From the Top Shelf - Ellen's Civil Disobedience

Another excerpt from the novel Ellen's Story, by Anonymous. Ellen is now 18 years of age and is employed as a trainee teacher by the same headmaster who caned her in a previous chapter. She is now a responsible professional, but that doesn't stop her from getting into hot water.

Ellen finds out about a proposed plan to cut down several old elm trees that stand in a nearby meadow. She loves the trees and wants to save them, so with the help of her good friend Rachel she devises a plan to thwart the woodsmen.

At just after eight o' clock that morning the three sawyers arrived to the accompaniment of hobnailed boots, jingling harness and cheerful whistling. They were fully laden with a multitude of tackle, ropes,ladders, axes and saws.

Little did they know, but at that very moment Rachel and I were gazing insolently down at them, perched in the topmost branches of the tallest elm.

The 'Gaffer', a beetle-browed, bull-necked, ferocious looking fellow in his forties, strode up and down beneath us, leisurely 'sizing up the job' prior to directing operations. His second in command, a thin, ugly, gypsy-like man, busied himself with laying out the ropes and tackle while the third member of the crew, a gangling fair haired boy of about my own age, shrugged off his jacket and commenced limbering up exercises by leaping, ape-like, into the lower branches of a nearby elm and darting in devil-may-care manner from bough to bough. I noticed with some pleasure that his slim build was quite deceptive. Beneath his grimy shirtsleeves were powerful muscles- likewise his thighs!
"Hey! You up there!" the Gaffer bellowed angrily, catching sight of our purple and green frocks and our flowing manes of hair, half hidden among the leaves. "What in hell's name be you two lassies a-doin' up that there elm? Come down this instant afore ye break yer necks!" he roared with a face as black as thunder.

I stuck my tongue out at him defiantly as I sat alongside Rachel on an overhanging bough thicker than a man's thigh. We gazed down with amused complacency at the gesticulating Gaffer, his face red with anger. We dangled our legs nonchalantly and felt pretty pleased with ourselves...

Again, the gaffer - Clem we discovered his name to be - yelled peremptorily at us to come down. Again we shook our heads vigorously and stuck our tongues out in defiance...

"Are ye comin' down - or do we 'ave to come and get ye?" roared Clem like an angry bull.

"You harm these beautiful trees over my dead body, you stupid oafs!" I screamed, once more exulting in the foolhardy, dangerous game I was playing, despite all my growing fears.

Clem swore a great oath then turned to consult with his men. At his bidding the boy, with a long rope around his waist, was despatched to climb our tree. He was being sent to fetch us down. Rachel clung to me and began to whimper in alarm. Within seconds the lad was a foot or two below our perch, grinning like a monkey and gazing blatantly up our skirts. Before Rachel could move to a higher bough in time to prevent him, he neatly lassoed her right ankle with the looped end of his rope, and, tugging gently but firmly, compelled her to make an ignominious and careful descent to the ground.

Rachel is in for it now, and Clem prepares to spank her.

Before he carried out his threat, Clem glared up into my tree and wagged an admonishing finger, shouting "An' after I've tanned your little friend's bum, then it'll be YOUR turn next, Missy! You're the REAL troublemaker, I can see! So whatever I gives yer friend it'll be a double dose for you! Understand?"

Then, for the immediate future, I was ignored. All the men's attention was directed at Rachel who, to her utter distress, found herself slung unceremoniously over Clem's broad lap, he having seated himself on a fallen bough. She shrieked and kicked her legs in terror and indignation as he hoisted up her skirts and petticoats, disclosing a beautifully plump round bottom decorously clad in white cotton knickers - but not for long! Rachel squealed in horror as, tugging impatiently at the waistband, Clem dragged her knickers down to her knees.

I felt consumed with pity for the poor mortified 18 year old girl as the bare white cheeks of her bottom were closely inspected and admiringly praised by the three men. From where I was perched I had a birds-eye view of Rachel's private parts and it was apparent from his expression that Clem was feasting his eyes greedily on the same area. I grew sick at the thought of a similar fate befalling me, yet at the same time that peculiar prickly excitement which I had experienced on similar occasions began to irresistibly invade my loins.

"Ooooh ow! Oh please stop!" Rachel howled in shame and misery as Clem's great slab-like palm descended speedily again and again in a blur of motion upon her quivering, blushing buttocks... For what seemed like ten minutes, Clem delivered the soundest spanking that the luckless Rachel had ever, I am certain, suffered in her life...

