Lincoln made the day a national holiday the first year of the Civil War. There was nothing in the declaration about eating, Indians or Puritans. Rather it was about reflection on the suffering and grief across the country.

Manataka American Indian Council…by Susan Bates

Most of us associate the holiday with happy Pilgrims and Indians sitting down to a big feast. And that did happen – once.

—The story began in 1614 when a band of English explorers sailed home to England with a ship full of Patuxet Indians bound for slavery. They left behind smallpox which virtually wiped out those who had escaped. By the time the Pilgrims arrived in Massachusetts Bay they found only one living Patuxet Indian, a man named Squanto who had survived slavery in England and knew their language. He taught them to grow corn and to fish, and negotiated a peace treaty between the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Nation. At the end of their first year, the Pilgrims held a great feast honoring Squanto and the Wampanoags.

—But as word spread in England about the paradise to be found in the new world, religious zealots called Puritans began arriving by the boat load. Finding no fences around the land, they considered it to be in the public domain. Joined by other British settlers, they seized land, capturing strong young Natives for slaves and killing the rest. But the Pequot Nation had not agreed to the peace treaty Squanto had negotiated and they fought back. The Pequot War was one of the bloodiest Indian wars ever fought.

In 1637 near present day Groton, Connecticut, over 700 men, women and children of the Pequot Tribe had gathered for their annual Green Corn Festival which is our Thanksgiving celebration. In the predawn hours the sleeping Indians were surrounded by English and Dutch mercenaries who ordered them to come outside. Those who came out were shot or clubbed to death while the terrified women and children who huddled inside the longhouse were burned alive. The next day the governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony declared “A Day Of Thanksgiving” because 700 unarmed men, women and children had been murdered.

Cheered by their “victory”, the brave colonists and their Indian allies attacked village after village. Women and children over 14 were sold into slavery while the rest were murdered. Boats loaded with a many as 500 slaves regularly left the ports of New England. Bounties were paid for Indian scalps to encourage as many deaths as possible.

Following an especially successful raid against the Pequot in what is now Stamford, Connecticut, the churches announced a second day of “thanksgiving” to celebrate victory over the heathen savages. During the feasting, the hacked off heads of Natives were kicked through the streets like soccer balls. Even the friendly Wampanoag did not escape the madness. Their chief was beheaded, and his head impaled on a pole in Plymouth, Massachusetts — where it remained on display for 24 years.

The killings became more and more frenzied, with days of thanksgiving feasts being held after each successful massacre. George Washington finally suggested that only one day of Thanksgiving per year be set aside instead of celebrating each and every massacre. Later Abraham Lincoln decreed Thanksgiving Day to be a legal national holiday during the Civil War — on the same day he ordered troops to march against the starving Sioux in Minnesota.

This story doesn’t have quite the same fuzzy feelings associated with it as the one where the Indians and Pilgrims are all sitting down together at the big feast. But we need to learn our true history so it won’t ever be repeated. Next Thanksgiving, when you gather with your loved ones to Thank God for all your blessings, think about those people who only wanted to live their lives and raise their families. They, also took time out to say “thank you” to Creator for all their blessings.

Our Thanks to Hill & Holler Column by Susan Bates

More naughty Thanksgiving drawings.

Court Appointment

Another from the vault by DME about a prissy ingénue attorney

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She hated it when she had to rush. If only she had remembered to file the motion last week. If only she had not stayed up so late last night chatting. If only she had not had to stop and buy another pair of panty hose on the way to the office. If only those case files had been pulled and ready to go. Instead, she was dashing through the streets, glancing constantly to avoid a cop who might stop her for speeding. She knew them all; any would let her go, but it was the delay she feared. The traffic light in front of the courthouse was barely long enough to pull on the new hose. She couldn’t help it that the truck driver in the next lane got an eye-full- his lucky day!  Wheeling into a parking space, she leaped out and tripped up the stairs to the entrance. That was one disadvantage to wearing such high heels- tripping up stairs was tantamount to risking untimely death. The deputies grinned at her as she passed through the security checkpoint. The big fat one took his sweet time ‘inspecting’ her briefcase. She felt violated by the time he finished pawing through her belongings. The elevator was too slow so she dashed up the marble stairs, the clicking of her heels echoing in the great space. She knew she was late when she saw that the judge was already seated and the doors closed. The huge door swung noisily on its ancient hinges; no way to be inconspicuous. But she put on serious face and walked directly to her assigned table. A quick glance at the bailiff didn’t garner his usual nod and wink. Instead he shot her a wary look.

Digging through her briefcase, she pulled out the file and settled herself in preparation for addressing the court. Judge Thompson had been on the bench for years. He enjoyed nothing more than shapely calves, delicate ankles, and high heels.  Not unexpectedly, she was one of his favorites. Their flirtatious banter was the fun part of her day. The actual proceedings of the court bored him and he was biding his time until retirement. A result of this ennui was that the court had gotten rather lax about formalities. Instead of waiting to be recognized, she strode to the bench to present her case. It was her usual time, after all. “I do not believe you have been asked to approach the bench.”  In surprise she stopped and stared. Instead of Judge Thompson, another man occupied the bench. Disoriented, she knew that voice and face- Professor Davis! Only the most hideous of the professors at law school. The professor was famous for his criminal law classes, but more famous for his ability to cut down the most confident students; to reduce them to quivering mounds of Jell-O. What was he doing here?   “In Judge Thompson’s absence, I have been appointed to this bench. It has become quite clear to me that all of you have taken advantage of his indiscretion to ignore the etiquette of the court.  Miss Carroll, I believe you are late.  Approach the bench.”   Stay calm, she thought, Don’t let the old goat rattle you. As a student, she admired his brilliant mind, and felt a driving need to impress him. He never acknowledged her success, but did grudgingly award her the highest marks.

