The Other Day

We don’t write about all our spankings, because they are mostly all the same. They are always just the way we like them, but the descriptions would be boring to you if we posted about all of them.

The other day, Bacall came into the den and announced they she had gotten out some paddles, made up the bed, and for me to join her the bedroom where she would put some heat in my bottom.

I declined. I just was not in the mood. She accepted that I soon heard the sound of the paddles being put away. Or so I thought. She came back in the den and told me the sounds I would be hearing would be her paddling herself. It turned out she had put my paddles away and gotten hers out.

I suggested she paddle herself in the den so I could watch. And so she did. It went on for sometime before I suggested that I could be of some assistance to her.

She was ready and we both went to the bedroom, she went over my lap and I paddled her for a good long time while massaging her back.

It was a good stress relief for both of us.

Yes! Yes! Please.. Now!

I am glad I have several posts in the can ready to go, as my computer went south last weekend. I had a month old backup that I used to restore, but it seems I have an unknown hardware problem. I ordered a new laptop. Gee Macs are getting expensive! And I sold my Apple shares three years ago, thinking they could not go much higher. Oh well, it was a 2012 model, so it was getting long in tooth.


I want to call attention to a recent hot post by Ronnie for two reasons. First, I thought it special as she related a session where she had the “ultimate” orgasm. The kind Bacall says melt her bones. I suspect most that read her blog have no experience with such an orgasm, especially from a spanking.

Give a read now.  Yes! Yes! Please.. Now!

They don’t happen often around here. Bacall lets me know she is experiencing a bit of twitching and will need a spanking the next day. She needs a day to get her mind into a submissive state. I take care to remind her a few times of her upcoming spanking. It’s both a tease and to let her know I have not forgotten.

We both take care to dress for the occasion. She dons sexy lingerie and I wear slacks and a collared shirt. I get out all the bondage equipment, blindfold, cuffs, ankle spreader, floggers, crop and a few paddles, both leather and wood.

All that is the setting, what she needs from me is the assurance that she is giving up control, she being taken and the right words at certain times to convince her that she must take her licks without complaint. Become completely submissive.

If it works out, she gets her relief and her bones melt. I wish I could experience it. It must be fantastic.

The second reason I wanted to call attention to her post is that she is one of the very few spanking bloggers that will share something personal about their lives. Most blogs are nothing more than posting pictures collected from the web. Well I actually, do that as well. But we have shared some personal things with our readers over the years.

In the early days of the web, sharing and polite discussions were common especially on Use Groups and The Well. Most people used their real names. Hundreds of people know our real names and we have met each other. That was then and now we are all in hiding. and I don’t think that is for the best.


Face Masks

On a blog where OBB is decidedly not welcome, there was a bit of a discussion about wearing masks during play. I say not much discussion as no one had done it. If you eliminate blindfolds Bacall wears during play we have not either.

Here’s Bacall at a Halloween party dressed as a Madam in mask.

Being a real Madam has always been a fantasy of hers.

Spanking Down Through The Ages

The Goddess Isis

I pieced this together from several sources. None indicated that knew the original source.

She started it. Isis. The root of all spanking was actually a sacred duty. Egyptian slaves had their buttocks whipped in temples to honor Isis, the goddess of motherhood and fertility.

The Greeks and Romans adopted the habit and held spanking parties to promote fertility. Documented incidents date back to Ancient Greece. Then it was customary for childless women to visit the temple of Juno in Athens, to be cured of sterility by the priests of Pan. The women had to lie face down on the temple floor and be whipped with a lash made of goat’s hide. The priests clearly were aware of the erotic powers of the whip, but history does not tell us whether or not the resultant children were sired by the whip-wielding priests.

The Roman story-teller, Virgil, in about 50 BC, describes the feast of Lupercalia, where naked men danced in the streets beating every woman they came across. The Romans also had a fascinating tradition for ensuring the fertility of brides to be. The girl was placed across the knees of the ‘sponsor’, then the girl’s bottom was bared and strapped to the accompaniment of clashing cymbals.

The theory that whipping would make barren women fertile lasted until the sixteenth century. The then wife of the heir to the throne of France was childless. It was decided that a spanking would be administered daily to the princess. After a long period, she gave birth; causality not proven!

Erotic whipping became common in the French court of that period. Ladies’ bottoms were frequently whipped in public! The church even defined different types of whipping; superior was whipping on the back, while inferior referred to the naked buttocks. In due course, only the latter was recommended as it was less likely to result in permanent injury.

