Like mother like daughter, part three

With Lupita's face still pressed against the wall I glanced quickly around to take the room in view. Moll was still standing to one side, her mouth open and eyes as wary as a cat's, but my judgement was that provided I didn't decide to actually kill her mother then she would remain on the sidelines. I grinned at her and gave her a wink.

"Don't worry," I said in English. "Your mother will find it difficult to sit down for a day or so, but that's all."

Molly's body relaxed and she stepped back a couple of paces to lean on a sideboard that ran along one wall of the room. Looking to my left and away from her I saw a rather nice, high-backed chair with two arms that curved down to join the front legs but which had about 18 inches of space between them and the chair's cushion. I decided that the chair would do nicely, and holding Lupita with one hand I began to release my belt from its trouser loops with the other. Then I held it up in front of Lupita's face so that she would know exactly what was about to happen to her, and her eyes widened as the realisation of her predicament dawned on her.

"Now you listen to me very, very carefully," I told her, annunciating every word and speaking in a soft but determined tone. "I am going to put this belt across your arse and you are going to learn your place.  It's either that, or I phone Pedro and tell him that you are not performing like a good little whore should. If I do that," I went on remorselessly, "then a sore backside is going to be the least of your worries, isn't it?"

Lupita sagged against me. She didn't say anything and  kept her head down, obviously so I couldn't read her face, but I was willing to bet that it had a look of utter resignation on it. I knew that I didn't need to hold her arms anymore and as I let them go she folded them across her ample breasts.

Throwing the belt over my shoulder I simply took Lupita by the arm and marched her to the chair that I planned to bend her over. To say that she skipped merrily to her punishment would be a lie, but she didn't put up the struggle that I expected a wild cat like that to do. She resisted by forcing me to half drag her along, but she walked and did not need to be carried. Her teeth were clenched and she kept glancing at the ceiling as if appealing to whatever god she worshipped to rescue her from what was to follow.

As we got to within a pace of the chair I pushed Lupita forwards, using my right foot to trip her up, so that she fell towards the arm of the chair. I grabbed her under the waist with one hand and held onto her neck with the other. Then I pushed her down so that her face brushed the cushion and I could manipulate her body so that her head and shoulders were under the far arm, her stomach resting on the near one, her rounded buttocks straining against the material of her dress.

"Please," she said, quietly. "Please, I will do whatever you want. You're right about me, I do know how to please a man. Let me up and I'll show you."

She tried to reach behind her, obviously aiming to take my balls in her hand, but my mood was far from charitable that day.

"Listen, darling," I told her. "I know that you will please me after I have given you a taste of my belt. I absolutely guarantee that you will perform to my entire satisfaction. And if you don't, then you can feel its kiss again - understand?"

Without waiting for a reply I lifted Lupita's dress and left it resting against the small of her back. She was wearing tights - a hideous garment cursed by God I am sure - and I didn't waste a second in pulling the nylon down to the owner's knees. Lupita's bottom was now only protected by thin pink cotton panties. I paused for a moment to admire the view as I had to admit that for a forty year old Mexican, Lupita didn't look all that bad, but duty called as it always does and I peeled the final layer of protection down and left them hanging pathetically just above the tights.

She began to move, not violently, but she did wiggle her hips to try and keep her buttocks in motion, obviously thinking that a moving target would be harder to hit. Stupid woman - all it did was make her look more desirable and leave me wondering how she would move when the belt had really livened her up?

"Right, madam," I told her. You're going to get twelve, it's going to hurt, and you're going to wish that you had not raised your hand to me long before it's over." Crack! I brought the folded black leather down across her helpless, upturned buttocks.

I looked at Molly and saw that she had an unlit cigarette in her mouth and was fishing in her bag for her lighter. No problems were going to come from that quarter I realised. Crack! I whacked the belt down a second time on Lupita's bottom.

Her gyrations had become quite intense, but she had not uttered a sound up to that moment. I wondered how long her stoicism would last when the leather really began to bite? Crack! Bite it did for the third time, and with all the strength of my arm behind it.

That was enough for Lupita. She turned to look at me as best she could given her position with her head trapped under the arm of a chair, and I saw the liquid glow of tears forming in her eyes. Crack! Went the belt across her buttocks once again. Crack! I let fly with another stinger, and Luipta tried to raise her head, failed and let out a long low moan.

"Please, have pity," she said. Crack! The pity was all used up that day, as I stepped back to admire my handiwork with the chastisement half way to its completion. Lupita's buttocks were now a bright red, with an admittedly brighter glow on the right cheek. I moved around to the other side so that I could even up the colouration with the remaining strokes. That brought Molly straight into my line of sight and I was pleased to see that she was watching the proceedings intently, mouth open slightly, her cigarette burning away unnoticed between her fingers. I cocked an eyebrow in her direction and was rewarded with a smile..

Crack! The belt came down a seventh time and Lupita broke down in tears with the sheer emotion of it all. You really would have needed a heart of stone not to laugh., but luckily I have one and I brought the belt down through a great swishing arc to crash against the bright red buttocks that lay at the end of the journey. Crack!

Crack! Crack! Crack! I laid on three in quick succession, as Lupita began to howl and kick her legs in a futile attempt to avoid the retribution that was not over yet.

Crack! The penultimate stroke hit home, but Lupita was too far gone to care that she only had one more cut to endure. She was now close to hysteria and sobbed with great gulping gasps as she fought to take air into her lungs.

I paused for a moment, long enough for Lupita to think that her punishment was over. Nobody said a word and the only sound in the room was the wretched woman's sobs.

"One more to go," I told her.

"Noooooooo!"

Crack! The belt hit its target for the twelth and final time. Molly let go of her mother's hands and I took a step back to admire my handiwork. Lupita's buttocks were a fiery red and I was pleased to see that both buttocks were now of a similar colour. I doubted that Lupita would thank me for my efforts, in fact I doubted that she was going to be in a postion to do anything for quite some time as her sobs had a touch of hysteria about them.

Which was a pity as the fucking was about to commence...

To be continued.

Like mother like daughter, part two

Two days later found me sitting in a rather nice hotel room waiting for madam to arrive. I had deliberately chosen not to bed her after our earlier meeting as it amused me to give her a couple of days to stew on her predicament. Besides, Pedro had paid for the hotel, so I knew that she would arrive eventually because her loving husband would drag her there if that proved necessary. Sure enough, and only about fifteen minutes or so after the appointed hour - this is Mexico when all is said and done - I heard a firm knock on the door and pausing only to stub out my cigarette I went to answer the summons.

To say that I did a double take as I opened the door is putting it mildly. Instead of seeing fat, forty Lupita I was greeted by a svelte vision of loveliness in her very late teens or early 20s. The vision was clad in white moccasins, a seriously expensive pair of jeans that hugged her ripe young frame in all the right places, topped by a white silk blouse that hung outside the jeans and barely contained her delightfully jiggle, melon-like boobs.