Now he was staring at her down that long nose. “Are you prepared to present your motion to the court?”   “Yes, Your Honor” ( it pained her to call him that). Handing him the file, she stepped back. As Professor Davis reviewed the file, his bushy brows knit together and he frowned. “Miss Carroll, What is this nonsense?”  He pushed the file at her and she opened to the first page. Good grief!  The wrong file. In her haste to get out the door she had picked up the wrong case. Before she could stammer out an explanation, Professor Davis turned to the bailiff, “See Miss Carroll to my chambers.”  Glaring down at her, “When I am finished here, you and I will have a little discussion about your performance this morning. You are excused.”  She opened her mouth to protest, but the next case was already called. In stunned silence she gathered up her papers and followed the bailiff down the long hall to chambers. She could feel her face burning red. “Miss Carroll, I wish I could have warned you- Judge Thompson is mighty sick- they think he had a stroke. This fire breather has been giving all of us hell since he got here this morning. He’s already on his third court reporter.”

The familiar office now seemed different. The pictures on the wall were the same, the view from the window unchanged, but the very air was electric with anticipation. She glanced over the once cluttered desk- now spotless. Each item arranged precisely; the work of a perfectionist. “Old bastard probably spent the morning lining up everything with a ruler.”   The usual office supplies were arrayed in tight formation, but one item, also precisely placed, puzzled her.   On the right side of the desktop exactly parallel with the edge, was a riding whip.

The World Of Lingerie

I always enjoy doing a post on lingerie as it’s so much a part of my spanking world.

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My kind of gal – silently communicating. Knew a woman that would write messages on tape and when you pulled her skirt up to spank it was like fortune cookie.

spank me panty

Stop by our home for your complimentary Spank Me panty. Each pair comes with a dozen of my best. Stock up for the holidays.

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From No Pants Day. So why does this have to be just one day a year? I would like to meet some of these women, but I am not close to NYC. Cover up 364 days a year, but one day what the heck I am going to work in my panties.


Not a uncommon thing to see at a party. Women readily display at parties, but are much more modest at other public venues. Or are they? When we went to parties, everyone was well dressed, not like the slob on the right. Heck, no one would have worn a jeans skirt except for the drive home. Times have changed.


We will close with a picture of Julie of the UK. Love her hose.

Total Rip Off

The most popular post we have done is a rant that has no meaningful content. Gee, that sounds like a lot of our posts. It gets hits because I tagged it Spanking Pictures. It has one picture of the terminally cute Rosaleen.

This morning I noticed the title Spanking Pictures on a Blog Roll and there was Rosaleen and the words in the first sentence sounded familiar.

Yep, someone ripped off the entire post. Well, they did not get much.

The original, the rip-off.


I was chatting with this lass the other day.


Her husband works on the other side of the country and he only gets home once a month. I asked her if this was the week he was due home and she said she had just picked him up at the airport. I replied “WFT are you doing on the computer” She said he was in the shower. I asked why she was not in the shower with him. It went on like that and she said “You are really bossy, I like that”. She nailed me. Both Bacall and I are bossy, but we still like to get our bottoms toasted.

And we want to paddled just like we like to be paddled. I wrote a long piece a few weeks back detailing how I like it. It does not leave much room for experimentation. I want what I want when I want it. That goes double for Bacall. You would never suspect we are into spanking as we don’t have a submissive bone between the two of us. We fake a little submission when we play. And that my dear readers is why this blog is unique. It’s the only one with players like us. Just call us the odd folks.


Paddling In Space

Zero gravity sex is on the short list for a lot of folks. Couples will start joining the 100 mile high club in the next decade. Perhaps it would be the perfect ending to a dinner date. Pretty sure we will not be joining the club, since we don’t have a half-million for the tickets.

I wonder how paddling in space would work? If the recipient was not bound or holding on, it could be like on The Honeymooner’s “Bang, Zoom, to the moon Alice, to the moon”.


Hope you had a good week and will have a better weekend. Still un-paddled here. She is at PT this morning and will come back sore from having her paw bent this way and that. Maybe for Christmas? Meanwhile, I think I am going to look for a swinging door to swat me.


We have participated in LOL seven times now. I was never sure why. Went along to get along I suppose. Do we love our lurkers? In a word no. We don’t dislike them either. Blogs are most fun when they are interactive. There are precious few spanking blogs that have any degree of being interactive. I think the DD blogs as a group get more of that.
I sure don’t make many comments. Bacall about never. She does not even have a kink ID. If I think the content on a blog is something unique, or it just hits me in a way that makes me want to comment, I do. Comments here are seldom acknowledged. You say you like what you read/saw, I appreciate it but I don’t feel the need to say thanks for thanking us. That’s like playing the Goodnight game at the front door.
If you find anything of interest here in our small niche blog – great. If you want to dialog we are always open to doing just that. Via comments or email. Our kink email is
Have a great rest of the week. Bacall is over her illness and I feel better today.