Yes, Chef!

He's the chef we love to hate - Gordon Ramsey. In his reality show, Hell's Kitchen, there is plenty of pain and punishment, domination and submission. In 2009, the Village Voice interviewed Mistress Christian, a professional dominatrix in Manhattan and the author of The Domestic Dominatrix, and asked her for her thoughts on the show. 

Did the show strike you as having S&M elements?

Yes. I think Ramsay is very dominating. I'd hire him in a second as a Master.There's a lot of humiliation, which is very British. I don't know if you're familiar with their education system. Back in the day, humiliation was incorporated into their discipline. It wasn't just getting the ruler, they also had their pants around their ankles while everyone watched. I have a lot of British clients, and as soon as I hear that voice, I know we're going to do that scenario. Some of my older clients were made to wear girl's panties in front of the classroom. This is the older people, I'm sure they have restrictions nowadays. If this particular chef [Ramsay] was to come see me, I can guarantee he'd have the pink panties, the little frilly ones, and I'd be calling in other girls to watch me spank him. Typically, he's the type of client that I would see.

Here he is about to give a young lady (possibly his wife?) a goodbye spank on her fashionable jeans. Cone to think of it, he looks rather spankable himself.

Wednesday WIN

Thoughts about bumps, belts, and butts.

Wait! Hold that position, young lady!

Now that's a belt I wouldn't want to feel on my bottom.

Showing off her shapely derriere, just in case.

Drop those drawers, mister.

Ooh! How inspirational!

From the Top Shelf - Something to Celebrate

"Something to Celebrate" is a lovely little story taken from The Darker Side, a the collection of spanking stories by Larry Stern (how's that for a pen name?). It clearly illustrates that things can and often do go wrong in the IT industry, and errors must be corrected accordingly.

I was angry. No. I was furious, absolutely livid with rage! Not only had the new computer system been delivered several weeks late, when we did eventually get it the hardware had faults, the programs were full of errors and some of the promised functions didn't work at all. For three weeks my computer department had struggled with these manifold problems and meanwhile the business was being adversely affected, orders were not being shipped, invoices not processed.

The people who supplied the system had worked hard to rectify the problems. We had expected things to go less than smoothly; none of us are exactly innocents and we had made provisions to avert some of the worst effects of the introduction of the new systems. Certainly, a call from me to the supplier's Managing Director had got me all the high-level attention focused on the problems that I could have wished for. What was really annoying me, though, was that during all this time the salesman, or I should say saleswoman, who had sold us the system was noticeable by her absence.

As Chairman and Managing Director of this organisation I, of course, took part in the selection of the new computer system. Quite naturally I let my departmental managers worry about the technical aspects - that is what they are paid for - but the contract and commercial negotiations were up to me. In the course of these protracted discussions I encountered Karen Briggs, our account manager. She is an attractive girl in her mid-twenties, probably with a degree in an obscure subject from an equally obscure university, but overall a typically tenacious sales type on her way to the top.

She certainly knew when to treat us all to a flash of her shapely thighs to divert attention when a tricky technical point came up and she was entertaining company over the several lunches and dinners needed to bring negotiations to a head. I must admit that her tenacity in pursuit of the business began to irritate me but in the end her firm won out on technical merit...

Around here my word is law. When I say 'jump' the only question allowed is, 'How high?' So, getting tired of waiting for Karen to put in an appearance I summoned her to a meeting at my office. She was going to get a piece of my mind and a lecture on my view of professional sales ethics and be made to understand what I expected from an 'account manager' who dealt with my firm. If she was lucky that would be all she would get. But time would tell.

* * *

A few minutes later than the appointed time, Penny, my personal assistant, announced my visitor and ushered Ms. Briggs into my office.

"Thank you, Penny." I waved her away. "You can get off home now. But please make sure that everyone knows we are not to be disturbed."

Karen was smartly dressed as ever, in a pale blue business suit with, underneath, a crisp white blouse, primly buttoned to the throat: the uniform of her calling. Complete with Gucci briefcase, she breezed into my office, offering her well-manicured hand in a limp facsimile of the traditional businessman's greeting.