"Hola," said the vision. "Soy Fernanda - ¿hablas español?

Without waiting for a reply, she pushed Lupita into the room, walked in immediately behind her and closed the door. To be honest I hadn't even noticed the older woman, oozing as she was out of her dress.

"I speak a little English, she went on switching into that language, with a rather sweet Irish lilt to her accent. "I am the daughter of Pedro and Lupita," she concluded, taking the weight of her body on her right foot and rocking the other one from right to left and back again on the heel.

Looking at both women it was obvious that she was telling the truth. However the difference between them was more than the 20 year age gap. Fernanda had style, and that was something that her mother would never possess. To put Lupita in an English context, it was rather like taking a typical slapper from Middlesbrough, say, dressing her well and then expecting her to be anything other than mutton dressed as lamb. Lupita looked as if she should be making the bed, not getting ready to go in it.

Not that she was, by the way. She stood there in what should have been a rather nice silky black dress that was set off with a riot of red rose bud patterns all over it and glowered at me.

Fernanda sighed heavily. "My dad didn't think that mum would go through with it, so I am here to make sure that she does, Fernanda explained with a grin on her face and speaking Spanish obviously for her mother's benefit. Clearly there was no love lost between these two, I decided.

To buy myself some time while I figured the situation out I asked Fernanda where the Irish lilt had come from?

"In Dublin's fair city, where the girls are so pretty," she sang in a rather good voice. "I go there every year for English summer schools," she explained.

"Where the girls are so pretty, I first set me eyes on sweet Molly Malone," I sang, concluding the song's verse.  "I am going to call you Moll from now on," I announced, and so I do to this day, whenever we meet.

The newly renamed girl cackled with delight and went over to the wall to remove a face mirror from its hook which she then placed on a table. She sat down, opened her bag and took out a small envelope. The whiet powder within it was then put opn the mirror and turned into a line with a few deft movements of a banknote. The note was then rolled up and the coke snorted.

Eyes sparkling, Molly looked at both of us, first one and then the other, her grin running from ear to ear. She didn't need to say anything as we both knew that the fucking was about to begin.

So, alas, did Lupita, the star of the matinee performance. She exploded in anger and let rip with a choice tirade of obscene Spanish aimed at her daughter who, it seemed, was letting the side down with her behaviour which was only fitting in a whore.

"And how many cocks did you suck, back when you worked in that fly-blown bar in that shithole of a town in the north?" My question was not purely speculative as Lupita had a northern accent, and the only way a slapper like that could get on was on her back, and a cantina would be the logical place for the teenage Lupita to meet trade.

My question must have hit home because madam raised both hands that had been clenched into fists, her head went back, and her mouth opened in a snarl. Clearly she planned to give me some of the same choice language that her daughter had just been treated to.

I didn't give her a chance. I grabbed both wrists, forced them down by her side, and then pushed her back against the wall. The funny thing was that I wasn't even angry. My plan was to calm her down before rutting her, but Lupita by then had become so angry that she wasn't thinking straight. She turned her head to the side so as not to look at me and then she looked down to blank me out of her vision completely.

"Now, now," I told her. "Remember that you are only back in your old trade for an afternoon. Look, even if you don't like me, you can close your eyes and pretend that I am Michael Douglas," I went on, hopefully. "You might even might like my cock. It is nice and juicy," I concluded, trying to give her something to look forward to.

You can't talk to some people and I could see that my sweet words were getting me nowhere. I let go of one of her wrists and took her chin in my hand to lift up her face to mine. I felt her muscles clench as she resisted the pressure, then when I proved too strong for her, she tried to turn her head to the side to avoid me that way. 

I forced her to look into my eyes and was just about to continue with my sweet reasonableness when Lupita used her free hand to punch me on the side of my head.

To say that was a no-no is putting it mildly. I spun her around, grabbed a great handful of her straight black hair, with the intention, probably, of smashing her fat round face into the concrete wall. I heard Molly gasp behind me, and then reason prevailed. This madam was going to be taught a lesson to the traditional seat of learning I resolved.

To be continued.

When Barack Obama smacked Michelle's bottom - almost

For some reason lot's of people want to see Michelle Obama spanked. I can't think why myself as the woman doesn't really interest me that much, but in the interests of keeping my readers happy here is the nearest video clip to a spanking. Which is to say it sort of shows a pat that was clearly aimed at her well rounded rump before President Obama shifted his hand slightly and caught her in the small of her back. However, we at Urzdown Hall think that he really wanted to send her on her way with a firm, husbandly smack to the bum, but didn't. For some reason or other. That we cannot fathom.

Wagon Train: The Maggie Hamilton Story

This is rather a nice spanking from an episode of Wagon Train back in 1960. The thing that I like about it is the way that he raises the girl's skirts to ensure that the lesson is thoroughly imprinted via his hand on her helpless bottom.

As with all these old clips from my youth, the point needs to be stressed yet again just how common a spanking was 50 years ago. Everyone involved in this production and the entire audience who watched at home would have been united in agreeing that naughty girls need to have their bottoms smacked.

Where did we go wrong?

Like mother, like daughter, part one

I suppose that even for a libertine like me having a mother and daughter combination,  with me spanking the mother whilst the daughter snorted coke and then fucking the pair of them takes some doing, and many people over the years have told me that this little history is a fantasy. Actually it really happened, but as with many of the crazier things that have taken place in my life, it could only have happened in Mexico.

In December 1994 the Mexican peso fell through the floor, to be quickly followed by what looked like the whole economy. Credit dried up overnight, debts were called in, and foreclosure became the order of the day as everyone scrambled to salvage what they could from the wreckage. For someone like me who had never trusted the peso and had a stash of dollars handy it was a fun time to be around - certainly my penis was a happy and very busy fellow. You might say that I was rocking around the cock as it were...

One man who was most certainly not rocking was Pedro Perez, as I shall call him. Pedro was tall for a Mexican at about 5' 9" but other than that he was fairly typical dark-skinned wheeler and dealer who looked like he had a lavatory brush glued to his top lip. He had made his way up from the provincial chancer that he still was at heart thanks to various dodgy government deals and now his company looked set to follow everything else down the toilet. Pedro was resigned to a life back in small town Mexico, living on a diet of beans and tortillas which is what he had grown up with.

How our paths crossed is fairly straightforward. Pedro knew me slightly as the Englishman who sold the spanking videos to either wealthy Mexicans or to equally loaded British expatriates, many of whom were bankers. Pedro needed a loan to save his neck and all doors were closed, so desperation drove him to set up a meeting with me. His idea was that I would call my friends and tell therm how upright and honourable Pedro was and one of them would then lend him the money. Told you he was desperate, didn't I?

