Karen was hopeless. She had only been working at the office a week and already she made more mistakes in administration than any of the other staff had ever made in their entire careers. Miss Hazelmere was all for sacking the girl but paternal old Barrington wouldn’t hear of it. All he would say on the matter was, “she will learn.”

All very well for him to say, but it wasn’t him who had to phone 17 customers to explain variously why they had been sent the wrong invoices, received wrong packages and in some cases hadn’t received anything at all.

She will learn, was that it? So much for ‘you never had it so good,’ it was all very well for the Prime Minister to say that but with record employment girls like Karen were stepping in and out of jobs at will. In 1958: sack them and they didn’t care; sack them and they were damn hard to replace.

Susan muttered a few choice words and wondered if the old man was finally going soft.

Karen Temple also had a habit of going early for lunch and coming back at least 15 minutes late. Barrington was usually in a meeting and never saw this or pretended not to. Hazelmere had to bite her tongue. This was going to be a classic case of choosing her battles.

“Do you think old Barrington will let me go early tonight?” Karen asked from her desk opposite. She wasn’t even paying attention to her senior co-worker but currently sat fixed on her nails with a small metal file. She may have been a natural blonde but the ashen-white beehive definitely had some help from the bottle, and hadn’t been cheap by the looks of it. It was definitely a salon job.

Susan gaped at Karen incredulously; the girl had absolutely no shame. “No, I don’t think he will let you go home early,” she snapped.

Karen rolled her eyes and made a sullen pout with her full lips.

All lips and hips that girl, Susan thought and shook her head. Blondes were all the rage it seemed, the Marilyn Monroe look was definitely in. With a hint of introspection the routine chestnut-headed Susan wondered if she were jealous.

That train of thought was rudely interrupted. “What do you think he would do about it if I did go?” Karen asked without breaking off from her beauty routine.

Susan glared. Not some many years back a certain rookie brat, not a million miles from where Karen was sitting got her panties warmed by one Gerald Barrington esquire for far less cheek. Had she learned? Not quite, a second session had finished with a threat to take her knickers down if she didn’t ‘buck her ideas up.’

After one monumental screw-up she had faced the choice of the sack or a very sound spanking on the bare bottom. She might easily have resigned and found another job, but she had stuck to it and taken the consequences, as painful and embarrassing as they had been. More than once she had had to contend with a red face and a very red bottom; she had learned alright.

“Why don’t you go and ask him?” Susan said icily, half hoping that she would.

Karen mouthed the words back in muttered mockery and sneered before returning to her make-up and nails touch up.

Susan was beginning to wonder if her irritation with the girl was turning into out and out loathing.

*

It was a few days later when Gerald Barrington raised his voice to summon Susan into his office.

The senior girl gulped and felt her bottom clench. She hadn’t been spanked in almost a year, but the tone was unmistakable.

Barrington’s face was like a brooding sky before a storm and Susan licked her lips nervously as she waited for him to speak.

“The Jamison order…” he began.

Jamison & Sons were their biggest clients, Susan braced herself.

“You checked the invoice before we sent it?” Barrington said darkly.

Susan tried to think. Of course she had, “Yes Sir,” she ventured hesitantly.

“And it went?” her boss continued.

Susan cast her gaze around looking for a memory or an answer before finding it. “I put it in Karen’s in-tray, for the post I mean. It was checked a sealed.”

Barrington relaxed a touch. “Old man Jamison called while I was out. He is going to call back. That usually means a problem and I know the orders are good; we talked them over a golf game not two days ago.”

“Can I check?” Susan sounded almost meek. Please don’t let Karen have screwed up, she prayed.

“I think you had better,” Barrington growled.

Susan turned an about face and hurried out to Karen’s desk. As usual her in-tray was full and Susan hefted a pile of envelopes and sifted through them. The invoice was still there.

It was a long walk back to Barrington’s office carrying the envelope and she wondered if she would get sent to the corner again. She would die if Karen saw her compromised like that.

Barrington sighed. “I suppose you are going to blame Karen again,” he said.

“No Sir,” Susan groaned, “It’s my fault.”

Barrington eyed her sternly. “I will deal with you later.”

“Yes Sir,” Susan was almost relieved. Later meant after office hours and by then Karen would have been long gone.

She hadn’t gone two paces when Barrington said in a thoughtful voice, “Send Karen in when she gets back… where is she anyway?”

“Lunch Sir,” Susan answered in a neutral voice.

“Lunch, it is almost two,” he said in surprise, “Did she leave late?”

“N-no,” Susan said, hoping she didn’t sound like she was telling tales again.

“Hmm,” he said, “Send her when she gets back.”

“Sir,” Susan acknowledged. Fat chance anything would come of it.

*

“You wanted to see me Mr Barrington,” Karen said girlishly and fluttered her eyelashes.

Barrington looked up and smiled. “Miss Temple, yes, come in and close the door.” He looked at his watch. “Good lunch was it?”

Karen blushed and shifted uneasily on the spot in front of his desk. “Yes I…” she finished with a nod.

“I noticed the other day you had your coat on a good five minutes before home time.” He said casually, “You very efficiently went on the dot of five.”

Karen pouted and avoided his gaze.

“Miss Hazelmere was still here at 5.30 I noticed,” he continued.

Karen shrugged and now certain that was not her problem finally met his eyes.

“You hadn’t cleared your in-tray I understand, not even the post, a simple enough task to attend to on your wait out, I would have thought.” He smiled again as if awaiting a perfectly plausible explanation.

“Mr Barrington I don’t see…” she countered.

Barrington held up his hand to bat her words away. “Let’s not waste each other’s time with… recriminations. You are a bright girl, you understand my point. Miss Temple, you have a bright future here, I am certain of it. You just need to apply yourself. I am certain you will learn.”

“Thank you Mr Barrington,” Karen said shyly.

“Now I don’t think you have shown Miss Hazelmere respect, after all she is the senior girl,” he smiled.

Karen didn’t reply.

“So here is what we are going to do. I am going to give you three chances, not bad eh? But I am going to leave those chances in the hands of Miss Hazelmere,” Barrington smiled magnanimously.

“Chances, Mr Barrington?” Karen didn’t like the sound of this.

“Yes, the next time you forget to post a simple letter for instance, or come back late from lunch… that kind of thing, and Miss Hazelmere thinks it warrants bringing to my attention then you will get a warning.” He explained.

Karen frowned. She really didn’t like the sound of this.

“The first time: we will have a little chat, like this one,” Barrington positively beamed at her. “After that I will have Miss Hazelmere write you a memo outlining your shortcomings. If we have any more… disrespectful behaviour then you will face disciplinary action.”

“You said I would have three chances?” Karen blurted.

“Oh yes. You see an adverse report will affect your pay review, but we can avoid that with an unofficial sanction of some kind. The latter, not being on your record, will also protect you from dismissal proceedings for repeated offences, so a double advantage really.” Barrington fixed her with a steely gaze and leaned forward.

Karen felt the heat rise and dipped her head. So she had been caught out sneaking back from lunch, she would be more careful, message received.

“Don’t worry about it Miss Temple, you will learn,” he said and indicated the door with a paternal wave of his hand.

*

Susan Hazelmere stood in front of Barrington and chewed her lower lip nervously. The butterflies in her tummy were working overtime, unlike the rest of her colleagues, leaving them both alone in the office.

“You may leave the pullover on, just remove your skirt and so forth,” Barrington coughed.

“Yes Sir,” Susan said shyly as she blushed furiously.

“I am waiting for a call so once you are ready you can stand in the corner,” he said sharply.

Susan swallowed hard and shot a look at the exterior door that led to the corridor. She prayed the cleaners would not come too soon. There were two doors to his office; one leading to the outer office, the other straight into the hall. She took a deep breath and reached back to first unbutton and then unzip her skirt before wriggling out of it.

Barrington had stood up and was gazing out of his window with a cigarette; a gentlemanly gesture that she appreciated. It didn’t make stepping out of her panties any easier, which she stepped out of only after a deep sigh.

As ever it was strange standing in her boss’s office in just her stocking tops and woollen top and her hands cupped her sex protectively. For a long second she forgot what to do and just all but hopped from one foot to the other.

Then taking a deep breath she turned to the corner and parked herself there, nose to the seam of the wall. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she resisted the temptation to cover bottom with them and instead grasped them in the small of her back.