Priests used whipping as a means of expiating sins. It was common for women, after confession, to retire to a priest’s room and have her bare bottom birched while resting on a specially designed kneeler. Scandal inevitably resulted. A fifty-year-old Jesuit, Father Giraud, wound up in court for his whipping the very pretty twenty-five-year-old Catherine Cadiere. To facilitate his pleasure, he even put her in a nunnery for unlimited access!

Bacall’s Kneeling Bench

The most famous whipper of the pretty bottoms of female penitents was Father Cornelius Adriason. The punishment came to be known as the Cornelian Discipline, such was his fame for flogging female bottoms. Following many a scandal, Pope Adrian the First finally ended or was supposed to end
such practices.

Aristocrats enjoyed the sound of a hand on the rump as much as the clergy. For instance, Catherine de Medici was notorious for her delight in seeing female bottoms being smacked. At a banquet in 1577, she made the most beautiful and noble ladies of the court serve half-naked. She personally spanked them on the buttocks with the palm of her hand, with great blows and fairly rough handling.

Princess Elizabeth’s relationship with Thomas Seymour bordered on sexual abuse. I mean the guy would go into Elizabeth’s room half-naked every morning chasing her around the bed and spanking her butt. Oh, and Elizabeth was 14 at the time.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau In between writing political tracts, the 18th-century philosopher found time to become an erotic trailblazer, documenting a love of spanking in his autobiography, The Confessions. The fascination started back in his schooldays, apparently.

In America in 1936, Mrs. Dorothy Spencer published her famous Spencer Spanking Plan. This was meant to result in marital bliss. It clearly defined when a man could spank his wife, and when a woman could whip her husband. Very detailed, it required that the rules and regulations be observed to the letter. In particular, women were to be spanked, never whipped. One leather goods store sold 297 whips in one day just after it was published. Someone must have believed in it!

Devotees of the plan pointed out that the US divorce rate fell 37% in the three years that it was the rage. The plan gained a phenomenal amount of publicity, and clubs were even formed to discuss and promote it. The advertising pitch stated that spanking is never given in anger, rather in love. Amen to that! As late as the 1950’s, whips and paddles were a section in the New York Yellow Pages.

Britain, of course, remained true to the cause even at the most ludicrous times. In early 1940, with Hitler trying to pound the British into lonely submission, a major row broke out as a Dr. Kitching denounced the caning of teenage girls, causing a
major storm. The teaching profession defended the practice with enthusiasm, even for girls up to eighteen.

At the same time in America, spanking was the rage, as a proxy for erotica. Shapely female bottoms could be described during spanking while in any other context would have been taboo. And remember all those figure-hugging skirts, especially at the office; bottoms were in! Thrilling Confessions carried a section of spanking letters from its first issue. Both the New York Daily News and the New York Enquirer ran substantial numbers of letters on spanking, but banned them when they twigged to their erotic content.

The leading romantic magazine, Your Romance, also published a large volume purporting to come from ladies, but minimal scrutiny reveals that most of them are male fantasies.

In 1974, the spanking colonel, John Brooks made headlines he sued the Sunday People for libel when they reported his spanking the delicious 21-year-old Sue Carr. The case ran for six days and knocked all other news off the headlines. In court, the colonel stated, “I think that spanking a girl’s bottom – if she is willing and likes it and enjoys it – is simply fun. Provided it is with her consent, it is nothing more notorious than the Italian habit of bottom-pinching.” What she seemed to object to most was that he poured whiskey over her bottom before he spanked it. (Hope it wasn’t a good malt; ed)  He won his case and was awarded one penny damages.

Ian Fleming Fleming’s spanking fetish was revealed in his wife Ann’s letters. She was pretty into it too: ‘I long to be whipped by you,’ she once wrote. Bond’s creator lived (and, it appears, loved) as hard as his fictional hero.

Jack Nicholson ‘Heeeeeeeere’s Johnny!’ Just imagine hearing that from a man bearing down on you with a paddle. Famously dubbed ‘Spanking Jack’ (a sobriquet that caught on in Hollywood) by a Playboy Playmate he thwacked with a ping-pong bat.

Borrowing The Paddle

In my grammar school, it was common for naughty boys to be sent across the hall to another classroom to borrow a paddle. This was done to maximize the humiliation. Your class already knew you were going to be paddled. Now you had to ask another teacher to borrow her paddle in front of her class doubling the number kids that knew you were going to be paddled.