Pedro arrived at our lunch meeting in a nice, but not over expensive bar, with a rather blousy woman of about forty at his heel. She was the usual reddish-brown, black-haired, wide hipped female such as Mexico churns out by the million. Needless to say I assumed that he had picked up a tart  and looked around for the other one, since bringing one trollop to ease the flow of discussions made no sense at all. Seeing nobody else I opened my mouth to ask where the other tart was just as Pedro took me by the hand, assured me of his gratitude at my agreeing to meet him at such short notice, and could he introduce  his wife, Maria Guadalupe, or Lupita to her chums?

So we sat down and I listened to Pedro's ideas. My role in Pedro's grand scheme was obviously going to be pretty minimal since all he wanted me to do was call people and introduce him. Once he had got his foot in the door my job was done. To be honest as the afternoon wore on I felt my irritation grow, Pedro was in no position to offer me very much since he was on his beam end financially. None of the respectable bankers would want to be seen dead in public with me, so what was I getting out of this other than a free lunch and plenty of booze which by that time I had already had?

Pedro had come prepared for this and with a smile he began to expand on a new theme, that of Lupita and her charms. As he sat back and elaborated on how great she was I realised that my fee was to be an afternoon in bed with the woman. I threw back my head and roared with laughter  at the cheek of the man and then I looked at Lupita and saw the look of utter fury in her face and I slapped my thighs in glee.

Pedro got up to go to the lavatory, giving me a conspiratorial wink as he did so. I looked  again at Lupita  and considered her for a moment. There is really only one thing worse than an old slapper gone to fat and that is a fat old slapper who has had a dose of respectability and can feel it slipping away from her. In spite of her nice clothes and expensive perfume it was obvious that whilst you can take the bar girl out of the bar you can never really take the bar out of girl. Lupita was basically some trollop who had hooked her claws into Pedro years before and was now furious at having to go back to her old trade.

I have never forced any woman to do anything that she really didn't want to do, but I do enjoy  situations like this where a trollop has to spread her thighs because all the other options facing her are even worse than polishing a knob. Grinning all over my face at her discomfort I leaned over and whispered in her ear  that we would make the sweetest music together and was rewarded by flashing eyes and a face black with anger at her situation.

"Alternatively," I told her in Spanish, "I could just take my belt to you."

Lupita did not reply but I could tell from the look on her face that our time together was going to be long and memorable.

To be continued.

The Prefects' Lesson: classic 1970s spanking at its best

 

The Prefects' Lesson was shot in the mid 1970s on 16mm film and then released as an 8mm silent home movie. It cost a fortune back then to buy, but that did not stop people shelling out because for its day it was quite a treat. A sound version was later produced with a female narrator and it is this version that I have in my on-line shop.

The film is still a classic for lovers of the schoolgirl scenario with two naughty girls in uniform forced across their headmaster's knee to receive a well earned bare bottom spanking. Their troubles do not end there as they must then bend across the desk for the whippy school cane.

Why the lack of comments?

Just a thought... We get around 300 hits a day on this blog, but during the whole of this month up to now we have had just three comments - and one of them was by me!

So what;s the deal with the silence, folks? I know that you are out there and that you spend more than a second or so on the site, so why not tell me what you think?

A Mexican bottom made for spanking

Mexico produces some damnably  fine and fuckable  females such as this little darling on the right. Doesn't your palm just itch to smack that high rounded rump?

Let me be honest and say that Sol is the worst kind of weasel piss that masquerades as beer in the world. Both it and Corona are Mexican copies of American piss water, which is a pity because the country produces some good glugging ales.

That said, with a rear end like that one, who cares?

A Fine Spanking For Bernadette, Part Three

I spanked Bernadette methodically, alternating one cheek with the other, and built up an increasing crescendo of smacks. I cannot remember how many I gave her, but the room resounded to the crack of my palm across her helpless buttocks; buttocks that quickly became first pink, then bright red, before finally turning to the glowing colour of hot coals.

During the whole of her well-earned spanking, Bernadette did nothing but weep bitterly and shake her head from side to side. I could hear over the racket caused by the collision of my hand with her bottom that she was trying to form words of protest in her mouth but they remained unformed and all she managed to do was issue strangulated cries as she kicked her legs in a hapless attempt to break free.

Finally, with my arm aching and my palm stinging, I brought the spanking to a close with a final flurry of hard smacks, and then I dumped Bernadette onto the floor, to weep to her heart's content. She lay there sobbing for at least five minutes, before finally rising and resting her forearms on my knees.

"Please, she said, piteously, "let me pull my knickers up."

It was a faintly ridiculous request especially since my cock had begun to harden, but I gave her my permission, and she gently reached around behind her and pulled the scanties up, wincing as they covered her ravaged bottom.

Bernadette remained on the floor, with her head down, gently sobbing to herself and stroking her bottom to ease the pain. From time to time she would glance up at me with her big tear soaked eyes, but she didn't speak, contenting herself with the glances. Eventually she moved slightly towards me and reached out towards me with her left hand. She ran it along my legs and rubbed one of my knees, all the while moving uncomfortably from side to side, wincing all the while in discomfort.

"Can I have a hug, please?"

That was all she said and really it was all she needed to say. It was just the little bit of acceptance of her naughtiness that I had been waiting for and I took her in my arms and held her close for what seemed like an age as she continued to sniffle.

Eventually Bernadette looked me full in the face and with the tears fresh on her face, she smiled at me, and cocked her head to one side. She raised her eyebrows and leaned in to kiss me, a long, lingering kiss.

When it was over I stood up taking Bernadette with me. She giggled as she saw my  erection jutting out from within my trousers. I unzipped myself and took the throbbing hardness out, to place it in her hand. She stroked me gently as I undressed her. I unzipped her dress from the back and let it fall to the floor. Her brassier was part of a set with the cream panties and that quickly joined the dress. Finally I hooked my fingers into both sides of her panties, and grinned wolfishly at Bernadette as I prepared to lower them:

"It was a waste of time letting you pull them up, wasn't it?" I asked her.

Bernadette squealed in mock outrage and I laughed and picked her up and put her into bed. Stripping off my own clothes I quickly joined her and she put her arms around my neck as I began to nuzzle and kiss her ripe breasts, taking the nipples in my mouth one at a time to harden them with my flickering tongue.

The lovemaking was slow, as it always is with a freshly spanked female. Bernadette kept her arms around my neck as I thrust my cock into her warm,welcoming body. She moved easily in time with me, her body keeping pace with mine as slowly the tempo increased.