By some instinct Barrington turned. Seeing that Susan was ready he ran his eye down her exposed curves. Full and pert, he decided and availed himself of a small smile. Well worth the spanking and much deserved, he told himself. Down boy, this is business, he self-chided.

*

Susan felt silly and embarrassed as she stood in the corner like an errant child. She couldn’t decide if it was more humiliating having a man looking at her bare bottom from his desk or ignoring her while he had a business conversation. Besides there was a draft and the goose bumps peppered her thighs and bottom.

Always at the back of her mind was that somebody would come into the outer office and hear something, the cleaners for sure. They might even just walk in to empty the waste basket. Then there was Karen, she might have forgotten something.

To chivvy Mr Barrington along a bit she rocked back and forth a little to emphasis her bottom. Not a thought out or even conscious strategy, just a native instinct of girl with a deep need for a good sound spanking.

Finally the phone call ended and she heard him fiddle with papers and then put something away in a draw. Or maybe get something out, her eyes widened as she remembered what he kept there.

“Miss Hazelmere, come here,” his deep warm voice intoned.

As she turned she saw what she had feared, the foot long Kent suit brush in his hand, which he patted menacingly onto his left palm. Big hands, she gulped inwardly, pity he isn’t going to use them.

Barrington sat in the armless chair on her side of the desk and patted his knee.

Cupping her sex she took a deep breath and reluctantly tottered forward until she was standing next to his thighs. He didn’t wait and pulled her across his lap in one easy motion so that her bare bottom was uppermost and exposed to his gaze.

“You knew the girl needed watching, you told me about it. You were sulking weren’t you, hoping she would make a mistake to prove me wrong?” he said in a dark gruff voice.

It was true and Susan felt her body surrender. “Yes Sir,” she whispered.

Barrington ran the back of the wooden brush over her bare bottom and patted it twice so that heavy slow ripples moved across her skin. Susan gave a little gasp.

“You silly girl,” he chided her and patted her bottom more firmly with the brush.

Then they were off.

The hearty thwack cut through to Karen’s soul leaving a fiery oval pact across both bottom cheeks. She gasped as her eyes started in her head. There was no time to dwell however and the second and third spanks came almost on top of each other.

Even allowing for the occasional pause in the action when Mr Barrington would growl “do you feel that girl,” or “I hope you are learning,” there must have been upwards of 30 spanks in the first minute leaving Susan panting like a dog and her bottom singing like a scolding kettle.

Then came a longer pause while Susan regained her breath and Barrington studied the dull red sheen staining his employee’s bare bottom. He noticed tightly packed gooseflesh where the spanked skin was shocked and even as he watched the reddened area was raised a little to form a gentle pad of raised flesh in two distinct bands.

The burn in her bottom was not enough to overtake her embarrassment and Susan’s face burned almost as steadily as the other end.

“I hope this is a lesson to you girl,” he said sharply, announcing a resumption of the spanking.

Susan managed a strangled “yes Sir,” before she yelped in response to another two minute onslaught.

Maybe a 100 spanks in Susan started to cry. The combination of sting over burn over ache left her convinced she would never sit down again; indeed she was beginning to wonder if he would ever stop spanking her.

“Now, now,” he said in a kindly voice, “It is not as bad as all that is it?”

Between tears Susan sucked down great breaths giving the impression that she was sobbing hard. He was right, it wasn’t that bad. Although her bottom felt tight as if it might burst lava bomb

“No Sir, I am sorry,” she sniffed, “Such as fuss. I don’t mean to be a cry-baby.”

“If you want to cry off, we will call it quits,” he told her, adding in a warning tone, “This time.”

She didn’t like the implication, besides she was never one to give up on a challenge. “No Sir, sorry Sir.”

“Well you have had a break, let’s call that half way, shall we?” he said brightly and resumed the spanking.

Susan yelled and then spent the next two minutes grunting and groaning as her face danced through a series of comic contortions.

When Barrington stopped for his final pause to scold her, the dam finally broke and this time her sobbing was heartfelt.

“There, there, almost done,” he said and gave her the last minute or two of her spanking.

This time her shouts and wails were louder even than the thwack-crack of wood on her bare bottom as the spanking reached its conclusion.

“Lesson learned?” Barrington asked as he put the brush down on his desk.

Susan managed a nod as she sagged into him for a good cry. She almost loved this part. Instead of hating him, she wanted to worship him for his mercy and had a sudden urge to kiss his hand.

“Up you get then,” he chuckled and patted her on the back. “You can go back and stand in the corner while you pull yourself together,” he said.

Susan sniffed and nodded as she obeyed. Her bottom felt like two molten cannonballs and she cupped them as she tried to shake out the burn.

Barrington felt the old trouser snake stiffen as he eyed up the strawberry globes. “No rubbing now,” he told her, “Hands on head.”

Susan obeyed, although she had to do a little shimmy until the sting eased back to barely bearable.

“When you have had time to consider your sins, say in about 20 minutes,” he said, “I want to talk to you about Miss Temple.”

“Yes Sir,” Susan sighed.

To be continued….

There seems to be a custom in some parts of the world for spankings around weddings. I have disparate sources from Alabama, Kentucky, the Czech Republic and Westmorland (England) that have (or invented) spanking traditions. Maybe you have some stories or have seen some?

The first tradition is where the bride is spanked by her new husband (presumably symbolically) either at the reception or immediate after the service. This is reflected in several contemporary ‘fun’ shots by the photographer at English weddings. You might have seen some doing the rounds, bride bending while coyly nibbling her fingers. Sometimes the skirts are lifted for a raised hand. There are a lot of cheeky bridesmaid pictures doing the rounds.

The second is more exotic where the bride is spanked by one parent or other shortly before (or sometimes at) the wedding. There are a lot of historic sources for this in Slavic countries and also Wales and Lancaster of all places. I have a picture somewhere of a young girl, seemingly reluctantly dressed in jeans and t-shirt, but incongruously with a bridal veil, across a much older woman’s knee getting a spanking while others look on.

Finally there is a growing tradition of brides and often the maid of honour being hazed at hen or bachelorette parties. In the US this seems to be linked with sororities as we will see from the short anecdote below.

This involves spanking the bride with a paddle, often on the bare bottom. From pictures I have seen often the bride is smiling but with a very red bottom. Often these girls play for keeps, as the saying goes.

Kathy from Westmorland contributed to a bridal forum:

“Jane (presumably the chief bridesmaid) and I were more or less pressured into doing a naked streak down the street on my Hen Do (bachelorette pub crawl). We were all pretty drunk, I have to say. But once we got back to the carpark next to the pub they wouldn’t give us our clothes back. Jane was handcuffed to a lamp post while I had to take turns going across some of the girls’ laps for a spanking. It was a bit of a laugh although it did hurt and it was so embarrassing. They promised to let Jane go if I was a good girl and took my smacks, but what they didn’t say was that afterwards I would get handcuffed and she would get spanked. They left me and her naked in the carpark and our clothes with the handcuff keys on top of a van where Jane couldn’t reach them. It was freezing, but funny watching a naked and red-bummed Jane jumping up and down. It was probably only five minutes before some of them came back to release us.”

Jo and former sorority girl ‘got paddled good.’ She and some of her former sorority sisters were partying by the pool at one of their house to celebrate her pending marriage. It was agreed that for old time’s sake they would each take some swats. ’ She wrote:

“It was all a bit of a set-up because although most of the girls did take swats, it was just from the last girl. When my turn came I had to strip off much more and then everyone wanted a turn on my butt. Where most of the girls kept their panties on I had mine removed. Six swats-a-piece on the bare butt; I got paddled real good. Real tears, real red bottom, real sisters.”

I suppose the big news this week is that most, if not all, spanking and nudity is about to be banned from Tumblr. It seems that the Big T is about to reinvent itself, beginning with a purge. Most vanilla experts seem to predict the death of Tumblr, who  also host a lot of community empowerment and independent photo artists, but who really knows?

This is not the first time Tumblr have made such announcements, but this time they seem to mean it. This week I include a few random images from Tumblr as a kind of farewell tribute I suppose.

Most of the other images this week seem to be cartoons, although I have included the top two images from the Spanking Blog, as I couldn’t choose and it seemed apropos to have the nuns. There are photos from  AAA and a rare F/F image from Dallas.