To make matters worse for Rachel, towards the end of the painful and lengthy chastisement, Clem ceased to belabour her scarlet bottom and turned his attentions to the soft delicate area of her naked thighs above the tops of her stockings. "Oh no! Please, I beg you, not there! It hurts!" she yelled at the top of her voice, kicking and scissoring her dainty legs indecorously - her black stockings alternately stretching and slackening in time to the frenzied jerking of her limbs.

When at last Clem decreed that Rachel had had enough, he allowed her to struggle up from his lap, weeping profusely. Shamefacedly replacing her undergarments she tottered off home amid hoots of derision from the men, and with never a backward glance in my direction.

When the boy came after me with his rope I led him a merry dance all over the tree but he was nimbler than me and eventually had me cornered in the top most branches. "Come down 'ere and take your medicine, you little minx!" he gasped breathlessly, slipping his rope around my ankle. I was as obstinate as a mule and refused to budge until he reached out both hands and pulled me down by my legs.

As ill-luck would have it, my skirt and petticoats became caught in one of the upper branches and, in the ensuing struggle, both garments ripped from waist to hem, so there I was kicking wildly and screaming insults dressed only in my thin blouse, knickers and stockings...

While Simon held me captive by my wrists, I watched in sullen despair as Clem walked across to a nearby birch tree and soon returned, stripping the leaves from half a dozen whippy wands of about 18 inches length which he proceeded to bind together at one end with a piece of twine. My mouth went dry and my heart began to pound as I realised his intention.
"Oh! You're not going to birch me, are you? You can't! You mustn't! It's wrong and shameful to birch a young girl!" I wailed piteously, all my angry resistance suddenly collapsing.

Next week it will Ellen's turn to be punished for her willful defiance.

You Completed the Caption

Today we are enjoying a sight you don't see too often in the military. Here are your thoughts.

Ricky: Vive la rouge, peut-etre?
(Sounds sexy in French, don't it?)

It sure does!

 Ronnie: If he doesn't take this hint, I'll be spanking myself.

Six of the best: When I joined the WACS (Women's Auxiliary Corp), I didn't know it meant 'spanking whacks'.

Michael:  Chairman Mao's army of the People's Republic was equal in all ways except when it came to disciplining insubordinate female recruits.

DelFonte: New recruits who slipped to the back of the line found they were greeted with a special kind of motivation and a new meaning to the phrase - bringing up the rear.

Kingspan: Some parts of a Red Army soldier were made redder than others.

Sir Wendel Jones: The rear end distraction on the front line.

Mitch Philbin: In an effort to thwart enemy surveillance, a new diversionary tactic was implemented.

Vfrat25000: Why do I feel a draft?

They gave me see-through pants and no bullets in my gun. I don’t think General Bendergoken is really serious about having women in the army.

Sergeant, why are all the men volunteering to bring up the rear of the line?

Hey Lydia, do want to try out for the new reality show called “The People’s Army”
Sure Jennie sounds like fun.
Jennie if I EVER get the chance I am going to strangle you.

It’s the General’s Birthday. I am guessing one look at my bottom in this see-through uniform and the Little General will come to attention and salute me. Hee Hee

Hermione: The obstacle course for basic training included a startling number of spanking benches and a large assortment of military paddles.


Thank you all for participating today. I hope you will all join me in extending your condolences to Lisa on the sad loss of her husband Bas, one of our fellow bloggers. His farewell post is here.

Complete the Caption

Some countries have interesting versions of standard uniforms. Here we have a good example of a wardrobe modification. But why the need for transparency?

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

Will we lose our blogs? Clarification from Google

Last week, Google sent out a frightening notice to all the owners of blogs with the adult blog warning page, advising them that there would be a change in policy concerning adult blogs. This led to wild speculation and a mass stampede towards WordPress and personal domains.

Google has issued this clarification of their intentions, which appeared on WebProNews:

UPDATE: According to a Google spokesperson, it looks like they’re just going to be removing blogs that monetize from adult ads:

“We will be updating our Content Policy to strictly prohibit the monetization of adult content on Blogger. We will remove blogs that are displaying advertisements to adult websites.”

 Not so different from the original statement, which said, "After June 30th 2013, we will be enforcing this policy and will remove blogs which are adult in nature and are displaying advertisements to adult websites." The key word here is "monetize" as in "make money from".


