and asked if I'd take her out to dinner.

Well the upshot is, we're engaged to be married. Gerry playfully insists that if I find any more patients like her that need such drastic 'catharsis' she'll make sure she's present to help me administer them.

I have agreed, adding the stipulation that if, as my wife, she requires more of the same, she will get it even more rigorously.

So I have lost a patient and gained a wife, simply by being honest and letting my conscience be my guide. Perhaps there is a moral here.

Sincerely

Dr. S. Adams

I wonder if the good doctor is taking any new patients.

Recap: Spanko Brunch 2.0 for February 2

Who shops for the undies worn during a spanking? Here's what you said.

Six of the best: Personally I like the word knickers, when I am addressing a naughty woman. Such as asking her to take her 'knickers down'. I have asked some women, if they could wear 'directoire knickers', these being old-fashioned knickers. I LOVE to PULL them DOWN, off her bottom.

Dragon's Rose: Dragon picks out all of my panties. He picks out what looks comfortable. Occasionally he will pick out a matching set. My favorite part about spanking is watching him push my panties down. It sets the stage for fun. Now if he dresses me in old fashioned split bloomers, I know to expect a much longer scene. He pushes the fabric aside and frames my bottom in ruffles and lace.

Dr. Ken: Back when I had a regular partner, she picked out all her own clothing, including underwear. It was mostly normal, everyday stuff. She didn't need to buy special "spanking" underwear since it inevitably just wound up warming her ankles anyway...:-)

Baxter: No briefs for me. My wife instructs me firmly to bare my bottom and assume the position. I have thought about getting briefs that say 'spank me' on the back, but no idea where to get them. OR I take a pair of my briefs and a magic marker and write it on the back. I bet my wife would take it as an invitation to spank harder, not a bad result.

Bogey: We have always enjoyed shopping together for panties. We have been looking for some with polka dots for several months with no success. Bacall's fav pattern to wear when she needs a spanking.

Sir Wendel: I bought her a couple of flowered panties that I like her to wear when I spank her but most times they come down anyway so it doesn’t really matter.

Ni Na: Hubby and I go and buy my clothes together, underwear included. But this is not really connected to spanking, because I am usually naked before the spanking starts.

Minelle: I buy my own, although he loves my red lace boy cut panties! Often though he just says,"get these off" as he yanks them down and off.

Measha: The undies are never part of spanking. If I do manage to get into position without him noticing that they are still on, he simply removes them at that point.

The only time I wear "special" panties is when we go to a play party or event dungeon. I don't always get nude at those events and wearing pretty panties makes me feel sexy.

arched one: I buy all my panties online as I can't find what I or the Mrs. wants in stores. I actually wear them 24/7 as I feel they are more comfortable. I do have 3 pair of red panties and these are called my spanking panties. Prior to spanking I shower and put on my spanking panties and wear them until she feels it's time to spank me. She loves to see me in them, but when spanking time comes they usually go down to my knees or are removed by her. Spanking is always done on the bare bottom.

Normandie: Naked booty. No panties required. Lol

Welcome, Normandie!

Ronnie: On occasion P has come with me to choose knickers and bought me a fair few pairs over the years but I much prefer to go on my own without him and surprise him. To be honest I spend more time choosing knickers for spanking than I do with clothes.

D: S gets most of her own knicks unless I find her some exotic ones on line, however she rarely gets spanked on them. I am more than happy to spank her curvy bottom clad in a tight skirt or jeans, but once they are out of the way, it's straight to bare bottom, as I just love tugging her knicks down to her knees to reveal her gorgeous bottom for my waiting palm. When she is well bent over, her knicks make an untidy wedge between her cheeks; they are not protecting her bottom, so I get rid of them!

Prefectdt: The only special undies that I have ever purchased specifically for spanking are man thongs, so that on the bare is possible without my boy bits being out and about. I have always gone to buy these on my own.

Hermione: I buy my own panties, usually when my favourite brands are on sale. My bottom is bared before the spanking begins so they play no part in the proceedings. Sometimes I leave them on, just to see what will happen. Ron will then pull them down before starting.

Thank you for those revealing responses. Remember, if you have a topic you would like to discuss at our weekly brunch, let me know by leaving a comment here or by emailing me.

Spanko Brunch 2.0 #5

Here we are at another weekend brunch. I'm glad you could make it. This week's topic was suggested by my dear friend Ronnie.

They go by many different names - knickers, panties, briefs, boxers, pants, high-cuts - but whatever you call them, underwear can play an important role in spanking.

Do you and partner go together to buy underwear to wear specifically for spanking? Do you go alone to choose them? Or does your partner select them for you? Or maybe it's none of the above as you never wear them for spanking.

Please join the conversation by leaving a comment. I will publish an edited version of our discussion once everyone has had a chance to speak.