The Jane pictures are from our old friend Sweet Spot who made the contribution to Chicago Spanking Review. Jane was a British WW2 heroine who was either getting naked or variously spanked in her Daily Mirror cartoon strip. It is said that when she first appeared full frontal the 8th Army advanced 50 miles.

Others are from Dave Wolfe and a good Superman selection on Vanilla Spanking.

Much has been written about the birch. A Voice even carried some anecdotes a few years ago about the old country custom of sending maids out dressed only in their shift to gather birch roads for a good sound birching. This is custom prevalent in some places before the First World War, seems to have survived on occasionally into the 1930s. After the Second World War the age of maids, in Britain anyway, came to an end and so did the need to birch them.

Here a few more examples of county punishments that neatly segue into another birching escapade.

Milly Jeffrey writing for Titbits in the 1970s recounts an experience she had in 1939. She was working on a farm in Shropshire along with several other girls. Most of her article was about these bucolic days but she refers to the day they got to ‘messy around.’

“As the nearest, Lizzie got a few good swats on her bum from the farmer’s wife, Mrs K, which got us girls all steamed up that we were too old to be treated that way. Silly when you think that our childish hi-jinks had the hay bales in a mess and not one of us was over 20. Things escalated until Mrs K exploded and said what we all needed was a damn good thrashing.”

“Crazy as it seems now we were all made to strip out of our coveralls and sent into the nearby woods to gather sticks. Despite the situation the sight of four girls naked from the waist down and four bare bottoms scampering about got as all giggling. Not for long as we soon found out what the sticks were for. Little bundles swiped across bare bottoms left us all teary-eyed with great red wheals on our skin. These were real stand out welts and all for answering back more than anything.”

“The remaining sticks got made into a broom, the business end of which found our bottoms more than once after that.”

A respondent to the letter sympathised and recounted how when she was in service in the 1950s the house she worked in still kept a ‘block’ in the basement. The block, she explained, although never used in her time there had been used for birching the maids in former times.

The block is an old method for birching school boys in former times, Eton had one I believe and so did Rugby school before the advent of the cane. Although since out of favour in boys schools by the turn of the century rumours persisted that girls were still birched in some places.

Indeed formerly reported here were suggestions that a certain girls’ school in Kent was still birching girls on the bare bottom in 1970s and 80s.

Back in the 1980s glamour model, Tyler T, recounting her school days a decade before, was asked if she was ever spanked or caned. In a throwaway line not followed up she said that she was never spanked and that her school didn’t have the cane, but the “very bad girls might go across the block occasionally.”

No doubt the reporter didn’t understand the reference, but it seems clear enough and quite suggestive. I wonder if she was educated in Kent.

The Kent anecdote, if you missed it, was the suggestion that the good nuns of that county were given to birching six form girls across the bare bottom. I could never identify the school or substantiate the rumours.

However a young lady at my school who was kept back for another a year of the Upper Sixth had to sign her own permission slip in order that she might get the cane. This was the 1970s. no birches were used that I know of, but it proves that a 19-year-old could still expect CP back then.

Part One here

In the morning it rained. Not so much just felines and co, but elephants and hippos. Susan cursed the longer bus queues and the overcrowding. Not that she needed a seat. After her meeting with Mr Barrington the last thing she wanted to do was sit down. In fact it wouldn’t have surprised her if a severe case of bottom-ache didn’t keep her standing on the bus for the rest of the week. Still she got to work on time and wasn’t surprised to see no sign of Karen.

Karen, as it turned out, was late. Not much later than usual to be sure, but this time she had shopping with her and dripped rainwater all over the office floor.

“Hurry up,” Susan chided the girl from where she stood at the filing cabinet. Filing was a good choice for a woman who couldn’t comfortably sit at her desk.

“Half a mo’” Karen said irritably as she struggled with a sodden umbrella before it occurred to her to hang it on the coat rack. It took her moment to put the shopping bags down and divest herself of the wet raincoat. “Is he in?” she asked nervously, “Did he see me come in?”

“He is, but he doesn’t know you are late,” Susan told her with pursed lips, “Not yet.”

Karen gave her senior a pained look of exasperation.

“He was quite specific last night,” Susan sighed, “I have to tell him.”

Karen gaped and shook her head in disbelief. “You don’t,” she said sharply.

Susan nibbled at her lower lip as a hand strayed to her behind. “Oh I do, believe me,” she replied.

Karen frowned petulantly and made a sulk-face. Then she shrugged, what of it, she supposed?

Twenty minutes later Karen watched petulantly as Susan went to Barrington’s office with some files. She just knew that the conversation would be about her. Sure enough when Susan came out she said Mr Barrington wanted to see her.

After their little chat Karen worked quietly all afternoon and without a mistake. Susan was finally convinced that the girl had turned the corner. A hope that continued the next day when wonder of wonders Karen came in three minutes early, only five minutes after Susan herself.

This newfound conscientiousness held up until the following day when Karen was less than a minute late and Susan decided not to notice. Although the girl didn’t exactly pull out all of the stops, she didn’t actually make a huge gaff or blatantly skive off either.

It seemed that Karen’s good behaviour had lasted about as long as she had nursed a sore bottom, Susan thought dejectedly. Now I have to watch her like a hawk before she drops me in it.

The next day Karen was late again, a mere five minutes, but Susan had to suffer the girl taking an age to make tea and the sitting down with a magazine while she fussed with her nails. Susan sighed heavily; a memo to Sir was definitely called for.

*

“You sneak,” Karen snarled and slammed the memo down on Susan’s desk. “An official written warning, you told on me?”

Susan might have felt guilty about being tell-tale but Karen’s use of the phrase ‘told on me’ sounded childish and it was all she could do not to laugh. “You don’t think Mr Barrington knows? I am only doing my job,” she shrugged.

“I am out of this dump just a soon as I can find a better job,” Karen snapped her fingers, “Just like that.”

Susan shrugged again. Suits me, she thought, but kept it to herself. “Oh really,” she said without a hint of sarcasm.

For the rest of that week and all of the next Karen was the perfect employee. Not particularly effective and she did have to be told things at least twice. But often these were new tasks, jobs she hadn’t been fit for, or had ducked out of before. Not that she had given up the idea about leaving. At least once a day Susan found the jobs page with positions ringed in red.

However, with a girl like Karen it couldn’t last and by Tuesday of the following week Karen was 15 minutes late and was in a paddy about something. She jammed the calculating machine, the hole-punch and an intercom button came off in her hand; all by stomping around and using the equipment like a tantrum-seized gorilla.

When she saw Susan looking at her she just glared back. “Don’t you start, I didn’t get a wink last night and that bastard…” she bit her tongue.

Shocked by the language Susan concluded that Karen had some boyfriend trouble. A guess confirmed when she caught Karen quietly crying in the kitchenette in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“Are you alright?” Susan asked.

Karen straightened up and muttered, “He dumped me,” before resuming her battle face and walking away. Eventually she went to lunch 20 minutes early and did not get back until after two.

“Mr Barrington wants to see you,” Susan said in a neutral voice once Karen finally returned.

Karen sighed and genuine regret hung on her face. “I guess I am going to get the push aren’t I?”

Susan made an attempt at sympathetic face. “Maybe,” she offered. What else could she say?

Karen eyed the door to the office like a devil was about to burst through it and licked her lips. She took an age taking off her coat and shuffling papers on her desk. If she was asked what she was working on she wanted to at least remember some of it. Then finally she adjusted her pullover and smoothed her pencil skirt down. Then taking a deep breath she approached the door to Barrington’s office and knocked.

A thousand years passed before there was an answer and when it finally did, the voice of doom intoned, “Come.”

For some reason Karen’s usual bravado deserted her and instead of readying a line of cheek she swallowed hard and wondered if he meant when he said he would give her three chances.

Barrington looked stern sitting behind his desk and braced a pencil between his thumbs as he regarded her as a headmaster might a miscreant schoolgirl.

“Y-you wanted to… eh… see me Mr Barrington?” Karen suggested hesitantly.

Barrington’s gaze didn’t waver and he indicated a chair.

As soon as she was seated he sighed and put down the pencil. “You recall our last two conversations?”

Karen nodded meekly.

“I told you a couple of weeks ago that I would give you three more chances,” he continued.

“Yes Sir,” Karen agreed.

“You have used up two of them and are now facing… well lets be blunt, by rights I should dismiss you,” he explained.

Karen felt the heat rise in her face and she averted her eyes. “Yes sir.”