The licks were delivered in the hall so everyone in the school knew someone was being paddled and two of the classrooms knew who it was.

A long time adult fantasy of mine would be to be sent to someone to borrow a paddle. A duplex home would be ideal. New neighbors move in next door and Bacall learns that they also engage in spanking. She suggests to our new neighbor that she send me over to introduce myself and ask to borrow her paddle.

Would the neighbor want a rent payment for the use of the paddle?

You know she would be witnessing my next paddling.

The best case would be that they are also switches and we all keep four bottoms glowing.

Book Burners

In the 1980s, when I was a young professor of physics and astronomy at Yale, deconstructionism was in vogue in the English Department. We in the science departments would scoff at the lack of objective intellectual standards in the humanities, epitomized by a movement that argued against the existence of objective truth itself, arguing that all such claims to knowledge were tainted by ideological biases due to race, sex or economic dominance.

It could never happen in the hard sciences, except perhaps under dictatorships, such as the Nazi condemnation of “Jewish” science, or the Stalinist campaign against genetics led by Trofim Lysenko, in which literally thousands of mainstream geneticists were dismissed in the effort to suppress any opposition to the prevailing political view of the state.

Or so we thought. In recent years, and especially since the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis, academic science leaders have adopted wholesale the language of dominance and oppression previously restricted to “cultural studies” journals to guide their disciplines, to censor dissenting views, to remove faculty from leadership positions if their research is claimed by opponents to support systemic oppression.

In June, the American Physical Society (APS), which represents 55,000 physicists world-wide, endorsed a “strike for black lives” to “shut down STEM” in academia. It closed its office—not to protest police violence or racism, but to “commit to eradicating systemic racism and discrimination, especially in academia, and science,” stating that “physics is not an exception” to the suffocating effects of racism in American life.

While racism in our society is real, no data were given to support this claim of systemic racism in science, and I have argued elsewhere that there are strong reasons to think that this claim is spurious. The APS wasn’t alone. National laboratories and university science departments joined the one-day strike. The pre-eminent science journal Nature, which disseminates what it views as the most important science stories in a daily newsletter, featured an article titled “Ten simple rules for building an anti-racist lab.”

At Michigan State University, one group used the strike to organize and coordinate a protest campaign against the vice president for research, physicist Stephen Hsu, whose crimes included doing research on computational genomics to study how human genetics might be related to cognitive ability—something that to the protesters smacked of eugenics. He was also accused of supporting psychology research at MSU on the statistics of police shootings that didn’t clearly support claims of racial bias. Within a week, the university president forced Mr. Hsu to resign.

At Princeton on July 4, more than 100 faculty members, including more than 40 in the sciences and engineering, wrote an open letter to the president with proposals to “disrupt the institutional hierarchies perpetuating inequity and harm.” This included the creation of a policing committee that would “oversee the investigation and discipline of racist behaviors, incidents, research, and publication on the part of faculty,” with “racism” to be defined by another faculty committee, and requiring every department, including math, physics, astronomy and other sciences, to establish a senior thesis prize for research that somehow “is actively anti-racist or expands our sense of how race is constructed in our society.”

When scientific and academic leaders give official imprimatur to unverified claims, or issue blanket condemnations of peer-reviewed research or whole fields that may be unpopular, it has ripple effects throughout the field. It can shut down discussion and result in self-censorship.

Shortly after Mr. Hsu resigned, the authors of the psychology study asked the Proceedings of the National Academy of Science to retract their paper—not because of flaws in their statistical analysis, but because of what they called the “misuse” of their article by journalists who argued that it countered the prevailing view that police forces are racist. They later amended the retraction request to claim, conveniently, that it “had nothing to do with political considerations, ‘mob’ pressure, threats to the authors, or distaste for the political views of people citing the work approvingly.” As a cosmologist, I can say that if we retracted all the papers in cosmology that we felt were misrepresented by journalists, there would hardly be any papers left.

Actual censorship is also occurring. A distinguished chemist in Canada argued in favor of merit-based science and against hiring practices that aim at equality of outcome if they result “in discrimination against the most meritorious candidates.” For that he was censured by his university provost, his published review article on research and education in organic synthesis was removed from the journal website, and two editors involved in accepting it were suspended.