At her moment of truth, Bernadette raked her nails deep into my back, drawing blood with them, and throwing back her head to let out the only real noise that she had made during the whole act - a long moan that came from deep within her and which was exhaled at great length. It was a primal cry of pleasure at the end of that joyous act which brought us together again as a couple after what had been for both of us, a pretty horrible day all told.

A Fine Spanking For Bernadette, Part Two

As might be expected, Bernadette was in no hurry to leave the car, which was fine because I was in no mood to have a debate with her. I switched off the ignition and climbed out of the car to walk around to the passenger's door. Without further ado I opened it, grabbed Bernadette by the arm, and yanked her out of the vehicle to stand her by my side with her right arm held firmly in my grasp. Then, with her arm pushed upwards in my grasp so that her shoulder was forced up and her whole body was thrown off balance, I started to march her to the door.

"I can walk by myself, thank you very much," she spat, in a quiet voice that was filled with a mixture of fury and helplessness.

"Fine," I replied. "Let's see you do it." I let go of Bernadette's arm and gave her a firm smack to the rump. Trust me she felt that smack through the thin cotton of her dress, at least if the jump she made was anything to go by.

We made it to the front door and Bernadette began to fish in her bag for the house keys. She became flustered and started to grope in the bag, so I just grabbed it from her, got the keys out and opened the door. Then I took hold of madam and pushed her into the hallway.

Bernadette had become not exactly hysterical, but had certainly reached the stage where she was no longer in control of her actions. She cast her eyes around almost in desperation, looking anywhere but straight in front of her where I stood. She hopped from one foot to another, ran her hands through her hair, and then grabbed me by the lapels of my jacket and burried her face in my chest.

"You're frightening me," she said, her voice an octave or so higher than normal.

"You should have thought about all that before you started your antics," was all I said, as I took her hand and led her upstairs. 

Bernadette's shoulders drooped as we walked up the two flights of stairs. It was as if she knew that any resistance would be futile and would have only served to earn her a harder spanking - if that were at all possible as my intention was to administer a correction that she would remember every time she tried to sit down for the next week or so.

We made it to her flat, which was basically one very large room in the old house. Bernadette wanted to fuss over things and tried to hang up her bag over the arm of a chair, and reached down to take off her shoes, but I called a quick halt to such time wasting antics and grabbed her by both shoulders, then holding her upright and forcing her to look into my eyes.

"Young lady, you know what is going to happen, and there is really nothing that you can say that I find even interesting at this point," I told her simply. Bernadette gasped and shook her head from side to side. She tried to lift her arms, but I turned, grabbing her by one wrist as I did so, and marched her over to the bed that stood in the other corner of the room. It was high enough for my purposes, and I sat down and pulled the wretched girl across my knee.

"Nooooo," she wailed, turning her head to look at me as I placed her left arm behind me back and folded the other one into the small of her back. "Please," she continued, a plea that I ignored completely as I flipped up her dress to expose her bottom, fetchingly clad in cream panties that were decorated with small rosebuds and trimmed with light blue lace, to my gaze.

Normally I lecture a recalcitrant female once I have taken her panties down, but I knew that Bernadette  would burst into tears as soon as that happened. Once she was wailing to the high heavens then I could talk until I was blue in the face for all the good it would do, so in her case the lecture always preceded the lowering of her final defences.

"Now then, little girl," I told her. "I have had a day that I want to forget,  but can't, thanks to you and your stupidity. Now I am going to give you an evening that will be just as memorable."

With that I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties and calmly, inexorably, I peeled them down to mid-thigh. Bernadette began to cry immediately as I knew she would, but that didn't matter because as I cocked my right leg over her already scissoring thighs, the spanking  of the decade was about to begin.

To be concluded. . .

When Superman spanked Lois Lane

 

This is one of the first spanking images that I can remember seeing back in the mid-1960s. As a young fellow I was a great fan of the caped crusader and would buy a comic regularly. I can still remember my surprise when I opened the issue and saw  Lois Lane upended across Superman's knee. Of course it wasn't actually Superman who spanked her, it was the robot that guarded his fortress, but that was not important to me then:

 

In case you are wondering, Lois decided that she wanted to live in the fortress so Superman made sure that she did not enjoy the experience so would wish to return home as soon as possible.

A Fine Spanking For Bernadette, Part One

Bernadette... An achingly lovely girl who shared a chunk of my life for a couple of years from late 1985. As I look back down the decades I can say with all honesty that she is the one girl that I still think about with warmth and affection. It wasn't her fault that we split, nor mine: we tried our best but it didn't work out and so we sort of drifted apart.

That doesn't mean that Bernadette was perfect in every way. Far from it as like all females she could be petulant, sulky and generally difficult to handle a lot of the time. She had been across my knee on several occasions and bless her but she found the experience less than agreeable. Quite why she was unable to modify her general naughtiness so as to avoid further correction is something that I am unable to explain, mainly because I cannot get my head that far up my arsehole to make sense of many of the things that women do. That aside the spanking that I want to tell you about now was pretty spectacular and even though I am not a gambling man I would still be willing to bet money that Bernadette will remember it.

She was 25 back in the summer of 1986 which is when these events occurred. A tall, slender, size ten girl, with an infectious smile and the ruddy Irish complexion that she had inherited from both her parents who had hailed from the ould sod. She was researching her M.Sc, part-time, at the University of Manchester, worked as a secretary for Marks and Spencer and lived on the top floor of an old house in the south of the city that had been converted into flats.

Bernadette had been the perfect scatterbrain all  that evening. I had called to collect her at the agreed time to find her mooching around in jeans and a T-shirt, having quite forgotten that we were going to the theatre. So of course she needed a bath first but what was she going to do without a pound coin for the water heater?  I didn't have one either so a minor drama broke out with Bernadette sat in a chair pondering her next move until I went and got change from a nearby shop. Then she couldn't decide which dress to wear so I had to sit in a chair and be treated to a fashion show as garments were tried on and discarded. Finally she insisted, since this was the theatre and people would look at her, and no, don't ask me to explain the thought process at work there, that her admittedly luscious flowing red-brown locks had to be treated to a curling tong when still damp. And so it went on... To cut a long story short we arrived in our seats seconds before the curtain went up, Bernadette looking cool and ravishing, with me feeling like a wrung out rag.

We went to dinner afterwards and of course she couldn't decide what she wanted to eat and then went into pout mode when I called the waiter over and ordered for her. Then I was treated to a lecture on how I needed to be more understanding of her whims, and when I told her to shut her silly female mouth I was told that I was a sexist, which is true, and then the sulks started all over again.

That was pretty much it for me. I sat back, took a sip of wine and smiled sweetly in Bernadette's direction:

"Have you any idea how hard I am going to smack your bottom when I get you home?"

