In the News

Our daily newspaper includes a weekly summary of the local criminal court cases, and this one caught my eye. "Man Strips, Uses Belt" was the headline. A local cab driver bore the brunt of a drunken rage as an intoxicated man stripped off his clothes and beat the cab with his belt.

It seems that a taxi driver was sitting in his cab at around 1 am when a group of intoxicated young men surrounded the vehicle. The taxi driver was unable to drive away and summoned police on his phone. One of the men took off his clothes and began whacking the cab with his belt. After they decided that the vehicle had been sufficiently punished and had learned its lesson, the group left the scene. Police apprehended the belt-swinging suspects a few blocks away.

That cabbie had a good story to tell his wife when he got home. Perhaps he even re-enacted it for her benefit.

From the Top Shelf - Ellen's Story

Ellen's Story is the autobiographical tale of a young woman living in rural England in the early part of the 20th century. The anonymous author brings the simple people to life in a farming community where impromptu spankings were quite common. In this excerpt, Ellen recalls an incident that happened one summer, long ago.

Haymaking was a time when everyone in the village turned out to lend a hand. Work began as soon as it grew light, when the sound of the old horse-drawn mowing machines could be heard clickety-clacking up and down the fields, chopping down the long grass and scattering in their wake the buttercups, poppies and moon-daisies that were just coming into flower.

The harvesters worked like Trojans until early evening, cursing and sweating beneath the blazing sun. Then, when it got to six o 'clock, everyone would gaze hungrily towards the distant farmhouse, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Betsy Partridge, a plump rosy-apple-cheeked girl in her early twenties. She was the Bailey's servant-girl, and her job was to fetch the food which she and her mistress had prepared for the famished farm workers; bread and butter, thick slices of home-cured ham, cheese, cakes and gallons and gallons of tea.

...I remember being there in the hayfields one sultry July at around teatime when the back-breaking work had finally ground to a halt and everyone was hot, thirsty and ravenous. Twenty minutes went by and still no Betsy. The men began to grumble loudly and one or two - 'Little' John Witcombe, a hulking young ploughman, included - began taking long cooling draughts from a large stone jar of farmhouse cider which they kept in the shade of the hedge and which was an accepted part of payment for their services.

At long last Betsy came into sight, staggering under the weight of the heavy basket which was laden to the brim with provender.

"What time of the day do ye call this, Betsy, ye great lazy trollop!" cried Bob Pritchard, slapping her so hard on her bottom that the basket slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground.

"Now see what ye've made me do, you cheeky devil!" Betsy exclaimed combatively, squaring up to Bob, all set to give as good as she got.

Then Little John Witcombe stepped forward, rubbing his hands in glee, his grey eyes flashing. He was spoiling for a tussle with Betsy, especially with a bellyful of cider in him. "I reckon what 'er needs is 'er bottom warming good and proper to teach 'er to get 'ere on time!" he chortled, making a sudden grab for her.

Betsy shrieked with excitement and backed away, but he was too quick for her. Frog-marching her over to an old wooden bench by the hedge, he pushed the strapping wench down across his brawny lap, whipped up the back of her dress, likewise her red flannel petticoats, and, much to the amused interest of the general assembly, began belabouring her ample bottom, tightly encased in thin cotton drawers. The men uttered loud whoops of delight and the few women remaining in the fields (most had gone home with their children to prepare supper) either sniggered knowingly or else tut-tutted and clicked their tongues, pretending to be shocked by such abandoned behaviour.

Betsy received a hearty spanking on that well-fleshed posterior of hers. Little John probably didn't know his own strength, for had big bulging biceps, and hands like great slabs of meat. While Betsy roared, screamed and flailed her sturdy legs in protest, he continued with boundless enthusiasm for a good five minutes more to give the plump servant-girl the bottom-tanning of her life. I watched the whole unseemly performance, spellbound. I noted, with gloating delight, how Betsy's thinly clad buttocks twitched convulsively and in a very vulgar manner whenever Little John's hand came walloping down on them.