An Italian scientist at the international laboratory CERN, home to the Large Hadron Collider, had his scheduled seminar on statistical imbalances between the sexes in physics canceled and his position at the laboratory revoked because he suggested that apparent inequities might not be directly due to sexism. A group of linguistics students initiated a public petition asking that the psychologist Steven Pinker be stripped of his position as a Linguistics Society of America Fellow for such offenses as tweeting a New York Times article they disapproved of.

As ideological encroachment corrupts scientific institutions, one might wonder why more scientists aren’t defending the hard sciences from this intrusion. The answer is that many academics are afraid, and for good reason. They are hesitant to disagree with scientific leadership groups, and they see what has happened to scientists who do. They see how researchers lose funding if they can’t justify how their research programs will explicitly combat claimed systemic racism or sexism, a requirement for scientific proposals now being applied by granting agencies.

Whenever science has been corrupted by falling prey to ideology, scientific progress suffers. This was the case in Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union—and in the U.S. in the 19th century when racist views dominated biology, and during the McCarthy era, when prominent scientists like Robert Oppenheimer were ostracized for their political views. To stem the slide, scientific leaders, scientific societies and senior academic administrators must publicly stand up not only for free speech in science, but for quality, independent of political doctrine and divorced from the demands of political factions.

Mr. Krauss a theoretical physicist, is president of the Origins Project Foundation and author of “The Physics of Climate Change,” forthcoming in January.


To date, voters have heard almost nothing about the candidates’ differences. That began to change this week, with a contrast of the sort that could redefine this race. On Tuesday Mr. Biden released his $2 trillion climate-change plan—one of the few times he’s produced a detail on anything. It is radical—no surprise, since it is the product of a task force co-chaired by Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Mr. Biden vows to outlaw all use of coal and natural gas to generate electricity within 15 years. He’d ban oil and gas production on federal land and offshore. He’d drive to “zero emissions” cars. He’d apply “aggressive” new “appliance- and building efficiency standards.” He’d create a new “Environmental and Climate Justice Division” of the Justice Department to mete out “jail time” to corporate officials whose businesses “continue to pollute” communities.

If you need a new dishwasher, there is no better time to buy.


Learning……..The Hard Way!

Found this one in the vault. It was written by a friend of mine a few centuries ago. We enjoyed paddling each other for several years.

With downcast eyes he stood there. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floors as she went over and then dragged back the plain oak chair. Although armless, it was a sturdy chair that would serve her purpose well. She placed the chair in front of the desk near the center of the room. She looked at him for his remorse in what he had done. All he wanted was for this to be over, but she seemed intent on taking her time.

“Bend over the chair, placing your palms flat on the seat.”

“Please don’t do this,” his eyes pleaded with hers. She smiled wordlessly at him and then told him motioned with her hand for him to bend over.

He placed his left hand firmly on the chair and then his right hand. His bottom was high in the air.

She responded with a “Good Boy” as he heard her footsteps once again. She was walking over to the desk and opening a drawer. He tried to twist his head to see what she was doing but knew better than to get out of position.

She walked around in front of him and he gasped as he saw that she was holding the paddle. This wasn’t just any paddle… was the paddle that was saved for the naughtiest of deeds. Surely, what he had done couldn’t be worthy of receiving it. Across this paddle was written, “Learning……..The Hard Way!” He felt his knees go weak as he looked at the paddle. It seemed unnecessarily large. The wood was very dark and smooth. He wondered if the sheen of the paddle was due to some sort of varnish or from frequent use. There were numerous tiny holes drilled all over the paddle. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he realized that the purpose of the holes was to allow a harder stroke.

After gasping at the awesome instrument of discipline, he kept whispering to himself, “no, no, no” as if to ward off the punishment.

She placed her hand on the small of his back and pressed the flat board against his jean-clad bottom. He clenched his teeth as he waited for the first stinging swat. She paused and said, “My dear boy, this just won’t do. Stand up and take down those pants. “No, please, anything else but……..” Do as your told! She interrupted him. He reluctantly stood back up and reached to remove his belt. Quickly, she added to the command. He undid the belt and unbuttoned his jeans. The zipper came down and he reached his thumbs inside the waistband of his jeans and pulled them down. They fell down to his knees. His underwear slipped a little and he reached to pull them back up.

“Move your hands, young man.” He complied. “When I told you to pull down your pants I meant, your briefs too.” She slipped her hand inside the band and slowly pulled them down. The briefs fall down his legs until they join the jeans at his knees.