I did a little research, and here's how Investopedia explains "Monetize" as it applies to blogs:

Another example comes from websites monetizing their content. Many are set up to earn money through advertisers. When people who browse the particular site click on one of the advertisers' links, the owner of the website earns a small amount of money (this is known as pay-per-click, or PPC advertising). If the website attracts enough visitors, the small amount paid by the advertisers for each click can add up to substantial monetization.

Another method used to monetize a website is the placement of banner advertisements. If a particular website has proven that it attracts a certain number of visitors each month, companies may pay to place advertisements that appear on the home page, certain pages or every page of the website, depending on the agreement between the website owner and the advertiser. Typically, larger and more prominently displayed advertisements cost more.

Other methods of website monetization include CPM advertising (cost-per-mille), text link advertisements, affiliate marketing and monetization widgets.

So it looks like you are safe if you have an adult blog but you aren't making money with your links to other adult sites. And it seems that the official Blogger Content Policy has not yet been modified to include the change.

We can all breathe a little easier now. You have removed any ads from your blog, haven't you?

Wednesday WIN

Is it really only Wednesday? Sigh...

I'm feeling naughty today.
 

Naughty boy!

So I'm renting a billboard.

Variety is the spice of life!

I might as well tell it like it is.

It makes for some interesting dinner  conversation.

From the Top Shelf - Ellen's Startling Discovery

The last time we saw her, Ellen was smarting from the after-effects of a caning at school. As she examines her marks in the mirror, she becomes aroused. But does it lead to anything? Let's see.

God knows what transports of perverse ecstasy would have consumed me had I continued thus to wallow in my salacious fantasies, but muffled voices coming from my mother's room upstairs made me start guiltily, and, quick as a flash, I pulled up my drawers and adjusted my dress.

Who on earth could be up there? Burglars were unknown in our part of the country - and anyway, what was there in our sparsely decorated little cottage to burgle?

Then I heard the unmistakable slapping sound of a hand upon flesh - accompanied by my mother's voice giggling shrilly in half-hearted protest, like a young girl's.

With thumping heart I tiptoed up the stairs, carefully avoiding every creaky floorboard. On reaching the narrow landing I gazed furtively through the jamb of my mother's half open bedroom door then gasped at the sight which greeted me.

Mother stood with her back to me, naked save for her black stockings and camisole top. Her drawers lay crumpled around her ankles. By her side, completely naked, with his fully erect penis burgeoning out flagrantly like a tent pole, stood a tall, well-built, middle aged man engrossed in the act of undressing her, while every so often delivering well-aimed slaps to her bare buttocks so that they wobbled appealingly each time his hand struck them. He must have slapped them at least a dozen times already for they had acquired a distinctly blushing hue. I was deeply shocked to see that my mother showed no signs of objecting to the gross liberties he was taking with her person. Whenever he smacked her big, broad bottom she gasped, giggled, and made half-hearted attempts to escape - but he only held her loosely by the wrist. She could have freed herself at any time - had she wished to.

I had never seen my mother in a state of undress before. She was a magnificent figure of a woman, possessing a neat trim waist, broad - though by no means fat - womanly buttocks that plumped out sensually with the deep shadowy divide between them, and long elegant legs clad in black stockings gartered at mid thigh.

Slowly the man unhooked the shoulder straps of her camisole, and it slid down her naked body to the floor. He reached out and cupped one breast in his hand. My mother gave a low moan as he fondled her there, rubbing and squeezing the erect nipple between thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, Albert - please don't" she whispered guiltily, but made no effort to take his hand away.

Then, dealing a final full-blooded slap to her pink, quivering bottom - eliciting from her a helpless school-girl yelp - he propelled her, his hand still resting on her bottom, across the room to the bed; pushed her down on her back then sank down on her supine body like an eagle about to devour its prey. Spreading her legs wide apart, he drove his purple-veined distended member hard and deep within her.

She cried out shrilly at the moment of penetration and then, clutching at his broad back, incited him to push his way further and further inside her. I suddenly realised, with intense shock, that this was more than my respected mother who went out each day to earn our daily bread. She was also a woman - with all a woman's longings and needs. It had been twelve years since my father had died, and I instinctively knew that she had stayed faithful to his dear memory until now.