The couple at the next table overheard my comment, and the woman covered her mouth with a napkin to hide her smile. Her companion and I glanced at each other, with me shrugging my shoulders and him rolling his eyes in sympathy at what I was having to put up with. Bernadette had more sense than to say a word  and the rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Once it was over I paid the bill and loaded her in the car for  the drive back to her flat where retribution would follow.

Madam tried to make small talk in the car, but gave up when she realised that I was completely indifferent to her rather desperate attempts to divert my attention from the fact that I intended to take her in hand - and take her in hand pretty damn well - just as soon as we reached her home.

Eventually, but probably far too soon for Bernadette who had begun to pluck nervously at the hem of her silky cream-coloured tea dress, we reached her flat and I pulled the car into the parking area in front of the building.

"Right, young lady," I said to her. "It's showtime!"

Continued here.

Does anyone remember the crying women series?

I remember Crying Women 3 from the very early 1980s. It ran for about 30 minutes, but alas I have only managed to find the first ten for your delectation and delight. Still, not to worry, as the women cry - hardly as surprise when you see how hard they get spanked.

Anybody else remember this series? I only ever saw this video, but there must have been numbers one and two.

How to lose weight

Rather less of Raven Red than exists at the moment is due to return to the UK in July, and to ensure that her diet proceeds apace the good lady must weigh herself every Monday. A report is then sent to a rather decent fellow who, purely in the interests of Raven's health, then orders her to report for correction should her weight not have fallen by the agreed amount.

As you can see from this photo she made little or no attempt to lose weight last week with the result that her backside was blistered thoroughly. However, this week she has almost made her target weight loss and is almost safe from the paddle.

Almost, but not quite. 300 grams may not sound like much but it is enough to ensure that there will be a lowering of the panties and a reddening of the bottom once again.

Meeting Peter Jones, the London Spank Daddy

This is Peter Jones, otherwise known as the London Spank Daddy. We met up for what turned into an alcohol fuelled business meeting last Friday. I was jet-lagged after having only just flown in the day before from Mexico, but after several pints and a reasonable lunch I was in no pain at all.

We discussed an idea of mine that would see Peter making videos under the Moonglow umbrella, and I must say the idea of bringing the London Spank Daddy and the Britain's premier spanking producers together appeals to me enormously.

Watch this space for more details!

Great caning video

 

A Private Punishment was probably the best caning video produced in the 1980s.  The girl on the receiving end takes a damned fine thrashing that leaves her buttocks swollen and sore, yet the action is sensual throughout. After the camera and stopped rolling did she then receive a somewhat thicker rod? We at Urzdown Hall certainly hope so.

Watch the video!

Spanking a whore

Many women think that men hire working girls for sex. That is not true: we hire them so that when the sex is over they have a shower, get dressed and then off is where they fuck. In other words we don't have to pretend to be interested in their inane, superficial prattle and can get on with something useful having been agreeably despunked.

So it came to pass in about 2005 that I was walking down a street called San Pablo in sunny Mexico City when I realised that I was nursing a rather insistent blue-veiner. Luckily I was on the right street as it is wall to wall whore, so my strides took on another purpose as I looked for a trollop who would put a nice shine to the increasingly hard knob that I carried inside my trousers. I picked out a likely looking lass who was about 20 and wearing a rather fetching black Lycra mini-dress and agreed a price with her. For some reason and no matter what the exchange rate is, a San Pablo whore including hotel always seems to cost a tenner. Along with haircuts, a leg over is good value in this city.

Off we went and I quickly put her to work stroking my balls and sucking my cock. I was on my back with the girl at my side. My trousers were down to my thighs and all of a sudden I felt a hand very gently move something around on my left side.Sitting up I saw that the girl had somehow managed to unzip my trousers' security pocket and had partially removed the wallet. When I looked at her she was busily engaged in removing a note.

I couldn't help but laugh, and then I sat up, pulled my trousers back into their place and then stood the girl up in front of me. I asked her if she fancied a trip to the local ;police station? Seeing her look of amazement I hasten to inform her that I didn't give a flying fuck what anyone thought about either me or my activities, and I went on to tell her that if she had previous form for thievery she could be looking at some pretty tasty time behind bars.

To give her credit, this was one trollop who was not easily fazed. She gave ma a grin and offered not only to waive her fee but also to blow me without a condom. I grinned back at her, although my smile was more wolfish than anything else and told her that she would be paid in full - after I had smacked her bottom.

She nodded her head and I pulled her across my knee. It was the matter of a moment to pull up her dress to reveal her very firm buttocks clad in a lilac thong. I then gave her twelve firm smacks on alternate cheeks.

Standing her up again in front of me I saw a look of fury on her face, mixed in with pure, insolent defiance. I told her that her expression had earned her a thorough spanking and for the first time I was rewarded by a look of concern that flashed across her face.

Putting her back in position I lifted the dress again and this time I peeled the thing down to mid thigh. She started to protest and tried to hold onto the garment, but a firm smack to the rump made her let go and the necessary preliminaries were soon completed. I really don't know why women who wear a thing that leaves the bottom bare and gives them no protection for a hard male hand still object to the lowering of that item but they do. It probably has to do with a desire to keep some measure of dignity, but I am sorry to have to tell you, ladies, that dignity is not allowed with me.

I spanked her soundly, first one cheek and then the other. My right leg was cocked over her kicking thighs and I took her right hand in my left and held it away from her bottom. She tried to use her free arm to lever herself up, but it was a simple matter to jam my left elbow into her back just below the shoulders and keep her down until I decided that the correction had been administered.

This time when I stood her up she was completely chastened and kept her eyes down as I looked into her face. I told her that she was naughty and that her spanking had been made ten times worse by her insolence following the first dozen smacks. I went on to tell her that if anyone else ever had cause to discipline her then she would not be quite so foolish. I also told her to improve her pickpocketing techniques...

The girl nodded her head, saying "Yes sir" in Spanish, over and over again in a quiet voice. I lifted her head and saw the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. . . Then I ordered her to her knees.

She gave me a very fine blow job indeed and it did not take me long to shoot my load. She went off to the bathroom and when I poked my head around the door I saw that she was slowly rubbing her bottom and looking at my handiwork in the mirror. I couldn't help buy laugh and to her credit she had spirit enough to pout and me and stick her tongue out.

In case anyone is wondering, I not only paid her, but I left her with a nice tip as well!

Great Mexico City Upskirt

The Alameda Park in central Mexico City used to be the spot where the pre-revolutionary haute bourgeoisie strutted its stuff. Today it is pretty run down but occasionally you get a pretty tourist girl walking over the metro grating when a train is passing below - as you can see the results can be quite spectacular. She is obviously a tourist because the local wenches have learned to avoid such obvious traps.

OK, so it isn't exactly spanking, but I like upskirt photos and this blog is my toy!