“A pretty girl like you could easily get another job, recommendation from me or not. Notwithstanding that, as far as I was able I would probably give some sort of positive reference,” he went on. “But then I would be back at square one looking for a new girl and no doubt watch her make a muck of it like you have.”

“Yes Sir, please Sir, couldn’t I have one more chance,” Karen wheedled.

“Oh indeed yes, I have already appraised you of that. The same chance I give all you girls. I am not fool enough to think that one seeing to will put paid to your mischief. Never has before,” he rolled his eyes.

“Seeing to?” Karen seized on the phrase, it sounded rude, but nonetheless hopeful. She wondered if he meant what she thought he meant and weighed up whether she would go with him to keep her job or not.

“Yes girl, pay attention. I mean to give you a damn good spanking, then we will have done with this nonsense until next time,” he growled.

“Sp-panking sir?” she lisped and gaped at him, surely he didn’t mean to really…?

“Oh yes,” he said archly, “Ask Susan or any of the other girls in this building.”

Karen executed a small gulp and sat dumbfounded. Not that he had threatened to spank her, but at the idea that the straight-laced, butter-wouldn’t-melt, Susan had actually been spanked. A small smile played out on her cherry-stained lips. Then she tried to focus on her own plight. “I will, I mean… oh God, you won’t really will you?” she blushed.

“Over my knee, bare bottom, spank you until you are singing at both ends so to speak,” he told her and then seeing her violent blush he added, “Your bottom will be as red as your face by the time I am done.”

“B-bare?” she gasped.

“I’ll give you until the end of the day to think about it and if you decide to leave I will send your pay on and we will say no more about it,” his tone indicated that the conversation was over.

“You dirty old man,” she said without conviction.

His eyes flashed and he looked as if he might explode. “That will cost you if you report here after five, but it is your choice,” he snapped.

The air hung awkwardly around them and even Karen thought she had gone too far. But it was clear that the interview was at an end and she got up to leave. As she left the office she was shell-shocked and her face told the whole story.

“Threatened to spank you did he?” Susan said drily. There was no triumph in her voice and for a second there might have been a hint of sisterly solidarity.

Karen blushed a little more but executed a small nod.

“Are you going to take it?” Susan was curious.

“Oh God, I don’t know, do I?” the girl wailed, resorting to type and the moment of camaraderie was gone.

*

Susan found something to occupy her right through to quarter past five, all the while watching Karen sitting in miserable confusion at her desk. As time got later it got more and more obvious that Karen had decided to keep her job and that Susan’s presence was no longer welcome. In the end the decision was taking out of her hands. Barrington’s office door opened and he called her in.

“Oh Lor,” Karen whispered as she straightened up and reluctantly walked across the office and went in.

“So I see you are still here,” Barrington observed. The old silver fox hadn’t sat down and was instead frowning thoughtfully at her.

“Yes Sir,” she mumbled unable to meet his eyes.

“Do you need any more time to think about it?” he asked.

Karen shook her head.

Mercifully he didn’t wait while she agonised. In a trice he stepped forward and upended her across his lap so that her head hung to floor as he occupied an armless chair by the door.

“Ooh,” Karen exclaimed as she suddenly found herself bottom up across his lap.

“Next time I will have you remove your skirt and underwear to make ready, but as this is your first time I will do the honours,” he warned her.

“Next time?” she squeaked, already disconcerted by this hand at the hem of her skirt as he lifted it along with her slip to reveal her panties.

Barrington stopped and hauled his little employee almost to standing so that he could meet her eyes. “This is not fun for feeble minds you know,” he snapped, “I already told you; I don’t expect to cure you of being a feckless lazy good for nothing after one spanking. If you think if you can take this and then go on as things were then there is no point to this.”

“No Sir, I mean yes Sir ooh…” she flustered.

Barring hauled back over his lap so that her nose almost touched the floor and spanked her once sharply across her underwear. Then after a beat to give her one last chance to cry off he slipped down her pants to reveal her bare bottom.

“Mr Barrington,” Karen exclaimed.

He responded with another brisk spank.

Karen yelped and tried to process the indignity as her eyes danced in her head. Then the spanking began in earnest.

Outside Susan grinned like jackal as she readied herself for home time. There was no mistaking the steady rhythm of a good spanking from within the office, and if there were any doubt, Karen’s steady stream of yelps and squeals confirmed that she was well and truly getting it.

Susan sealed one last envelope and then made a decision. She could wait.

Meanwhile inside Karen’s bare bottom was good and red, with mottled patches extending onto her legs and the rounds of her hips and thighs. His hand hurt well enough, but not half as bad as she had feared. The mortifying indignity was harder to contend with. What was worse was that she could not shake the conviction that she probably deserved a spanking.

“Sir, Sir, I’m sorry,” she wailed and prayed that Susan wasn’t listening.

“I dare say,” Barrington muttered and finally set her on her feet. “Nose to the corner, no rubbing mind,” he ordered.

Karen didn’t need telling twice, although she thought being sent to the corner a bit much for a grown woman. “Yes Sir,” she agreed ruefully.

Barrington watched as she obeyed, satisfied by the way her pert little bottom glowed red like two berries. “Your skirt and slip… they need to stay up,” he warned.

She rolled around and gave him a pout, but thought better than to argue and was a sigh of utter embarrassed misery turned back to face the wall and began to cry.

Outside Susan, suspecting the spanking was over, knocked on the office door with the envelope.

“Come in,” her boss said from within, and she didn’t wait.

In plain sight Karen was well and truly in her place, nose to the corner with a seriously red bottom on show. Susan grinned. “Letter for you Sir,” she said breezily.

“Bitch,” Karen sniffed.

“Oh we have all been there,” Susan giggled.

“Yes and that reminds me,” Barrington said darkly, “’Dirty old man’ was it?”

Karen felt a surge of panic, “No Sir I…”

“Miss Hazelmere, pass me the suit brush in the top draw of my desk will you?” Barrington said sharply.

“My pleasure Sir,” Susan leaned over and retrieved the item.

“You might as well stay for the next part, do her some good and anyway she may need some advice afterwards,” Barrington suggested. “After all, I have a feeling this is going to be a regular event.”

“Yes Sir,” Susan smiled.

“Oh Sir, please Sir, ooh,” Karen wailed.

“No, stay as you are, there really is no rush,” Barrington chuckled.

*

Once her business with Barrington was concluded Susan stood back against the wall to finally see Karen get her comeuppance. Barrington himself hefted the stout Kent clothes brush and patted it against his hand.

“This could take a while,” he said as he regained his seat in the armless chair and beckoned the woe-stricken Karen with one crook of his finger.

“Not in front of her,” she wailed as she turned and saw Susan’s almost smug satisfaction.

“Yes, in front of her and from now on she only has to write a memo to me and you will be kept in after work for more of the same,” Barrington said firmly.

“Oh Sir,” Karen bleated and actually wringing her hands. “It’s not fair.”

Barrington arched one eyebrow in warning.

“Well I don’t mean not fair but… oh please don’t let her…” Karen blustered as she hopped from one foot to the other like a trapped bird.

“Don’t let her what?” he asked sharply.

Karen dipped her head and said nothing.

“Right, over my knee girl,” their boss barked.

“Sir,” Karen groaned and obeyed.

This time her bottom was well arched as if trying to moon heaven. A posture well suited to what came next.

“You remember how this goes don’t you Miss Hazelmere?” Barrington said crisply as he lined up the flat side of the brush against Karen’s very bare bottom.

“Oh yes Sir,” Susan said ruefully.

Raising the brush he brought it down with a crack and Karen yelled. Not for the last time, but no less heartfelt. In moments dozens of spanks had landed and her bottom, only mildly red before, became angry and deep in shade.

“Sir, oh sir, sorry sir,” Karen bleated, scarce able to cope with or comprehend the fire now alight in her seat.

“Ooh, that is tender Sir,” Susan observed with a wince as she pretended some empathy.

“I hope so,” the boss chuckled.

Karen could only add a stream of yelps, grunts and screeches as she bucked and twisted across Barrington’s lap. By then of course her bottom was matt red and somewhat puffed up and welty. Fresh tears too had found their way to her eyes, and while her mind raced in a search for words to make it stop, she could scarce draw a breath.

“Are you sorry?” Barrington asked the now sobbing girl.

“Yes Sir,” Karen said frantically.

“Are you going to behave from now on?” he pressed her as he spanked on.

