You Completed the Caption

Here are your clever captions and some videos for this odd party picture.

Prefectdt: He thinks "I'm not sure that I explained Mummification to her properly."

He said "Ever since we were at that hypnotist's show, she has been convinced that she is an Andrex puppy."

Daisychain: "Play the game, don't wrap it round my bottom, I won't be able to feel the spanking!"

Michael: Mr. Whipple decided on the spot that his wife Mildred was no longer allowed to squeeze the Charmin.

Season: "This will teach you to replace the roll instead of leaving the empty tube for me to change! Now everyone can see what a bad boy you have been"

Bonnie: "But Daddy doesn't want to be a mummy!"

Aeon's Angel: Safe, sane and Charmin!

Ronnie: "I knew she shouldn't have had that port and lemon; the bride said 'wrapping paper' not 'wrap your partner."

SixoftheBest: The gentleman says to the lady, "Matilda, all I asked you is do you know where the men's toilet is located. She answers, "Harry, I thought you said do you know how to do the Bavarian Bondage Polka."

Kaki: "OK class, next week we will work on ropes."

Kingspan: "No, Dear, I said I'd like to try CP, not TP."

Underling: Bondrex - soft, strong, and very very long.

Hermione: Harold learned of Maude's kinky preference in a most unexpected way.


Thanks you all who participated. I enjoyed those videos! Come back next week for a different challenge.

Complete the Caption

What's a party without paper hats, fancy clothes and bondage? These happy people are celebrating in fine style, but the gentleman in the middle looks concerned. What do you suppose his captor has in mind?

Complete the caption by leaving a comment or by sending me an email, and I will publish your speculations tomorrow.

Love your Bottom

It's the only one you'll ever have.

Size - It Does Matter

In a recent post, I told you about Ron's new implements and how effective they were on my bottom. But it was hard to judge the size of the weapons from the pictures, and you may have been left with the impression that they were small and unimpressive.

I assembled some implements and photographed them so you could see for yourself that bigger is indeed better.

In this picture, at the bottom is a sixteen-inch wooden ruler. The paddle above it - called "The Wedge" - is the one Ron got for Christmas. Compare its size to the smaller maple paddle at the top, also hand-crafted by the same manufacturer - Littledeer.

(I have a confession. We had both completely forgotten about the smaller paddle until I started preparing for this shoot. It had somehow become buried at the bottom of the implement drawer.  I wonder how that happened.)

We recently used both paddles in a session, and the little one hurts waaay more!

Here we have the same 16 inch ruler, and above it the newest spatula. As you can see, compared to the smaller one above it - which is the size commonly used for cooking - it's a real whopper!

Wednesday WIN

I found this rather nice bottle opener on a site featuring Victorian-style merchandise.

An open hand, holding a heart. The intention is obviously a loving spanking for opening one too many bottles of beer or soda, don't you think?

Weather Whackers

There was an article in one of the national newspapers recently about how to cope with our terrible winter weather. The author confessed that "how not to go crazy in midwinter is the quintessential Canadian challenge. Feeling trapped, cold, embittered and hopeless, but in a nice Canadian way?"

She went on to suggest ways to beat the midwinter blues, and her list of what she called "winter weather whackers" included going to cultural events, cooking, watching movies, reading, listening to music and volunteering.

She forgot to mention spanking - the best way to put unwelcome precipitation out of your mind. An energetic bottom-whacking will make you forget all about snowstorms, blocked roads, bitter winds and frozen rivers flooding. You'll be so nice and relaxed and toasty warm that you just won't care. You might even be tempted to sing, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."

Try it!

From the Top Shelf - The First Half Dozen

We continue with Obliged to Bend by B. A. Bradbury. In the previous selection Mrs Hammond, the prospective governess, was shown an amazing array of implements, and chose a cane for her own disciplinary session. It now begins.

"Then kindly raise your skirts," I said, "at the back."

She gave me one last unhappy glance then lifted her skirts to her waist. I squatted behind her and pulled her drawers down to her ankles, and she murmured as I did so, clearly ill at ease.  I guessed she had hoped to retain these for modesty's sake, but there was not the slightest chance I would allow that, out of respect for my grandfather's memory...

Her broad, full buttocks were creamy-white, smooth and beautifully rounded... I was tempted to smack her, there and then, for there's nothing quite like the feel of a firm bottom bouncing under your palm, but I refrained, not wishing to set my dignity at risk. A punishment is a serious matter, and must be conducted accordingly. A few playful slaps might be great fun (for me, at least) but could easily give the impression this was all just a game, which it most certainly was not.