The old four-poster bed groaned and creaked as the couple, locked together in blind carnality, began to sway and jerk their loins up and down...even faster..and with ever increasing abandonment.

Shocked, confused, embarrassed and above all horribly ashamed of being a spectator to their riotous sport, I crept back down the steep stairs, across the silent parlour with its battered old clock on the mantel-piece that never told the right time, and out of the front door - closing it ever so gently so as not to betray my presence to the lovers in the room above my head.

I slunk down our lane, my brow furrowed,a prey to all kinds of warring emotions. I felt bitter anger against my mother. She'd betrayed me - so Prissy had been right all along! In trying to defend my mother's maligned honour I had earned myself a painful caning - and for what?

Yet the disturbing scene I had accidentally stumbled upon produced another much more subtle and insidious effect upon me...I simply could not erase from my mind the powerful image of that man, aggressively potent with his monstrous, stuck-out penis, and the resounding slaps he had delivered to my mother's submissively receptive rear. Somehow I combined this haunting picture with that of myself a mere hour or two before...my own bottom penitentially out-thrust, being soundly whipped by Dr. Smallwood's long swishy cane.

Looking back upon my life, I am sure that this was the moment when, for me, physical love and corporal chastisement became indissolubly wedded. Henceforth I was quite unable to conceive of one without the other. The die was cast.

Ellen flees from the house before she is detected and spends the afternoon on the hillside, contemplating nature.

Hours later, when I returned home from my wanderings, I discovered my mother's 'guest' had still not departed. He was now ensconced in state at the parlour table, busily consuming a tea of bread and butter, cucumber sandwiches,and cakes - waited on hand and foot by my mother, who looked both flustered and proud.

"Ellen, this is Mr. Filbertson," she said as the visitor stood up and solemnly shook hands with me. I confess I was sorely tempted to giggle hysterically at the memory of seeing that great huge purple-veined thing of his protruding from between his massive hairy legs - but I somehow managed to control myself.

"Mr. Filbertson," she went on, " has been recuperating in our hospital from a chest complaint, and is now happily fully recovered. Before he departed from the neighbourhood he was most anxious to visit our village church, since ecclesiastical architecture is one of his many interests." He looked at her and smiled gravely as she succumbed to a guilty blush and turned away - while I did my utmost to control my twitching mouth, "..and as Mr. Filbertson was kind enough," she continued with regained composure, " to combine that laudable purpose with one of accompanying me home, I felt it only right to offer his some trifling refreshment..."

"Oh come dear lady, you are too modest by far! Not so much a plain repast as a noble feast!" Mr Filbertson interposed gallantly, waving his plump hands above the well-laden table in a gesture of beneficence.

"...before he departs this evening by train on the journey back to his school near Shrewsbury," my mother concluded with the guilty blush still hovering on her cheek.

"School? Mr. Filbertson is surely not still a pupil?" I retorted mischievously. I saw a shadow of displeasure disturb the cool equanimity of his features.

"No, Ellen," he said, gazing at me with his pale-blue watery eyes, " the school belongs to me. It is a boys' boarding school, well established and of good reputation, and I am its headmaster." He spoke in the rather condescending tones that schoolmasters adopt when addressing their pupils.

I must say that I found his manner a little chilling, and I resolved to treat him with a trifle more respect than I had hitherto shown. After all, as my painful experience of the morning had amply demonstrated, teachers were more than capable of treating naughty young girls with an iron hand - and I only had to look at him to know that Albert Filbertson, if sufficiently provoked, would prove no exception.

Wouldn't you know it - another headmaster is introduced in Ellen's story to make a significant impression on her.

146 Birthday Spanks

Today is Canada's 146th birthday. I know there are many popular misconceptions about the country in which I live.

Many people believe that Canada is a land of perpetual ice and snow. Not true. We do have warm, sunny weather on occasion. I believe it's due on July 19th this year.

 

You can do anything to a Canadian. We won't sue you.
(Heh, heh, heh. Just try it.)

No, really, we don't all look like Bob and Doug McKenzie. The other 1 million of us are quite normal.




One thing that is true is that today, we will be celebrating!


 There will be parades...

Cake and other good things...

And fireworks!

I'm proud to be a Canadian, and do you want to know why?

I hope that wherever you are in the world, you will raise a glass and toast our fair country (or toast the bottom nearest to you), and may you enjoy your own fireworks in honor of this special day.