“Now back in position!” He bent back over the dark wooden chair knowing that any defiance would just make it worse. Her foot kicked at his ankles lightly, indicating to move his legs more widely apart. She knew this vulnerable stance would heighten his punishment.

She lifted up his shirttail and carefully folded it back. She pressed the paddle against his bare bottom and rubbed it across his skin. “Feel the paddle against your skin. It feels cool to you now, but it a minute I am going to use it to set your bottom on fire.”

And with that, she raised it high behind her and brought it down on his left cheek hard! WHACK!!!!!! His head jerked up and he arched his back, just in time to receive another WHACK on his right cheek.

“I expect you to show up ON time (WHACK), do all your work (SMACK) and not be such a smart ass (WHACK)”. The next few spanks are hard and fast and are laid down over the middle part of his bottom. His legs began to kick up.

“I think it’s been far too long since you’ve had your bottom warmed properly!”

He mumbled something under his breath and she brought down the paddle with a thundering WHACK against his bare backside. “I don’t think I heard your response but I am sure it wasn’t acceptable.” She brought the dark wood down against his already burning bottom. WHACK!!!!!

“I expect a proper answer when I ask you a question. I will repeat it for your benefit. I think it’s been way too long since you’ve had your bottom fired up like this for your naughty behavior. Don’t you agree?” She punctuated her question with a burning swat. WHACK!!!!!

“YES, ma’am.”

“Much better.” She continued the flurry of swats until she was satisfied. “You may stand now and pull up your underwear and jeans. He took a deep breath and did as he was told.

Once his belt was pulled tight and fastened, he turned to face her. “I expect to see you in my office again at the same time next week. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. I am glad we understand each other. I will not have you pulling any sort of smart ass antics around here. I am in charge and will not tolerate such behavior. Now, you are free to go.”

It was only then did he really notice her. A no-nonsense businesswoman who enjoyed her power. She dressed in a short blue skirt with a white blouse and short heels. She was filled with piss and vinegar and he knew he had met his match. But somehow he also knew this summer internship was going to be literally…………a pain in the ass!!

“Learning………the Hard Way” – Part II

The weekend was over and he was facing the Monday morning meeting- something he dreaded. He knew that he should have attended summer school instead of taking this internship. Somehow he thought working under a woman would be easy. He was beginning to learn that he was wrong.

Ms. Masters reminded him of a teacher he had in school. His mind wandered back to his earlier school days…… He was always in trouble then. Always told he was misbehaving. Serious infractions were punished by seven strokes of the paddle on his bottom at the principal’s office. His were sometimes bare-bottomed. Made to bend over and grab his ankles while the paddle was applied. The seven strokes were delivered at about five-second intervals………

The others started gathering in the Board Room, and she walked in last, closing the door behind her. He tried not to look at her. He had defied her authority on several occasions, and each time she threatened him to kick him out of the program.

“This will be quick people,” she started off, “we have a busy week ahead and I have a folder here for each of you. It contains your assignments for the week. Each day is outlined as to your specific responsibility. I expect these to be carried out as written.” She walked around to each person and handed them the folder. Most just quickly opened them up and then shut them again; obviously to be digested lately. “Does anyone have any questions?”

He did not get a folder. “Uh, yes, Ms. Masters, where are my assignments?”

“Oh, yes, Don, I almost forget. You have the best assignment of all. How could I have forgotten!!” She pulled out a red folder from the stack of blue ones and handed it to him. “Read it carefully, mister, no more mistakes will be tolerated!” He felt embarrassed by being pointed out like that. The others just chuckled under their breath. He had gained quite a reputation in the few short weeks that he had worked at Applied Training Co.

After the meeting, he found himself a quiet cubicle and sat down to review his assignments. There was only one piece of paper in the folder that said, “MONDAY” and underneath it said…..”Your assignment for today is to go to the janitorial closet and find a box that is marked ‘Arianna Masters’. You will choose carefully from the contents of this box and do what’s called for. You will then take the rest of the contents down to my car and then report to MY office at exactly 4:45pm. No mistakes, no tardiness, no breaks, will be permitted.” That was it. There were no further instructions. That was it? They were gonna pay him for today to just pretty much goof off?? Well, might as well get started………

He wandered down the hallway. He must have passed the janitorial closet a million times before, but for some reason, today was having trouble finding it. Finally, after searching for a while, he found it. He twisted the handle and it opened the door. The room was little but easily walked into. He felt around in the dark for a light or a light switch. He felt a chain hanging in the middle of the room, and he yanked it. The light permeated the musky room. His eyes adjusted to the light and he looked around. There it was in the corner……a box marked in big red letters – ARIANNA MASTERS. “Thank Goodness,” he thought. Maybe I will make a late lunch after all.