Let's hear it for Fenem, our kind of Feminist movement!

Everyone's favourite uncle is seriously impressed with Femen, the Ukrainian feminist organisation which aims to "build up a national image of feminity, maternity and beauty based on the Euro-Atlantic Women’s Movement's experience," whatever the fuck that means. Not that many of you will care, but let's be honest and say that the talent on display is fit, firm and fuckable, three factors which more than justify uploading the clip.

Just in case you are wondering, a Ukrainian speaker reports that the demonstration is against university lecturers who swap good marks for even better sex with their students.

On the uses of belts

I went to an artisan market yesterday to buy a belt. The stall had any number of leather items that would be ideal for holding trousers up, but my belts have to serve a double purpose so I need something extra thick and very long.

The stall keeper was showing me his wares and I decided that there are times when discretion is really not worth the trouble so I told him the truth: that a belt for me is used for thrashing obedience into mouthy young madams when it isn't around my waist. To give the fellow credit he didn't bat an eyelid, but turned around and vanished into the interior of his stall to return a moment later with this handy item which I promptly bought from him for about £7.50.

 

The young female assistant rolled her eyes to heavenward   and uttered the eternal female bleat that involves the clicking of the tongue. I said to her that if she behaved then she would never have to ever feel such a thing, and to her credit she grinned ruefully and touched her bottom.

Say what you like about Mexican women they may not enjoy being kissed by the leather but they do accept that it has to happen from time to time.

Van Heusen shirts: made to spank in!

I used to wear Van Heusen shirts back in the day, but I don't remember this advert for them which seems to date from the early 1960s.

The nice thing about all these old adverts which featured a spanking is just how normal the event was. People who saw this poster almost fifty years ago did not think that the man was doing anything out of the ordinary. If anything it made them want to buy the shirts because they fancied being daring, audacious and bolder themselves.

Happy New Year 2011

I went to a restaurant at lunchtime on New Year's Eve. It is one of my regular haunts when in Mexico and the waitresses have got to know me over the years. I was making my way to the toilet when one of them, chatting animatedly to her friend, backed into me, rubbing her rather luscious rump into my groin. I put my arms around her waist and told her to be careful, otherwise I would leave her "bien colorada," which roughly translates as well reddened in English, but always refers to the state of the bottom, despues de la nalguiza, as it were.

She giggled nervously, and I whispered in her ear, asking if she understood? She replied quietly, leaning against me all the time: Si Señor.

So nice to end the year by reminding a young chit of her place, don't you think? I trust that 2011will be as agreeable. A happy New Year to all my readers.

The "inner feminist weeps" cartoon

Frank Warren is the owner of PostSecret.com, and every week he gets over a thousand postcards from people who want to confess their sins to him. He takes the best twenty of so, scans them and then posts them to his site.

The postcard on the left arrived in April 2008 and earned its place on the site. Matters may have ended there but the Times was looking for an easy story that month to fill space so they ran a piece about Frank's site and illustrated it with the girl's cartoon.

Who she is we don't know, but she can certainly draw, and her comment struck a chord in the popular imagination, so much so that copies of her work are now all over the web.

Not bad going for a simple sketch and a brief confession.

This blog is booming!

"Some readers of this blog have contacted Google because they believe this blog's content is objectionable."

That's how the new warning message  that Google has stuck up on my blog starts, before going on to say that basically Google doesn't give a stuff about content, so click the button to enter the site.

It's the word objectionable that I find most appealing. It conjures up images of anal retentives who are offended and who want their sense of that which is offensive in their sight to be noted. Verily, it is duly noted and they are cordially invited to pull their foreskins over their heads and wank themselves to death.

For the rest of you the blog is clearly hopping because we are now averaging over 300 hits a day and I hope that the dominant fellows and their suitably compliant females who make up the bulk of those hitsters will continue returning to give a traditional, British, two-fingered salute to the dickless dwarfs who live in the shadows and who find us so frightfully objectionable!

Hack Attack!

I suppose that it had to happen sooner or later: an attempt was made a couple of hours ago to hack into the accounts that run this blog, leading Google to suspend both the e-mail and blog. To get both up and running again I had to send a valid mobile number to the Google system and then  the number rang and a disembodied voice gave me a six digit code to put into the access page. Once that was done everything suddenly started to work again. I suppose the only real problem came about because whilst in Mexico I am using the crappy, semi-official mobile provider and the code has still not arrived at that number several hours after it was requested. However my son has a Nextel phone and that company got the call through in seconds.

So who hates me enough to want to put the blog off-line? Take your pick from mouthy ex-lovers who don't know their place onwards. However, one thing is clear: the buggers failed!

Merry Christmas

A very merry Christmas to all my readers.

Calling all wannabes: here's how it's done!

I am often accused of both sexism and misogyny. The first I plead guilty to, but the second is a nonsense. I don't hate women, I just don't take most of the superficial little darlings all that seriously. However, what I have never done is to try and force any woman to do something that she really didn't want to do, and that point is important since there is a nasty internet rumour going around to the contrary. In fact so strong is this Facebook-based tale that Raven Red was actually warned by at least one person not to spend last month in my house as I do not respect the notion of consensual activity. She ignored the advice and will be back with me next July, but let's nail this load of old wank once and for all, shall we?

Fuck or fuck off has always been my attitude towards the fair sex. I do not go looking for submissive girls to spank, I just seek out females and then spank them. Or rather I wait until they do something particularly inane - it doesn't take long, we are talking about women after all - and then I warn them that a repeat performance will earn them a trip across my knee. At that point madam is more than at liberty to tell me that a smacked bottom is out of the question. In which case my fuck or fuck off rule comes into play and I either throw her out, if we are at my place, or put my coat on and leave if at hers. 

On the other hand, if madam decides that she wants to carry on seeing me, but doesn't fancy the idea of too many smacked bottoms then all she has to do is keep her innate female silliness under some sort of control and she need never find herself staring at a carpet as her knickers are taken down. I don't invent reasons to spank, and if truth be told what I really want is a quiet life.

Where did this nasty rumour about me come from? Probably from within the ranks of the hand shandyists who are only socially-conservative behind a computer monitor. At all other times they are pussy-whipped wannabes who find it hard to keep Mrs Hand and her five daughters in line, never mind a real live woman.

Vote for the Pink Report

It's that time of year when blog readers are asked to vote for their  favourite spanking read of 2010. Cuddly Uncle Nick has voted for The Pink Report over at the Spanking Spot's poll and hopes that you will follow the link and cast your vote for the lovely Miss Pink as well.

Advertising the old fashioned way

 

Rather an amusing American advert from the late 1930s. What interests me about it is the matter of fact way in which a wife is being disciplined by her husband. This is an advert for flour, but there is no suggestion that the audience of the day didn't understand the message which is that wives are under their husbands' authority.