“Yes Sir, promise Sir,” she wailed and kicked.

“And you deserve this don’t you?” he asked.

“Oh yes Sir,” she yelled, not sure if she meant it.

The spanking halted.

“Then say thank you,” he told her.

“Thank you Sir,” Karen said breathlessly.

“Good girl, now go back and stand in the corner,” Barrington ordered.

Karen nodded in rapid agreement, struggling to hold on as the fire raged in her bottom.

This time she went to the corner without a hint of defiance and even stuck her bottom out in surrender. It took a moment, but the tears that had briefly under control began to burst forth again and she was ready to indulge herself with a good cry.

Susan nodded in satisfaction and Barrington and her exchanged smiles.

“Glad you took your medicine?” he said to Karen once her crying had finally abated.

“Yes Sir,” Karen said emphatically.

“Good girl, welcome to the team,” he laughed.

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” Karen panted.

“Okay off you go. Miss Hazelmere, help her put a wet flannel on it or something.” Barrington coughed as if he was suddenly very conscious of her inappropriate nudity.

“Yes Sir,” Susan smirked.

“I told you she would learn,” was Barrington’s parting words as Susan helped Karen to the ladies’ cloakroom.

Once outside Karen decided against covering her bottom just yet and stopped to massage her rear end with gusto. “Is it always that bad?” she said now smiling through the last of her tears; so glad that it was over, for now.

“No,” Susan assured adding with a wink, “It is usually much worse.”

“I guess I will learn,” Karen said ruefully and rolled her eyes.

Ends

Christmas is on its way and I more than half expected a flurry of Christmas posts and pictures. It seems, not so much, not so far. Even Tumblr hasn’t really gone for it, but then several blogs there have all but ceased publication in view of the promised imminent closure there.

I have included a Spanking Toons cartoon that reflects this.

Pandora Blake has been writing about the privacy issues around age verification in the UK on erotic sites. Exactly how this will work (or more likely fail to work) is unclear, but ultimately it will do nothing to stop porn on the Internet. It will just make professional UK outlets harder to operate and give an edge to US and other ‘foreign’ producers.

Over the last week I dipped into the Krampus Comedy: Hot Bottom. I was going to write a review but I never got to the end. There are no subtitles on my version and I have no idea what was going on. There are two screen shots above.

Krampus is a mythical Christmas figure who punishes naughty girls in much the same way Father Christmas used to before he got sanitised.

I will return to this figure again this week.

Over the coming season no doubt you will be watching old movies, maybe like the one featured on the Spanking Blog last week.

Other images are from AAA, and Dallas.

Thank you everyone who has revisited this blog since the relaunch in August. Visitors have recovered to almost 55 percent of the levels we had before the hiatus, all due to your continued support.

The Christmas slow down is with us.

I noticed that about 70 percent of the Tumblr blogs vanished, but a few have survived with either selective edits or no edits at all. There is no particular rhyme or reason to which survived and which didn’t, although a great many jumped ship before they were pushed or else left holding pages directing users to new projects.

I suspect that Tumblr’s traditional lackadaisical and fluffy approach to things will win out and within a year we will see the same old fare. Remember we have been here before (and before) although there are now some real attempts at creating genuine NSFW alternatives. Watch this space.

The images above are all from post closed down Tumblr. If this is a last hurrah, then so long and thanks for all the phish.

All that remains is to wish you a merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Began here.

The castle was much as she had left it and it was with some apprehension that Elizabeth approached the gates. After all she had been out all night and all without permission. Since her father was already not best pleased with her, she was absolutely certain that her bottom was in for another long round of punishment. Her buttocks clenched and she swallowed hard. After the Krampus’s treatment of her she was confident that she would not sit down until spring.

It wasn’t until she got under the castle walls that she saw that there was some sort of activity among the guards. The soldiers at the drawbridge had swords drawn and the men-at-arms on the battlements were running to and fro as they yelled to one another.

“What is going on?” Elizabeth asked the leading gate guard.

“We have an intruder your highness, or so…” he looked at his fellow, “…someone was seen inside, but no one passed this way ma’am.” He looked confused.

“Where is my father?” she asked.

“He is out looking for you ma’am,” the guard told her.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and her heart sank. He would be worried, she thought, oh my lord, I am so getting a spanking. Then she hurried on across the bridge and through the gates.

She followed the sound of the commotion and found the captain of the guard and a dozen others gathering themselves for an assault on the great hall.

“Your highness, thank the lord,” the captain said, “Someone has breached the great hall and taken all the ladies of the court captive.” He broke off at the sound of a scream inside. “My God, what is he doing? We must hurry.”

“No Captain, wait. I think I know what is happening. I will enter first,” Elizabeth said with as much authority as she could muster.

“I cannot…” the captain protested.

However, Elizabeth was already pushing through the door and quickly closed it behind her. Inside she found the ladies of the court in various states of undress running around like beheaded chickens. There were many bare legs and even bare bottoms on show, although most were still mostly still clad.

In the middle of this melee was Krampus, at present holding the Lord Chamberlain’s wife over his knee and belabouring her bare bottom with a fresh birch rod. From the look of the angry purple-streaked stain on her naked rounds he had been thrashing her for some time. The poor woman was weeping and wailing as she kicked and struggled under the assault.

It was then that Elizabeth noticed several of the other women were sobbing pitifully and massaging their well whipped bottoms. All-in-all almost half the women of the court had been punished and the rest knew they were doomed.

Elizabeth for her part doubled over laughing, this was better than she intended all along and even if Krampus seized her again in the punitive mayhem she would accept that as the consequence of justice well served.

Then she remembered her sister and cousin. They, it seemed, had escaped and Elizabeth sighed in frustration.

“Mr Krampus, you have let two get away,” she called out.

Krampus dropped the sobbing Chamberlain’s wife to the floor and gave her a grin. “No one escapes Krampus; I will attend to all here before I move on to the rest of the kingdom. By Yule only the virtuous will be sitting for their festive supper,” he chuckled.

“All before Yule,” Elizabeth said doubtfully.

“Oh yes, time waits for no man, but he waits for me. Do you think the warriors outside are not mustering? To them they are but moments from affecting a rescue; but in here hours will yet pass as I deal out justice,” the demon told her with a wink.

Elizabeth curtsied to the creature and asked, “Have you finished with me or shall form the others into an orderly queue and then join it?”

“I am done with you… for now,” he grinned adding with a mocking bow, “Your highness. Why don’t you watch the fun?”

Elizabeth grinned. She believed she would.

*

The chaos had receded and now there was a line of bare-bottomed women all facing the wall in various degrees of misery. All had glowing red bottoms, but only half were crying. Elizabeth doubted that any of them would sit down for at least a week and that justice had well and truly served.

The last three girls had given up fleeing and now stood in a huddle watching a fourth turned over Krampus’s knee had getting the spanking of her life. Elizabeth knew the girl to be the proud and haughty daughter of the provincial lords sent to court for an education. Well she was certainly getting educated today, the princess chuckled to herself.

The girl, Dagmar, if Elizabeth remembered her name correctly, was bawling like the brat she was and kicked her legs in time to the various and several lashes that stung her bare bottom, which by now was hot, red raw and very, very sore.

The other unspanked women looked on nervously, but made no further attempt to flee, so that once Dagmar was set on her feet and sent to face the wall next to the line of other women, the next girl draped herself across Krampus’s lap almost willingly.

“That’s the way,” Krampus chuckled and began lashing the girl’s bare bottom with vigour.

It took another half an hour of subjective time for Krampus to finish the whipping last three girls and Elizabeth watched in glee as each one took her place facing the wall next to the elegant line of pert bare and very sore bottoms on parade there. Then it was over.

Just then the doors burst open and guards rushed in with a shout and brandished their swords at Krampus.

The demon only laughed and danced around; eluding each slashing sword until at last he leapt onto the window ledge and appeared to jump away.

“Summon the garrison, search the grounds,” the captain was yelling and most of the guards retreated back through the gates to join the pursuit.

“Ladies, I hope you all learned a lesson,” Elizabeth said brightly, “I suggest you don’t move until someone tells you too,” she added with a chuckle.

“What did we do?” Dagmar sniffed as her small soft hands massaged her very sore bottom.

“Oh I think you know, I think you all do. All those little sins that you hoped no one would find out about,” Elizabeth wagged her finger.