He pulled the box to the middle of the floor and opened it. He adjusted his eyes and blinked several times to clear his clouded vision. Inside were all sorts of panties. Lacy bright white satin panties, yellow full cotton briefs, pink nylon lycra bikinis and light blue sheer lace thongs.

He thought he had the wrong box, but there were no others in the room. His heart sank. She can’t mean for me to put on a pair of these!! The note pinned to the top of the pantie pile said, “Your choice!! One pair is all you will need to wear!!” He couldn’t believe this was happening. He would be too embarrassed to wear a pair of ladies’ panties all day……even until he went to her office at the end of the day. And yes, he would have to show up in her office with them on!! He started to feel warm and didn’t know what to do.

“SHIT! Well, no one will know I suppose. No one but her.” He looked through the box and choose the white satin panties. Quickly he pulled them up, savoring the silky feel around his penis and balls. He felt all sexy in them. He began to think that the pantie punishment wasn’t nearly as bad as he had imagined.

He pulled up his pants over the panties and picked up the box and left. Her car was on the other side of the parking lot and it took him way too long to find it. The backseat door was open and he laid the box on top of the leather. The weather was warm and he could feel the satin rubbing and sticking to his bottom. He looked at his watch. He needed to hurry if he was to meet Ms. Masters in her office……..

He walked through the door that led into the outer office. He glided passed her assistant. Looking over her horn-rimmed glasses, she said “You should consider yourself lucky. She deserves better young man…….. and she’s brought you here to be paddled for all your bad assignments.” What?? Did everyone know why he was there? He swallowed hard. Did that mean she knew about the panties? How humiliating.

He looked at his watch 5:05. The door to HER private office was locked. Maybe something had happened, maybe she wouldn’t come and he could leave. He waited around another five minutes and then walked to the door to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going, Don? Follow me, Mister.”

He followed behind her, which he didn’t mind. He loved to watch her sway her hips and adored her bottom in the short skirts she wore. He stepped into her office and she locked the door behind them.

Her office was immense. There was a sofa and even a small bed for her to lie down on when the late-night hours turned into the wee hours of the morning.

“Impatient, thing aren’t you? That’s exactly what I hear. I also hear you’re out of control again, and I see it’s time for a little reminder before EVERYONE has a problem with your work.”

His only answer was a low-throated moan as he tensed waiting for the inevitable. Wasting no time and ignoring the silent pleas in his eyes, she told him to bend over and grab his knees. She walked over to the desk and opened up the drawer and pulled out a solid oak paddle. The kind that principals use for naughty young boys. He thought that he would never have to see one again. It’s been a long time since his bottom had been kissed by such a paddle.

She walked back around and positioned herself at his side making sure that she was in the best position to swing the paddle so that it makes contact only with his lower cheeks. She took a few practice swings, checking the paddle just before contact. Don grimaced, as he expected to feel a sting each time, but she just rubbed his ass with the paddle. When she was finally ready, she took the paddle back and swung it with quite some vigor making sure to swing through contact. Don jumped. Ms. Masters continued with the paddling with about two or three seconds between licks. After about ten licks, she asked him if she is being too hard on him. He answered truthfully, but nonetheless, she continued until 20 or so licks had been applied.

She placed the paddle in front of him and told him to remove his pants. He undid the button and zipper on his form-fitting trousers. He tugged a little but manages to pull them down and then drops them to his knees. He remembers now that he is wearing the panties and feels a flush of embarrassment fall across his face.

She grins, “The satin white panties huh? Do you like them?…………… You must or you wouldn’t have chosen to wear them.” She walked around him admiring the bottom that was in front of her clad in a pair of lady’s panties.

A bottom that was quickly turning red……but not as red as it was to become. She rubbed her hand over the panties, feeling the smoothness in her palm.

“Pull down your panties,” she ordered almost sweetly. “Yes, Ma’am”. He put his thumbs inside the elastic band and started to wiggle out the panties. They were a little tight and he had to maneuver his dick and balls through them. He pulled them down to around his knees. The whole incident started to get him aroused.

“Turn around then.” When he did his penis was at full erection.

“What?” You’re obviously not properly respectful. Turn back around I’m going to paddle you until that thing goes down. You know how to make it go down?”