I ushered her to a chair and, from my stronghold behind my polished rosewood desk, I spent the next thirty minutes in lecturing her on my views. Occasionally she tried to break in and offer some remarks which might excuse or explain. I reminded her that she was there to listen and to learn and that, at this point, her opinions were of no value and of less interest. So I carried on, speaking calmly, not raising my voice, making each point clearly and crisply. I must confess that I was particularly pleased to note that this calm and unemotional approach seemed to be having quite a chilling effect on my victim.

"So," I concluded, "my firm has already lost a large amount of money due to the system you sold to us. You, for your part, seem to have lost interest since we placed the order and that is just not good enough. There will be a claim for damages against your company - a very substantial claim - and your selling methods and personal conduct will be very relevant." Of course, such a claim was highly unlikely to succeed and I had no intention of pursuing one but quite obviously the threat impressed Karen. I licked my lips as I saw her flinch and the colour drain from her cheeks which had become flushed with embarrassment as I warmed to my lecture. I pressed home my advantage. "Unless," I added, "you care to make some form of personal restitution?"

Her face, framed by her short blonde hair, was now deathly pale. Her tongue played nervously over her dry lips while haunted blue eyes darted from left to right avoiding direct contact with my stern glare.

"What do you mean, res-restitution?" she stammered. Her usual poise had quite deserted her.

In a matter-of-fact voice, as if I were proposing the most obvious and natural solution to a mutual dilemma, I mounted my favourite hobby-horse.

"Corporal punishment would probably do you a lot of good. And, my dear, it would also square things quite admirably."

"My God!" she said. "But that's gross - obscene!"

"Not at all," I said. "Only what you deserve. Don't you agree?"

"Well -"

As she hesitated I reached into my desk drawer and tossed my favourite tawse onto the desk in front of Karen's wide-eyed gaze. Her face bore an expression which contained a mixture of apprehension, intrigue and downright disbelief as she eyed the black leather instrument which lay menacingly on the polished desk. Quite obviously she was amazed at the prospect but nevertheless her hand reached out timidly to stroke the strip of leather.

"You - you want to spank me with that?" she finally stammered.

"Yes."

"It's - no! - it's not on. No way!" But she didn't sound very convinced about that.

It was time to drive home my advantage. "So you'd rather lose your job?"

A very curious sort of half smile flitted across her tense face. "Well, if you put it like that ..."

"Oh, I most certainly do put it like that!" I said. "You deserve to be punished and punishment is what you'll get - one way or another."

Cowed, backed into a corner, she tried to hide behind bravado and bluster. "Do your worst then," she spat. "But you really are the worst kind of grubby creep!"

I ignored that. Always concentrate on what matters, and what mattered right then was that I had won. Or nearly won. "Get ready then," I urged.

"I am ready, creep!"

"Oh no. This is a bare bottom affair."

"What!!"

"Yes, Karen, of course. On your bare behind."

She hesitated for a long time. She was on the verge and it could go either way. I imagined the thoughts that must be racing through her mind, balancing a bare assed beating against a bleak future without the job that meant money and status and security. Then her shoulders straightened. "Creep!" she murmured grudgingly through clenched teeth. But from her expression I could tell that I had her beaten.

As if she were in a dream, she got to her feet and reached behind to release her skirt, drawing down the zip, sloughing the garment down her legs and stepping out of it. She had fine legs, very shapely, clad in blue stockings that were held taut by a pastel blue garter belt. My eyes lingered on the scrap of blue nylon lace that concealed, just barely concealed, her pussy.

She hesitated again. "I'll tell you when to stop," I barked at her...

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and drew them down her legs and over her feet, dropping them to join the heap of her discarded clothing on the floor.

"That will do." I stood back, taking time to run an appreciative eye over her creamy pale body... I was pleased to note that the colour had really mounted to her cheeks. She was blushing a deep, deep red of embarrassment and humiliation.

I came out from behind my desk and picked up the tawse, flexing the supple leather beneath her astounded gaze. Clearly she could not yet quite believe that this was happening to her, did not know whether to run or stay, still did not quite know whether she would allow this to happen to her.