Several of the women bit their lips ruefully and remembered. The Lady Chamberlain even nodded her head sagely. None dared move from facing the wall, leaving a row of bare bottoms on display to amuse the guards and returning male courtiers. No one in authority had yet to think of telling them to cover their sore bottoms or to leave the chamber.

Finally satisfied, Elizabeth left them all too it and went to her rooms for a bath.

*

With Krampus apparently gone and the King still out looking for his eldest daughter, the castle was quiet. Elizabeth had luxuriated in a long hot bath and was now draped in a silk robe and reading a courtly romance.

The demon, she supposed, was out in the countryside seeking out naughty wenches and spanking them soundly for their seasonal sins. No doubt he would return and she just knew her own bottom would burn as it should, but at least justly this time. Perhaps once again before Yule, but certainly before next, she thought ruefully.

She remembered the rod stinging her bottom at the cave and where it was now. Would she really be compelled by magic to surrender it to a future husband, she wondered? She winced in anticipation. Justice was so hard on a lady’s bottom.

Just the she heard a squeal and then another. Surely not, she thought and gathered up a heavy velvet robe to cover herself. Them making her way down the passage she approached her sister’s chambers and saw the door ajar.

From inside were yelps and yells and the unmistakable sound of the thwick-swosh-thwack of a birch rod meeting bare flesh. Peering around the door Elizabeth was not surprised to see Astrid and Ingrid kneel bare-bottomed side-by-side on Ingrid’s bed while Krampus stood behind them and birched them soundly.

“I see you have come back,” Elizabeth chuckled.

“I told you I would,” the demon laughed.

Ingrid looked back over her shoulder, her face a picture of utter woe and begged Elizabeth to stop him.

The elder woman could see tears, henceforth a stranger to her little sister’s face, were now streaming down her cheeks and chin while the girl wailed and cried out. As well she might given the utter purple-red devastation being wrought at her other end. In fact both bottoms looked exceedingly sore and the small welts and grazes marring the skin seemed tender enough to almost garner little welts of their own.

“When I marry I shall pull rank,” Elizabeth said gleefully, “And these two bottoms will burn weekly until they learn some respect.”

“Oh, oh, please cousin, stop him,” Astrid sobbed.

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said absently as she studied the punitive tapestry being wrought on her cousin’s pert bare bottom. “But it is good practice, for I mean what I say and if you won’t submit to my rod, I shall find a groom or a soldier to spank you oh so soundly.”

Neither Astrid or Ingrid were listening by this point as the Krampus gleefully went to work.

“They are so much naughtier than you,” Krampus laughed, “This could take hours.”

“Oh it could,” Elizabeth agreed and settled down in a chair to watch.

to be continued…

Began here.

The castle had been quiet for hours. By the time the captain of the guard heard of any commotion in the royal apartments, Krampus had long since gone and the once sobbing princesses within the chamber had long since cried themselves to sleep; face down on their beds, of course.

Elizabeth half-expected Krampus to come calling on her once more, for she knew she would see him again, if not this Christmas, but the next. Still she could not sleep and opened a book or two before setting the aside. The night was dark and the candles were not up to the task.

It was then that she heard horses in the courtyard and the cries of sentries. Finally her father King Mark had returned and all was well.

Elizabeth, who had yet to get undressed for bed, rose from her chair by the window and with all the dignity due her position rose and went to greet him.

She got no further than the top of the staircase when her father strode into the main hall like a god embracing the world.

“Good evening majesty,” she said formerly and made a deep curtsy on the landing halfway down.

Mark did not pause in his stride but bounded up the stairs and embraced his eldest like a bear.

“My God, you are safe,” he gasped.

He held her tightly for a moment too long before royal decorum was regained.

“I am sorry father… I lost my horse in the forest or else…” she explained, somewhat caught up with emotion.

“I ought to whip you soundly until you can’t sit down for a week,” Mark blurted, but his eyes were both smiling and pooled with tears.

“Yes you should father, and not just for that. I have been a bad daughter and I think it is time that I grew up,” Elizabeth said breathlessly.

Mark nodded and folded his arms sternly. “Not to night I think, come and see me tomorrow… we will have words,” he warned.

Elizabeth curtsied and scurried off to bed with far less dignity than she had come.

As Mark watched her go her shook his head indulgently and smiled. The girl was a woman, or near. That husband he spoke of was overdue, if only for the good of the realm. Then he noticed the captain anxiously wringing his hands, brows arched in woe.

“Tell me,” the King sighed.

Before bed he heard tales of intruders and birched maidens and yuletide magic. A prankster no doubt and one that had done no real harm, he told them. But as he went to bed he wondered if his daughter’s demeanour and much changed attitude might not be linked to this strange visitor.

*

The next day Elizabeth found her father in his inner chamber. As she entered she felt like a small naughty child again; indeed her demeanour screamed it.

“Lizzie,” he sighed, “What am I to do with you?”

He had not called her Lizzie for years and she relaxed; her expression soft. Still she resisted running to him for a hug.

“Shall I send for rods and a whipping stool?” she said bravely.

He noticed she did not suggest they adjourn to the hall where such things were already on hand.

“It would serve you right if I did,” he chuckled.

“I suppose it would,” she said ruefully.

It had been days now since her thrashing from Krampus and her bottom, smooth and white beneath her skirts, was no longer so sanguine about another dose of rod.

“It seems the ladies of the court have all opted to stand at breakfast, even your sister and cousin, although I gather they escaped the debacle in the great hall,” Mark watched her reaction carefully.

“Yes father,” Elizabeth averted her gaze and licked her lips.

“You wouldn’t know anything about this?” he pressed her.

His daughter made a face and looked everywhere but at him. “I might,” she ventured softly.

“I think you had better tell me everything,” he sighed.

The story was long and detailed and as Elizabeth warmed to her tail, she forgot to whom she was talking and became ever eager. When she reached the part about her second encounter with Marta the King roared with laughter, but his principle mirth was reserved for the thrashing of the Lord Chamberlain’s wife and the ladies of the court, which he already gleaned but had not had such detail.

“For so much mischief it seems I really should send for a rod,” he said when she was done, but he was still smiling. Then he asked, “Tell me, do you still have Krampus’s gift?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Do you think it will work?” he asked.

“I am afraid that it will,” she said with a woeful wince.

“That should tame you, you little brat,” he chuckled and then on impulse he seized her and upended her across his lap. “A little too much mischief to go completely unpunished,” he said.

In a trice Elizabeth’s skirts were turned up and her bottom was bared to his stinging hand.

“Ooh, ow, ouch,” Elizabeth exclaimed, but sting as it did, she supposed she deserved it. Nevertheless, as her bottom got hot a red that was certainly no consolation.

“It has been a long time since you got a good sound spanking like this you little hoyden,” his voice was stern now, but edged in amusement.

Elizabeth chewed her lip in an attempt not to cry out too much as she tried to remember her last spanking like this. “Not since mother,” she lisped.

Mark paused and nodded. “She would stay my birching arm and then take you to her chambers and spank your bottom forge hot-until you almost wished I had birched you,” he said absently as her remembered his late wife’s faux mercy when it came to spanking the girls.

“Almost,” Elizabeth agreed and the first of the tears began.

Her father tipped her over a little more and pumped down with his arm in great satisfying spanks. There was no room to become maudlin, he decided, this was going to be a spanking to remember.

“Please Daddy,” she squealed, as much in acknowledgement of his efforts as a bid for mercy.

The 20 minute spanking lasted a week in Elizabeth’s mind and by the time it was over she was ready for a good cry.

“You may go and stand in the corner,” Mark sighed once he was done.

“Yes Daddy,” she whimpered and moved to obey. For once she did not need telling to keep her skirts up in back and her hot bare bottom mooned the room, as it would for another hour.

Before he left he looked upon her with affection. “Have I been too hard on you?” he asked.

“Not today Sir,” she answered.

“I mean…” he struggled to find the words.

“Not ever sir, I have failed you I think. I unleashed the Krampus for justice, even if I was looking for revenge, but that anger was never directed at you,” she said thoughtfully.

“Yes, but I think I have been too soft on your sister and that cousin of yours,” he replied sternly. “That will change.”

“Perhaps I can help you there?” Elizabeth ventured.

“Perhaps you can,” King Mark chuckled, “But for now, keep your nose in that corner, even if a maid she happen in, understand me?”

“Yes Sir,” she said ruefully.

Then he was gone.