“Don’t get sassy with me Mister. Just take care of it.” And she handed him a bottle of baby oil that she had in the drawer of her desk. She watched as he drizzled it over his penis.

“Now Start”, she said. She began to paddle him with a stroke about every five seconds as he began to rub and jerk his dick. He managed to look over his shoulder and she was alternately watching his ass turn bright red and his efforts upfront.

She then startled him by ordering him to take off the pants and panties and get up on the bed. “On all fours mister. Hands and knees on the bed and bottom in the air.” He did as he was told. Too stunned by the whole incident not to comply.

She pulled out a new paddle while he was getting in position on the bed.

“You haven’t taken care of that erection, so I will take care of it for you.” She reaches around him and grabs his dick in one hand and holds the red paddle in the other. She starts up again with his paddling. Slowly at first, and then increasing the intensity as she feels him close to cuming. Her hand slowly moves up and down the shaft and head of his penis. His aroused state intensifies and she increases the flurry of swats until his juices flow across the bed in streams.

His final moan indicates to her that he is spent and he falls to the bed. She places the paddle down on the floor beside the bed and sits next to him. She places a hand on his head and strokes his hair. He turns his face towards her as she says, “You know it was for your own good.” A simple yes was all he could manage and she sat with him and comforted him. They both knew that these were lessons that he would remember for a long time to come………….

Pegging – Further Thoughts

After the Pegging post, I thought gee judging by pictures and stories on the web there sure are a lot of women that seem damn happy to peg their significant other. They are not at all ashamed to show their smiling faces with a dildo attached to them.

I then reflected on how many pictures and stories I have encountered about women enjoying spanking their mate. When was the last time you saw one? Not counting models, how many have you seen where the woman was obviously enjoying herself? A handful I imagine.

Both pegging and spanking require some level of dominance by the pegger/spanker, even when it’s just for fun, sex. But, it seems that women are cool with being dominant for pegging, but not for spanking.

In real-world F/M spanking, the woman is almost certainly spanking because the man wants it, not because she gets enjoyment from it. Commonly the man has conned her into using spanking to resolve conflicts – conflicts that the man repeatedly institutes. I have a hard time thinking that any woman is so dense that she buys into believing that spanking him week after week for years for the same offense is effective.

Let’s face it, most women are not wired to spank men. Call it DNA or culture. They are much more receptive to being spanked than giving a spanking.

I would love to hear your POV on why women see pegging and spanking differently.

Here are four pictures from my collection that I believe are not models or pros but seem enthusiastic about spanking. Only four and I would not bet they authentic.



The Five Stages Of Trump Derangement Syndrome

The Saturday posts of political content began thanks to Erica. On the day after Trump’s election, she went off on him because of his orange hair. Today’s post expands on TDS.

It’s been going around for some time and now appears to be in danger of spreading widely. I refer not to Covid-19, but to Donald-20, or, to use its pseudoscientific name, Trump Derangement Syndrome. Research has shown that TDS appears in five stages, each of advanced intensity. Perhaps there will be some value, if not a promise of diminishment, in setting these parameters out for public awareness.

The cause of TDS is clear enough—Donald Trump, his looks, his manner, his nearly every utterance. So far there is no known cure. Ventilators are unnecessary in TDS, for people who progress beyond the first stage tend to vent quite vigorously on their own.

In Stage One, the afflicted has decided before 2016 that Donald Trump has serious, even strenuous, character flaws that disqualified him for the presidency or any other public office. Voting for him was never possible. For Stage One sufferers, a second Trump term could have effects that are frightening to contemplate. Stage One patients view the Trump presidency as a blotch in American political history.

In Stage Two, one dwells upon Donald Trump’s looks. One has put a fair amount of thought into the architecture of his hairdo, wondering how much time each morning he must devote to its re-creation and whether he employs a stylist to help. One notices that the length of his neckties covers up his ample alderman as does the way he sits, leaning forward in his chair. Photographs of him in golf apparel are studied for what they reveal of the impressive breadth of his backside. The smugness of his smile is registered, the smallness of his hands always noted.

In Stage Three, one is ready to believe anything—anything pernicious or salacious, that is—about Mr. Trump and to reject anything he has done that might be good for the country, if only because he is the man who did it. One is ready to believe that he diets exclusively on the meat of endangered species, that there is something weirdly illicit about his relationship with Vladimir Putin, that he secretly admires Kim Jong Un’s wardrobe. For Stage Three sufferers, nothing about President Trump can be totally disbelieved.