Where did western society go wrong?

On caring for a tawse

Following on from Wednesday's posting, I decided that the tawse needed some care and attention, having been stuck in a drawer for two years, so I went and bought some saddle soap. It will probably be the middle of 2011 before it gets to teach Raven her lesson but it is never too soon to start bringing this delightful implement back to its full vigour.

Bringing a daughter to heel

George Thompson was a man who knew how to keep his daughter Loretta in line - even when she was 34 years old. She stayed out until midnight according to this  front page LA Times report of the 25 May 1938 and her bottom paid the price with Loretta across her daddy's knee. The matter was resolved with Loretta agreeing to be home by 10.00pm during the week and at midnight on weekends.

Looking ahead with pleasant anticipation

A posting over at Raven Red's place has put me even more out of sorts than I was owing to the effects of Monday's flight. Whilst I was in the air, suffering the pain that British Airways inflicts on its passengers,  Raven was getting her backside tawsed with an implement that I tracked down for her in England. 

She went back to South Africa last week, taking with her the cane and tawse pictured above. The cane was mine and was given to her as a gift for a certain HH, but the tawse had to be bought, an activity that took up rather more of my time than I wished to dedicate to it. Eventually I found one through my contacts which at least shut up the Raven's inane prattling on the subject.

The reason why all this has left me out of sorts is that although I welted her backside with the cane, I never got the opportunity to grease up the tawse across her bare rump before both rump and tawse left the country. Raven went to Coventry for a night and had the item in her bag. She claims that the bag fell open on the bed just as she was about to leave and that the tawse fell out unbeknownst to herself.

Yes, I know, she's a woman and therefore scatterbrained and quite capable of doing stupid things as a matter of course, but this is stretching my credulity just a little too far, especially since madam had been saying that the tawse might just get lost  in the English Midlands...

To make matters worse, yesterday Raven suggested that we go and buy another tawse just like the one that went to South Africa and that was when my nose really went out of joint. Few people ever get away with patronising me - few men I really should say and no fucking women at all at least if they know what is good for them!

So, here is what is going to happen. Back in 1990 I purchased the tawse that is pictured on the left. It is a ferocious implement, and one that was left here in Mexico when I returned to the UK in December of 2009.

As soon as I saw Raven's posting I called her on Skype, and just as soon as that little chat was over I went and recovered my trusty old tawse and took a photo of it to send to her. That photo is reproduced here. As you can see from the picture below, this tawse is not a toy and I absolutely fucking guarantee that Raven la Roja is going to be sleeping on her stomach and eating her meals standing up for a week  after it has been used on her.

On that happy note breakfast calls!

Blogging...

Blogging is going to be light until the middle of January as I will be in Mexico until then. I will do my best to produce a couple of updates a week, so stay tuned.

In the meantime Raven Red has produced her take on the well earned caning that I gave her the other day, so please take a trip over to her place and read her make a drama out of the few light taps that did little more than tickle her bottom.

Caveat Emptor

 

There are certain things that just tickle my funny bone and this cartoon in one of them. With thanks to The Pink Report.

Hello Sally's Bottoms

Fuck or fuck off: that has always been my first rule when dealing with women. I have never forced any woman to do anything that she didn't want to do, but on the other hand if any little darling wants something from me then she pays for it first, usually on her back, but occasionally on her knees or doggie style, depending upon my mood. God bless the little darlings, but they either fuck or they get told to fuck off and that is just the way life is in Nick Urzdown's world.

The other day a little Facebook darling called Sally Phillips contacted me wanting to be my friend, indeed she claimed that she wanted me to be her mentor. Being my usual cynical self I used this little toy to check out her photos and found that some had been nicked from a Russian site. I looked at her blog and realised quickly that we are both in the trade - she is trying to earn a buttie with her site - so I wrote back and said that if she wanted my help then an end to the chicanery was a prerequisite. I also gave her a link to the archive site that I keep as an awful warning to slappers everywhere not to even think about trying it on with me. Not that Sally is a slapper - perish the thought...  Anyway, the lady has agreed to play fair and I am happy to give her a helping hand.

If she wants anything more than that then obviously rule one will apply, but as things stand I am happy to play the role of avuncular uncle so long as Sally stays a good girl. If she ever becomes a bad one then that might just have to change...

Another Caning For Raven Red

Raven Red is on her way back to South Africa, her flight having left Heathrow on its twelve hour journey at 8.00pm yesterday. Heaven knows how she is sitting down at the time of writing given the caning that I gave her on Friday afternoon, but that is not my problem. It was my pleasure to administer the correction, but the problem is all Raven's.

The agreement that we had prior to her arrival in this country was that she would reduce her weight to 15 stones or 105 kilos. That she failed to do and she tipped the scales at 123 kilos, and thus received one stroke for every kilo over her agreed weight. The 18 strokes were laid on at about 3.00pm and the photo was taken an hour or so later.

Madam hopes to reach her final weight of 11 stones or 80 kilos by the middle of 2011. Hopefully she will be back in the UK by that time and she is aware that the cane awaits any backsliding.

The Take Three Girls Spanking

Although I say it myself, I was a handsome devil back in 1996, wasn't I? The spanking that I administered back then wasn't my greatest, but I was on video and the aim was to keep it going as long as possible. Joanne, the young actress on the receiving end, was clearly going orgasmic as my hand cracked down across her rump and that was another reason not to rush things. I have to be honest and say that when I am spanking a genuinely naughty girl then the intention is always to smack hard and fast so as to teach madam her lesson, but when it is a spot of video work I always aim to please the viewer, and I think that I did that back in 1996. Joanne wasn't complaining, either!

The clip comes from Moonglow, the new spanking magazine that is currently on sale at just £10.00, post paid. Click this link and take a look at what is on offer inside the full issue.

La Fessée Part Seven

In this quite marvellously daft final clip everyone gets spanked by everyone else. First the master spanker deals with a traffic warden, then he is spanked in his turn by a rather elegant women. The film ends with every girl who has appeared in it being spanked by all the male characters before sucking and fucking every one of them. What an ending - what a film!

Raven's first spanking

Actually if you want to be pedantic, yesterday's spanking was not her first since I did have the lady across my knee a couple of weeks ago, but that affair was little more than a tickle, with yesterday's event being very much the real thing.

I suppose that I had a reason to spank her, but let's be honest it was just an excuse. Raven has been with me for three weeks and during most of that time I was ill with a nasty chest infection and then she came down with a cold so neither of us were in any mood for anything other than curing our respective illnesses. My strength is now returning and Raven's nasty cough is under control, so yesterday seemed like a good day to underline the respective male and female roles in this relationship.