*

The season came and went and despite distant rumours of ladies throughout the land being accosted and birched, no real harm was done by the Krampus and no great alarm went up. By the time the mid-winter feasting was over the Krampus was all but forgotten.

“No more reports of this Krampus,” King Mark asked the Chamberlain come spring time.

“Who Majesty?” the man seemed genuinely puzzled.

“Oh nothing,” Mark shrugged, scarcely able to remember what he had just asked.

Only Elizabeth truly remembered, or at least so it seemed. She rather suspected that one or two ladies at court were keeping their thoughts to themselves. So it was time past and at her father’s behest a dozen suitors came to court seeking her hand.

“I will marry any you say Sir,” she told her father.

“Hmm, I was rather hoping for enthusiasm than that,” he sighed. “Do none of the young men intrigue you at all?”

Elizabeth, who had pondered over some of the older greying lords, shook her head. “Not really,” she said crinkling up her nose. It was true. She had only considered the older men because of the Krampus’s curse. It seemed easier to accept a spanking from an older man, if indeed she hadn’t been duped by the old goat-demon. Was the rod he had given her really magical?

“Well think on,” Mark said gently, “There are many more. Now that you are showing the right attitude there is no need to rush.”

Elizabeth curtsied and they both went about their business.

But business for Elizabeth was a walk in the rose garden. The day was pleasant enough and she chanced upon a gardener burning waste on the lawn. Spring had sprung and the Krampus spell was broken. Within a year she would be lady of her own house. She came to a decision.

Summoning a maid she sent her to fetch the birch rod in her chamber and told her to bring it to her. Elizabeth gazed at the cleansing flames. She was done with the season and done with Krampus. Justice had been served and it was time for a new beginning.

The maid came swiftly and handed the rod to her mistress timorously, in case it was intended for her own bottom. But mercifully the girl was dismissed, leaving the princess by the fire with a rod.

“What are you going to do with that?” a smooth male voice asked from behind her.

Elizabeth whirled around in annoyance to dismiss the youth but something stopped her.

The man was not especially handsome, and to her mind he was a little old. Perhaps being slightly over 30. But he had kind-fierce eyes that held her gaze and a majestic mane of dark hair. His jaw too had the set of a warrior.

“You are…?” she said more sharply than she meant.

“Heinrich, Prince Heinrich of the Lowlands, if it please you highness,” he said in a firm voice. His eyes never left her and he did not bow more than was necessary among equals.

Elizabeth ran an eye of his firm thighs well-formed in his soldier’s breeks. He was broad too at shoulder and she felt her mouth go dry.

“The rod, why do you need that?” Heinrich asked her again.

Elizabeth swallowed. She had an overwhelming urge to hand the bundle of twigs to this man.

“I…” she licked her lips, amazed at the sensation of butterflies in her tummy. “I am going to give it to my future husband,” she told him.

“Indeed, will he need it?” the prince smiled.

“I fear he will, for I am rather headstrong,” she admitted, mortified that she would say such a thing to a stranger.

“Then you are wise indeed, I wish more ladies were so self-aware,” Heinrich said approvingly, “Who is to be your husband?”

“Eh… I am not sure, I haven’t met all the suitors yet,” she blushed.

“Oh indeed you have,” the prince contradicted her and this time he bowed formally. “I have been keeping track. I wanted to be the last. After all, it was only fair to give the competition a chance.”

Elizabeth laughed and Heinrich joined in.

*

The wedding was in the autumn and all in the kingdom who were of any account came to wish them well.

Unseen by most, the near yard long birch rod was secreted in a sturdy box and placed among the gift portion allotted to Prince Heinrich. He had paid no heed to the story of the Krampus and knew that if his wife needed a spanking then a spanking she would get and no magic would be needed.

Nevertheless on their wedding night Elizabeth once again retrieved the gift and got on her knees offered it to her new husband.

“It is rather severe for your delicate bottom,” he chuckled as he gave the rod a swish.

Elizabeth trembled, her tummy turned over and she craved the idea of crawling to him on hands and knees. Damn you Krampus, she thought, but she did not mean it just then, just then she wanted darker things.

“I don’t understand,” Heinrich said as hefted the rod, you have done nothing wrong.

Elizabeth panted softly. “I need you to put me in my place and show me you are my master.”

Heinrich frowned and then to test the jest he extended the rod to her face and watched her kiss it.

“Then bare yourself,” he said and watched in astonishment as she crawled to the bed and slipping from her gown lay face down upon it. Then slowly she raised her hips until her bare bottom was thrust upwards and inviting.

“I will be cruel,” he said breathlessly and tickled her flesh with the withes as he drew near.

“Yes,” she gasped.

to be continued…

Began here.

The party to celebrate the nuptials of the year was winding down. Most of the guests had already retired to bed and the few that remained were deep in their cups exchanging nonsense and tales of exaggerated glories.

Only the servants remained halfway alert and the few of those that had not been dismissed by the steward stood yawning and longing for bed before the sun showed its face and it was time again to rise.

The shrill screams from the bridal suite shook them to alertness. A few of the pages exchanged grins, being young enough to presume that the cries were of a deflowered maiden. But one of the matrons was concerned enough to consider rousing the king.

Then another wail reassured her. For this one was led by a brittle thwack and the sound of birch on bottom was not to be mistaken. It seems the king’s daughter was in need of taming and Heinrich of the Lowlands was the man to do it the wisest of the women supposed.

For a few long moments there was only the sound of a steady bite of rod on the princess’s naked behind, but then she again announced another sustained impact with a plaintiff wail.

She was taking it well, the senior serving wench judged, for there was no panic in the screams and certainly no begging; not yet. Although it was to be hoped that she would not be too defiant. It was only meet that she should not be too proud.

Within the chamber Elizabeth’s groan was unearthly as the rod stung her bare bottom for perhaps the twentieth time. Already her up thrust curves were red raw and gently scarred by searing instrument of justice, each bite of which burned her seat and soul.

No more, she quietly quailed, both praying for mercy and hoping for a true bastard; as divided in herself as the bottom was split by the tender fire-stung cleft of her rounds.

Heinrich was lost in mastery, his manhood rampant and now freed from his breeches, as naked he lorded it over his wife’s proffered hindquarters. Duty demanded that he take her, but it occurred to him that she should beg for that privilege, perhaps after surrender her other virginities.

Finally the lashing stopped while the prince regarded the heavy russet stained bottom and his manhood strained to burst. Elizabeth was tearful and panting, but her behind was still presented defiantly and she had made no claim for mercy.

“I cannot stop,” he said huskily, it was almost true.

“You have no need,” she replied breathlessly, “You can do anything you want to me, anything.” Her mouth hung open as wantonly as her eyes as her needs overawed her wants.

“Anything? You have no idea what dark dreams…” he could scarce breathe himself.

“Anything,” she begged.

“You cannot know…” he protested, digging deep to reclaim his restraint.

“Oh God, anything,” it was a frustrated sob now.

The thrashing resumed with gusto and in a few moments he had recaptured the fire and set her clawing at the sheets. It was an age before he adjudged her bottom could take little more and then casting the rod aside he fell upon her, taking her first naturally as duty demanded and then as she shrieked in pleasure, withdrew his dew-dripped root and placed it unnaturally as his lust demanded.

“God, oh God, you bastard,” she cried, hardly herself as she bit into the pillow.

“I must thrash you some more,” he told her as he exploded within her.

“I know,” she said and clung to him shedding tears of surrender and contentment.

“Then after more of the same you will get on your knees and…” he said urgently, lost in the magic of it.

“Yes, yes, but is that all,” she said lightly and allowed a teasing smile to play about her lips.

He whispered erotic threats into her ear and watched her eyes widen. At last she does not set the pace, he thought.

“Oh my,” she whispered.

*

The yuletide season was again upon them and Elizabeth sighed frantic notes and accounts set against the orders needed for the preparations. It amused her that both Ingrid and Astrid stood facing the wall with their skirts raised to show the marks of a recent thrashing at Elizabeth’s own hands. Not an unusual occurrence these days, but no less satisfying for that.

At times in recent months Elizabeth had spanked and birched the girls whilst nursing her own sore bottom. Not that they would know that. But it amused the older woman to observe that while her young sister and cousin bemoaned their inability to sit down, they failed to notice their chastisers own reluctance to settle upon a chair.