I did not give her time for further inner debate but got down to work! I made her bend over the edge of the desk with her head cradled in the crook of her folded arms. Her bare and delectably rounded buttocks were thus presented for punishment, thrust pertly in the air to receive a proper, old-fashioned pasting... I stood behind my recumbent victim and let my hand run luxuriously over the silk smooth skin of her firm posteriors as I made minor adjustments to her positioning. Then 'thwaaak!'I unleashed the tawse, smacking the leather squarely across the plumpest portion of her bum.

She almost jumped upright with the shock. A gasp of pain escaped her lips and a grimace of pain contorted her charming features. A distinct red area formed on the white, almost translucent, buttock flesh.

I drew back and 'whaaak!', again the supple leather connected with Karen's taut bottom. She shuddered, which made her dangling titties dance delightfully. I laid on harder and really punished her as her quivering bum flesh took on a deep red hue. Soon her entire rear end was glowing hotly red while her whole being became centred on the pain in her bum. At first she suffered silently but as the strokes loaded pain on pain she began to groan and whimper.

* * *

Suddenly, just as I was getting into my stride, there came a sharp knock at the door. I put up the tawse but motioned to Karen that she was to stay where she was, bent over the desk with her throbbing arse in the air. I slipped out of the office, pulling the door to behind me.

It was Tom, the manager of the computer department. We exchanged a few words and he gave me a quick briefing on the current situation.

A few moments later, having fixed a grim look on my face, I entered my office again. Karen was still bent over the desk, her fiery bumcheeks aglow and did I detect the telltale shine of the track of a single tear on her left cheek?

"More grief with the damn computer!" I remarked sorrowfully. "You really are in for it now!" I took up the tawse once more and really began to leather poor Karen's defenceless arse, slapping the leather hard against her bumcheeks, relieving my frustrations on them. Karen jigged from one leg to the other, whimpering and groaning while her pretty face contorted with pain.

Finally I grew tired of this exercise and tossed the well used tawse onto the desk in front of the poor tortured girl...

"Now Karen, I think it would help customer relations if we met more regularly. You will have lunch with me here every Wednesday - plan to spend at least two hours. Now get your clothes and get out."

Her response, although unexpected and surprising from one whom I had counted inexperienced in such matters as we had just then explored, was nonetheless highly gratifying. Still kneeling, a slight smile playing about those enticing, lips she quietly replied:

"Thank you, er, Sir, for showing me my errors. I shall look forward to our meetings in the future."

And the girl actually meant it! She even managed a cheeky wink as she got to her feet... When she had gone I picked up the phone.

"Tom, thanks for letting me know that everything is up and working. It's great news. What say you and your team meet me for drinks in Rubens Bar in fifteen minutes? I was a little busy when you came up but now I think we've all got something to celebrate!"

We can be sure that there would be no further failures with the office's computer system.

You Completed the Caption

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Complete the Caption

This week it was back to school for many young students. I wonder how this academic year is turning out so far.

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

Friday FAIL

Seen in the wild: real signs that are FAILs to say the least.

Happy Friday!

Bum Attack

In the evening our usual routine is for people and dogs to gather together in the family room to watch a DVD or a favourite television program that I have recorded. Fluffy takes up his usual position in one of the cozy beds in front of the fireplace, even when it's hot and the fire isn't on. Fang prefers to join us on the couch, and his preferred spot is right between us.

Last night we were relaxing as usual, and I happened to get up to change the DVD. Fang watched me carefully. When I returned and was about to to sit down, he leaped up and threw himself into Ron's lap with a terrified expression on his face.

"He doesn't want you to sit on him again," Ron thought that was the reason for the little dog's panic. "He does that every time you sit down."

"I have never sat on him," I replied indignantly.

"Well, there was some reason for that. He never does it when I sit down," Ron said smugly.

"That's because your bum isn't as big as mine," I admitted.

"No, I suppose not." Wait a minute, he was supposed to disagree! "You've put the fear of bum into him."

Poor dog. Afraid of bums. He'll need therapy now.