We were in the bedroom and Raven probably had an idea of what was about to happen, certainly her shoulders sagged slightly as I began telling her why she was shortly to pay a trip across my knee. She made a rather feeble attempt at justification, but I told her in my best peremptory  manner that I wasn't interested in female prattle and then I pulled her across my knee, thus short circuiting any further tedious delaying tactics.

It was the work of a moment to haul up her skirt and then Raven's black satin panties came down in no time at all. I am not a great believer in delaying matters so once those preliminaries had been accomplished I proceeded to administer the spanking, alternating one cheek with the other, and bringing my hand down in a great arc from high above  my head to smack it with full velocity across Raven's upturned rump.

The nice thing about a good hand spanking is that it is pretty hard to overdue things since the aching in the arm and the tingling of the palm usually provides sufficient notice that the correction has been suitably administered. That said, I have been left with a rather badly bruised little finger, so perhaps I did allow my enthusiasm to get the better of me on this occasion. Raven received a good one hundred smacks, all laid on with the full weight of my arm behind each one, and was left visibly shaking when I allowed her to rise.

Since then madam has been rather subdued, and we shall see how she behaves over the course of the next few days before a final decision as to the full efficacy of yesterday's event can be made. However my gut feeling is that Raven is going to be very careful around me for the rest of this week at least.

The Moonglow magazine is here!

 

Here she is folks - the first issue of Moonglow, the next generation spanking magazine. As editor what I have tried to do is combine the best of the old printed magazines with today's technology to bring you the future of our kink today.

Moonglow fits on a DVD disk, but it is burned using CD-Rom technology. You open it on any computer and as with all magazines you will see an index page.Just click on any link to go to the section that you want - an electronic way of flicking through a magazine.

The content will please even the most jaded spanking palate. I have included a reprint of the first ever edition of Blushes from the 1980s in PDF format so you can print it up if you want. Enough video to keep even the most demanding customer happy - would you believe over two hours of high quality spanking video? I have even included a blast from the real life spanking past with a report of the Darren Nesbitt and Ann Aubrey case from 1972, complete with reprints of all the newspaper coverage of the day.

All that and more for just £10.00 or $15.00 if you live in the USA. Just click this link to order your copy post free right now!

La Fessée Part Six

Our hero receives a telegram summoning him back to the village of his birth. He finds a wake in progress and a very merry widow who turns out to be none other than Elizabeth, the girl that he had spanked all those years ago when he was but a youth. Obviously he feels the urge to take her across his knee again before knobbing her firmly for old time's sake.

Brazilian spanking

You have to love Latin types - the way that they scream at one another just confirms every belief we ever had about these inbreds. Here a Brazilian mother demonstrates the finer points of hysteria before taking a belt to her recalcitrant daughter. If anyone wants a translation then they can forget it as far as I am concerned. I speak Spanish, and Portuguese is basically a dialect, but it sounds a bit like the unintelligible Spanish that  a  lobotomised retard might speak.

Office spanking

Cathelco in Chesterfield sounds like my kind of company. Pete Smith the sales manager likes to watch porn on his computer, sit pretty girls on his knee and chase them around the office before adminstering a good over the knee spanking as he did to a certain Laura Holland.

Angelina Ashby did not find it all that amusing and has taken the company to an industrial tribunal claiming constructive dismissal. Aside from moaning about Pete, she also claims that other members of staff teased her for being fat, but it is the fate of Laura that interests me the most.

Alas we do not have any more information and won't until next year as one of the tribunal members knew a witness so the whole matter will have to be redone next year.

The Gym Lesson

Back in the mid 1970s Janus had the bright idea of producing a series of 8mm spanking films for the home market. Unfortunately they lacked a cinematographer, so went and paid a visit to the only one in town who just might agree to produce and direct the films for them, a certain George Harrison Marks.

Harrison Marks had no interest whatsoever in spanking - his bag was girl on girl as you will see when you watch the film, but he did understand film making and produced a workmanlike series of films for Janus which the magazine proceeded to sell at about £50 a throw.

If you are wondering what happened to the sound, relax, because these are silent movies, people!

La Fessée Part Five

The master spanker has been hired to deal with a sullen teenage girl by her weary father. The girl tries to escape but our hero catches her, bares her, and then teaches her proper comportment by hand and cock. The clip ends with a rather amusing fantasy sequence.

On caning Raven Red

I caned Raven Red yesterday - twelve good strokes, each one well laid on, that left her whimpering. If you want a full account of the event then la Red has one already posted, so please read her memories of the event. What I want to talk about is the cane, or rather my dislike of it.

There is something impersonal about a caning that is at the very root of my distaste for the implement. Putting a woman across my knee, holding her in position and raising her skirt before peeling down her panties is not just a preparation for the discipline to come, it is also an intimate delight in itself. Indeed the whole act of administering a spanking is intimate, especially the way in which a wriggling female rubs herself unconsciously against her chastiser's hardening cock.

So why did I cane Raven? Basically because I was angry at an event that almost got her killed back in her native South Africa. I had told her at the time that a dozen with the cane was waiting for her, so yesterday was really about nothing more than administering that which had been previously awarded.

The world is a really nice place with Raven in it. Let's hope that she stays around for many decades to come and does not allow her seeming death wish to ever get the better of her again. In the meantime she can carry on moaning for the next few days, in her curious mixture of English and Afrikaans, about the state of her very well thrashed bottom from now until the cows come home as far as I am concerned.

My liberalism knows no bounds.

The silliness of "sir"

Some short while ago I was chatting on-line to an American girl who kept on calling me "sir." I find such affectations rather amusing, but have always wondered why some people insist on the use of such terminology? I mean if a girl is sobbing quietly, rubbing her red bottom, and with her knickers still at knee height, then surely such gestures are redundant? Especially if the girl's voice then changes to become more liquid and gentle, if she becomes more tactile in her gestures, and starts to seek approval and permission before she acts. A woman who does that can call me whatever she likes as far as I am concerned because both of us know who wears the trousers and that it isn't her.

I think that the problem with the you will  call me sir brigade is that they seem to be working from a script - they are like actors in other words. They seem to think that if they stick to the script then so will everyone else, especially the girl. However, what if she can't contain her giggles at the thought of hackneyed and stilted dialogue? Is there a Plan B or do you just start to shout at her in the hope of breaking her down? This does not strike me as a good way to get a girl's respect and without that you are doomed, anyway.

So lose the scripts, guys, is my advice.

La Fessée Part Four

Our hero arrives at an office to attend to the owner. She is spanked soundly and then bent over her own desk for a taste of the master spanker's cock. The secretary walks in and joins the fun making a perfect clip for all you lovers of girl on girl action. This rather leads us to ask  the obvious question - why are real-life lesbians always so fucking ugly compared to the ones we see on screen?