As for those of Donald Trump’s policies that, coming from another president, one might be pleased about, these are rejected in Stage Three derangement syndrome. Israel shouldn’t count on the allegiance of Mr. Trump. The revival of the American economy, before Covid-19 sent it cratering, was owing not to Mr. Trump but to President Obama. The lowering of black and Hispanic unemployment figures under the Trump administration is scarcely to be believed. Nor is the utility of his legislation reforming prisons or of his creating opportunity areas in black neighborhoods, if only because it happened under Donald Trump, who is, patients say, clearly a racist. In Stage Three derangement syndrome, if Donald Trump is for any specific policy, one is automatically against it; if he is against it, one is for it. Case not so much closed as never really opened.

In Stage Four, one imputes evil to Mr. Trump. One believes he became president of the United States to boost his hotel business. One is certain he has it in mind to create a dynasty, with Don Jr. and Jared Kushner waiting to succeed him as president-emperor. Even should Mr. Trump lose the forthcoming presidential election, Stage Four derangement syndrome sufferers believe he is unlikely to depart the White House willingly and is not beyond using military force to keep himself in power. Mussolini, Hitler, Stalin, Mao—for people with Stage Four derangement syndrome, Donald Trump is clearly a figure in their line.

In Stage Five TDS, one is weighted down with all the symptoms of the first four stages, but brings to them an added choleric intensity of anger. At the mere mention of the name Donald Trump, unprintable expletives issue out of one’s foam-flecked lips. One’s skin flushes, veins appear on one’s forehead, one’s hands tremble, one loses all powers of speech.

Still, the nice thing about Trump Derangement Syndrome is that to prevent catching or spreading it, you don’t have to wear a mask or always be washing your hands or practice social distancing. All you have to do is turn off your television set.

Mr. Epstein is author, most recently, of “Charm: The Elusive Enchantment.”

Edit – A reader sent the picture along with:

Democratic liberals with their heads up their asses. 
Or it could be called a “Liberal Shelter from Trump” 


Ad Hominem Attack

Even by Twitter standards, the response to Thursday’s two Supreme Court decisions on President Trump’s tax records was revealing. For much of the day, Clarence Thomas was “trending,” as they say, and not in a nice way.

The reason for the Twitter fury appears to be Justice Thomas’s dissents (along with those of Justice Samuel Alito) in Trump v. Vance and Trump v. Mazars. Both cases dealt with efforts—one by Manhattan’s district attorney, the other by Congress—to gain access to Mr. Trump’s personal tax and business records. (See nearby.)

Many critics limited themselves to expletives, but many featured an ugly focus on his race. “Clarence Thomas believes he’s still a slave, and he’s fine with it,” ran one. Another declared, “Uncle Tom was a real Clarence Thomas.”

Others focused on his interracial marriage. A self-described Ivy Leaguer cited Justice Thomas’s originalist legal principles to imply he’s a hypocrite because “the laws in 1776 did not allow a Black man to get an education, become a lawyer or marry a White woman.” One tweet that now seems to have been deleted along with the account was this: “Clarence Thomas—the one black life that doesn’t matter.”

People have the right to disagree vehemently with the Justice’s opinions, and we understand that Twitter is often a free-speech sewer. But these tweets reveal the sorry fact that many on the political left think racist attacks are fine as long as they’re levied against a black conservative who has the nerve to think for himself.


Joe goes for left-wing support

Hours after the Little Sisters of the Poor won—again—at the Supreme Court on Wednesday, Joe Biden pledged to fight like hell to roll back conscience protections for Catholic nuns and other religious employers who object to providing contraceptives.


Blatantly Fake News

The Washington Post went off the deep end describing Trump’s Fourth Of July speech as embracing Confederate Generals. That the only general he mentioned was George Washington made no difference. Courting a VP nomination Senator Duckworth piled on with the same claim. No friend of Trump, even the New York Times pushed back against the WaPo claims.


And I have not even mentioned the several major SCOTUS decisions of the week. One being in a mind-boggling twisting of the facts, Ginsburg and Sotomayor dissent and say the Creeks do not in fact have a reservation in Oklahoma. 


In my ever-increasing age, I find I am attracted to puppies, gals with their tounges out and now a new one – gals with freckles.

In my dating days, I would have wanted to date her. She looks like fun.

This one was submitted by a reader