Still it had been weeks now. Heinrich was away at war and doing well it seemed. He was in no great danger and it was hoped he would return for Christmas. Then he would demand of her that she confess all her crimes so that he might put her in her place.

“If you trust me so little then why not have me fitted for a chastity belt,” she had suggested before he left.

“I hardly think…” he had begunn, but seeing his wife’s eyebrows arched suggestively he became stern. “This time I must trust you, but any mischief while I am away and next time you will bound in steel where it will do you the most good and expect it to prick you well in certain places.”

They embraced passionately, both secretly wondering if they were mad. So long ago now.

God she missed him. She eyed again the two hapless women she had punished and decided that they would suffer more tomorrow, perhaps this time before the court.

“You can remain as you are until bedtime,” Elizabeth said and retired to her own chamber.

It was dark and she pondered the bed before electing to light a candle. She would read a little before sleep.

“Good evening your highness,” said a baritone voice from the shadows.

Startled Elizabeth leapt back before she made out the demonic goat grinning at her. “Krampus,” she gasped.

He bowed.

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

“It is the season and you, as my patron, so to speak, will have the honour first,” he told her.

“The honour?” she was puzzled.

Krampus held up the rod. “I have no other plans until dawn,” he said.

Elizabeth gulped. “Actual dawn or one of your near infinite nights?” she asked, cowed by the sight of the birchen whip.

“Whichever is longest,” Krampus shrugged.

*

The dawn was a very long time coming and by then Elizabeth wondered if she would ever sit down again. The tears shed could have floated a laden cog, but at least she felt cleaned. Nor was she pining for Heinrich’s rod and she suspected she would not again for a few days yet.

To add to her indignity Krampus had sent her to the corner for a good cry and then sat back until the sun had fully risen before he bade her farewell.

Taking one last look at her exposed sore bottom he said, “Holly Berry red, it suits you,” and chuckled.

“You said I was the first of the new Season?” Elizabeth sniffed.

“Yes?” Krampus answered, as he mouthed the window ledge to make good his escape.

“Then you are finished with me?” she asked hopefully.

“For this Christmas,” he laughed, “See you next year.”

End

Busy week coming up. Work starts just in time for a funeral and New Year’s family visits (and being visited). Something has got to give.

Hopefully the blog won’t suffer too much: there is so much pending, including a very nice little historical find.

Not much to report community-wise. Above is a quick round up of images published in various places including: AAA, Dallas, Ronnie Soul, GOF, Devlin, Dreams of Spanking, and an original cartoon from Chicago Spanking Review.

I see several more Tumblrs have been restricted and can only be viewed in a narrow frame in the dashboard. However, a great many have still avoided the cull, in most cases, I suspect, because they have a lot of text and a scattering of ‘vanilla’ images.

The latest victim is spanking toons, which I think can also be found on Deviant Art. I will update my link when I confirm this.

Quite a few people have redeployed to their Twitter accounts or have moved to BDSMLR, which given the set-up, as it is currently deployed, is probably not going to catch on.

CutiePie seems to have vanished, but I found a list of new blogs on Ronnie Soul.

The images this week are from Devlin, Chicago, Nik Zula, ASA Jones, AAA and Vanilla Spanking.

Not as far as Maryland, but it will probably involve a Mercedes. I am just on a short business trip and will be back soon. I had hoped to queue up a couple of posts but sadly time got away from me.

I am still exploring BDSLMR, I am not sure about it yet. It seems far less accessible and perhaps rather too raw and explicit in the material there. But as some of you have said it is early days.

To this end I have set-up A Voice in the Corner Annex, in part to allow me access to any new material on BDSLMR and as an experimental overflow.

The line drawing by Malteste is taken from the Petite Dactylo (the little typist), which was a spanking novella by Pierre Dumarchey, published under the name of Sadie Blackeyes. The heroine of the novel suffers a series of misadventures, most ending with a spanking or a birching.

Whether or not it was grounded in reality is doubtful, yet there does seem to be an age when typists and secretaries were punished.

As reported here before, whilst at college as part of my course I trained in shorthand and typing under a woman of the old school. This was the 1980s and the 50-something woman had mostly taught office workers since the 1950s when she had received her own training.  When confronted with a student who hadn’t put the work in or hadn’t done their homework (we were learning T-Line at the time), then she would often remark that we were lucky it wasn’t like the old days.

She was heard to mutter in her Glaswegian accent, “Back in the day a girl would get a few swipes of the stick across their backsides for less.”

She didn’t elucidate but it seems up until the 1960s it was common for trainee typists and secretaries to experience a good spanking or even the cane. Of course in those days these trainees were invariably women.

I have written about this before and have read various accounts of CP at adult typing schools up until the 1970s. I remember two women, one trained in the late 1950s and the other the early 1970s, comparing notes about getting the cane at secretarial college.

Both thought it was no big deal. The first said it was a formal thing with a formal note. She had to bend over in an office and get about eight strokes on the seat of her skirt, although she had heard that other girls had been caned on the knickers, including one who had worn trousers to class.

The other said it was unofficial and that she was caned a couple of times rather than get a formal warning, but essential she too got eight on the seat of her skirt.

In another discussion one woman who trained in the 1940s ventured that she had been caned twice on the bare bottom for wasting paper and on a separate occasion for getting a typewriter ribbon tangled. This, she said, because of rationing immediately after the War being a very serious problem and that such mistakes would get you sacked in a real office.

Following on from this I found an article (I think from Forum magazine) on Google reader.

This was about ‘blue-stockings’ and flappers in the 1920s and 30s who were trying to break into business and journalism. Well-to-do women of all classes saw typing and business schools as a way of breaking into a man’s world. Being tough and seen to be tough was an important to them and the prevailing attitude was ‘taking it like a man.’

Ironically, it seems unlikely that young business men were ever caned by anyone, yet serious minded independent girls of the interwar era seemed to have shrugged off corporal punishment as a price to pay or a rite of passage.

Caning before the Second World War in these environments seems to have be rather fiercer and tended to applied to the bare bottom.

One Rose Fenton-Barnes reported, “I had been called into the office several times before by Mrs C-J, all rather bothersome, but I can’t say it wasn’t entirely without merit. This time I was told off right royally and then asked to take up my skirts and so forth. I thought it all a bit grisly when she got out the dreadful stick. Then she told me to take down the necessary and bend over the back of her chair. I didn’t count, but I must have received 15 strokes or more. Jolly well hurt and my tail end looked chopped liver after. Of course I didn’t cry until I was in the ladies room, but I couldn’t sit down for a few days. That was the first time and very much not the last. Those things didn’t get any easier.”

Amy JK wrote of her experience back in the 1930s. “We had a dreadful dragon. One word from her and you would be shaking in your boots. There were always girls going in and out of her office: wide-eyed a terrified going in and usually crying and rubbing their bottoms when they came out.”

“I was one of those girls at least a dozen times. After a dressing down it was bottom bare and bend. No set number of strokes, just fast and cutting swipes until I cried. I couldn’t stand still after, but I was told to dress and get out.”

“It was straight back to our desks in that dreadful room with 20 girls clattering away on their exercises. Hard to sit or concentrate, I can tell you, but a good preparation for work.”

The BDSMLR project is growing fast. To my taste so far there is a little too much emphasis on the hard core BDSM and graphic sex, but that is to be expected and as the content grows we can hope for a greater range of content along the bell-curve.

You can check out my humble contribution at the Annex.

In other news Kia Cera at Acknowledging Imperfection is back from a long hiatus and so is All Things Spanking.

On the other hand Chross, once a giant on the scene hasn’t obviously updated in a while. His last post is a review of the Professor Marston and the Wonder Women, which features a sorority spanking and a lot of BDSM cosplay 1940s style. Nothing graphic; it is not a spanking movie. But it is a movie that we saw recently and is very good.

Incidentally so is the Favourite, about Queen Ann and her menage a trois with Rachel Weiss and Emma Stone. A dark and funny movie about the royal court at the time of Marlborough. There is a birching scene, but the rod is applied to Emma Stone’s back. The atmosphere of her compliant submission as a humiliated noble lady working as a scullion will appeal to some, but this is not what the film is about.

The birching is toned down and in reality would have been applied to her bare bottom, probably while she was being horsed. However, I think the impact of such a scene would have detracted from an excellent movie and might have overshadowed it unfairly.

Ronnie has a new list of spanking sites and other pictures above are from: FHS, AAA, and Devlin O’Neil.