Betsy Partridge was a powerfully built girl but she was no match for Little John. When finally he took pity on her madly squirming rear, desisted from lambasting it, and pushed her off his lap with one last resounding 'SMACK!' across the seat of her drawers, a prodigious change had come over her. She was no longer the saucy, provocative hoyden of a few minutes before. Grimacing with pain at the raging fire Little John had lit in her bottom, Betsy tried to laugh it off and pretend it was all a joke - but I saw her eyeing Little John somewhat mistily as if on the verge of tears...and it was a look of new found respect too, signifying that at last she'd found a man who would put up with no nonsense from her.

He patted his lap as if to say, 'Let's be friends now' and, almost shyly I thought, she allowed him to sit her on his knee, wincing a little when her tender bottom touched the rough fabric of his working breeches. Then, flinging his sun-burnt arms around her waist, he planted a great smacking kiss on her lips, which she returned with equal fervour.

Late in the autumn, Little John and Betsy were married. Under the firm but loving yoke of his domination, Betsy became a different woman. She never as much looked at another man again and, I'm sure, stayed faithful to Little John to her dying day.

Incidents like these were a common, everyday occurrence when I was a young girl, growing up in the wilds of West Shropshire. Is it any wonder that I nursed the deep-rooted conviction that girls were especially created to have their bottoms whipped ....or that men were created to do the whipping?

I'd say it was a bit of both, wouldn't you?

You Completed the Caption

Feats of daring inspire your very best captions! here's what you wrote:


Simon: Simon's Mistress had a slightly different conception of cornertime to most. And he'd also been told that if he misbehaved again he would do it in the nude.

Katie: "For crying out loud, I've spanked her so many times for the same thing that I've lost my mind! I need a little balance in my life!"

Six of the best: "Jumping Johosephat and fly me to the moon, if that is not Hermione's voluptuous bare bottom I see before me. And most spankable at that." said 'Six of the Best' in delight.

Tex: "EEEEEeekkk!!!... a MOUSE!"

Bonnie: When Fred's psychologist discussed the need to achieve a healthy work-life balance, he completely missed the point.

Sunnygirl: NUTS, is the only thing that comes to mind.

*Bonnie*: "Hey hold my beer and watch this!"

Tim: When Tim had been told his punishment would involve him not being able to sit down for a week he had envisaged something quite different...

Ronnie: "I wonder if this is what she meant when she said I need to get some balance in my life."

Ricky: I'll build a chairway to Paradise,
with a new chair every day.

With apologies to the brothers Gershwin, to wit:
"I'll build a stairway to Paradise,
with a new step, evr'y day!"

(I know, I know . . . groan!)

Sir Wendel Jones: Aw crap! Forgot to close the car windows.

Dr. Ken: "'Scuse me, Occifer, but are you sure this is a perfectly legal field sobriety test?"

GaryNTboy: Barney the birdman of Broadway was suffering more bouts of amnesia. This time he'd completely forgotten to strap on his wings.

Hermione: "Bend over that chair" took on a whole new meaning for Paul during his first encounter with Mistress May.


Well, that was invigorating! Have a safe, sane and consensual week, everyone.

Complete the Caption

I can't imagine what this guy is doing up there. Maybe you have some ideas.

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

Friday FAIL

Today's collection of wardrobe failures will leave you scratching your head and wondering, "Why?"

Standing in a window with ripped jeans isn't a smart way to get your 15 minutes of fame.

He must have been holding his copy of Getting Dressed for Dummies upside down.

A rear with a view. Unfortunately, it isn't the view we want to see.

Jeans with a thong attached? No chance of an accidental glimpse of  those cheeks.

This guy isn't taking any chances. A second pair of jeans under the first pair ensures that his lovely bottom will remain hidden, in spite of fashion.

Just in time for Father's Day

Bottoms up! These clever glasses are available at Home Outfitters. Hurry in, while supplies last!


While we're on the subject of that ever-popular beverage, how about a glass that matched Dad's iPad?

Wednesday WIN

"The book that shall not be named" hasn't gone away yet. In fact, it's very much alive over at Cows, a family-owned ice cream business in Prince Edward Island. Their website sells a variety of cow-themed t-shirts, mugs, calendars and other novelties, and this one is a big seller.

Take a look at the closeup of the picture on the front and groan with me.

Pretty cute, huh? Thank you to regular reader A. Lurker for sending me the pictures.