So now Mrs Hammond waited, eyes shut fast, breast rising and falling rapidly; yet I delayed, savouring the moment. Then I raised the cane and tapped it lightly against her buttocks three times: tap-tap-tap.

"Oh," she gasped, buttocks clenching and back arching as she rose up onto her toes.

She had no way of knowing it, but she had just been introduced to my famous Triple-Tap-Tester. And much it had revealed to me, for I was convinced now  the woman had never been caned before. Her reaction to the gentle tap was that of a complete novice, out of all proportion to the mere tickle she received. She was a spanking virgin, which made all this doubly pleasurable for me. Like footprints across a field of freshly fallen snow, the stripes I was about to leave on her posterior would be all mine, with no one there before me...

And I could delay no longer. I drew back my arm and struck her. This was no light tap, but a lively stroke that whistled on its way. Not desperately hard, yet crisp enough to give her something to think about, it contacted Irene Hammond's behind with a satisfying thwick. She yelped and her hips jerked forward.

A second stroke followed, then a third, and a fourth. Once she realized it wasn't as bad as she'd feared, Mrs Hammond seemed to settle a little. I made the fifth stroke somewhat harder, both to undermine her confidence and to set her twitching again.

After the next I stopped to examine her. Six narrow pink tramlines, marks typical of a cane, showed against her white skin. Evenly spaced and virtually identical, they were weals to be proud of. An excellent start, I thought, to what promised to be a most enjoyable session.  

"May I rub, sir?" she asked, once she realized this was more than just a longer pause between strokes. I was pleased that she understood a penitent must ask permission before rubbing her bottom. There are some, I know, who consider this old-fashioned but I was taught by a master of the old school and take pride in these ancient traditions.

While Mrs Hammond rubbed her tingling behind, I watched her face. She looked very thoughtful, and I imagined she was wondering how much worse it would get.

"Thank you, sir," Mrs Hammond said, with a respectful glance in my direction. She hitched her skirts up a little higher, closing her eyes to await the remaining strokes.

I had to smile, for I recognized these actions of hers -- thanking me, and adopting the position in this way -- for what they were. She was attempting to dictate the pace of the proceedings. It was understandable that she wanted her punishment over and done with as quickly as possible, but the penitent must never be allowed to take control in this manner. Mrs Hammond must be left in no doubt as to who was master.

I left her standing there, stoically awaiting the remaining two and a half dozen, while I strolled to the bell-pull and rang for Alice. The maid appeared in a trice, I asked her to pour me a brandy, and I saw her eyes register astonishment as she took in the scene before her as she scuttled across to the cabinet by the window.

"Tell me, Mrs Hammond," I said, "do you think you will like our Oxfordshire countryside?"

"Why...yes, sir, I... I believe I will," she stammered.

"We have some fine elms in the neighbourhood. Did you notice them on your way from the railway station?"

"I... No, sir... I can't say that I did."

Alice carried the brandy over to me on a small silver tray, curtsied, and then attempted to slip away unnoticed. I had other ideas, however.

"Alice," I said, "you're a native of these parts. I'm sure you'll agree the countryside hereabouts is beautiful."

"Yes sir, thank you sir," she said, glancing at the door with a look of longing desperation, curtseying twice more for good measure.

I swirled the brandy in the glass and sampled its nose. Excellent. I strolled back to where Mrs Hammond waited. Casually I stroked her buttocks, pretending to examine the marks left by the cane. In reality, of course, I was drawing the maid's attention to them -- and more importantly, letting Irene Hammond know that I wished the staff to witness her humiliation.

"England can boast many fine counties," I said, "but I challenge anyone to name a prettier valley than our own, eh, Alice?"

"Yes sir, thank you sir."

"Thank you, Alice. You may go."

She curtsied once more and hastily departed. Her eagerness to be back in the relative safety of the servants' quarters was understandable. Canes and raised skirts were all too familiar to the girl; possibly she believed the combination to be contagious.

I finished my drink at leisure, deposited the glass on the table and sauntered back to my victim. I stood before her and looked directly into her troubled eyes. "I think," I said quietly, "we will now carry on where we left off. Does that meet with your approval, Mrs Hammond?" 

To be continued...