Marina, Part Three

As noon drew near the following day I wandered from the metro station to the coffee shop where we had agreed to meet. A few texts had passed between us, but I was not thinking of Mooseish matters as I strolled down the broad avenue called Tlalpan in the direction of coffee and Marina. If I thought about anything at all it was probably how nice the weather was compared to the cold damp country that I had left behind a few days earlier. The vibration of my mobile phone shook me out of my daydream. It was a text from the Moose who was waiting for me at the coffee shop:

I have a horrible stomach ache, I am nervous and I hate it!

The hour of retribution was at hand.

I pushed open the door to the coffee shop and looked around for Marina. There she was, her Blackberry and some papers on one side of her, and an expensive handbag on the other. Give the lady credit, but she had made an extra special effort with her dress and make-up, not that she needed to do much, being naturally lovely. Still, I was pleased to see that she was wearing a skirt, something that she had told me the year before that wore, and which had obviously been put on for my benefit since she knows that I like them.

However, the most delightful aspect of her appearance was the way that she fidgeted nervously in her seat, glancing at her watch, before picking up her mobile, only to put it down again a moment later to cast an anxious glance at the door.

As soon as she saw me strolling towards her she let out a yelp of delight and got to her feet with her arms held out for the obligatory hug and load smacking kiss.

"Hamster Face," she warbled at length, her voice catching in her throat.

"Hello, Moose," I replied, quietly. "What have you got to say for yourself?

"Nothing... I need to go," she indicated the ladies' room with a shaky index finger.

"Off you go and I will get myself a coffee," I replied. "Do you want anything?"

"I haven't had anything all day - I'm so nervous."

As Marina went off to do whatever it is that women spend so long doing in toilets,  I enjoyed my coffee and reflected on the fact that one of the nicer things about women is the way in which when nervous, their fears travel at the speed of light from their brains to inside their panties. It is not that they become aroused, exactly, but they do tend to become nice and moist and that is manna from heaven to a man like me. I resolved that when the Moose returned we would spend a happy few minutes chatting about her immediate future, just so that I could enjoy the sport of watching her squirm in her own juices, as it were.

The Moose returned and took her seat across the table from me. She cocked her head to one side and fixed me with one of her dazzling smiles, and then when I did not respond she resorted to pout mode, sticking her lower lip over the upper one, a trait that had led to her being given the the nickname of Moose in the first place.

"Please don't be too hard on me," she pleaded.

All I did by way of reply was smile slightly and leave her to babble, which was something she then proceeded to do. Women, no matter what nationality they are, always babble when they know that a fire will soon be ignited underneath their skirts and inside their knickers.

She fidgeted in her chair as I knew that she would, because most women do at times like that, and I sat back and enjoyed the show. Her hands fluttered like butterflies, and she crossed, uncrossed and then recrossed her legs again and again, constantly changing her position in the seat as if she wanted to remove her bottom from the unyielding surface of the chair that was beneath her.

"Is there any reason why you cannot sit still for more than a few seconds?"

"Evil rat! You know why I am being like this, don't you?”

"Remind me," I said, in a voice that I kept deliberately low and even.

"You are going to torture me," said the Moose, never one to miss an opportunity for hyperbole.

"No, but I am going to put you across my knee and smack your bare bottom until it is the colour of a ripe tomato," I replied.

"Please let's get it over with," she pleaded.

"Of course. Just as soon as I finish my coffee," I told her with a smile.

A cry broke over Marina's lips as she realised that the retribution was going to be delayed by a hot cup of coffee. She was in the worst possible bind, not wanting to be spanked, but wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible.

To say that the Moose fidgeted and squirmed in her seat as I slowly drank my coffee is putting it mildly. She put on a display of terror that was a joy to behold, and behold it I did as I swirled the remaining dregs of my coffee around the cup and took a final swallow of the delicious brew. Looking at Marina I kept her in my eye as I stood up, gave her one of my more genial smiles and then told her calmly and quietly that it was time to leave.

To be continued.

Marina, Part Two

Once Marina knew that I was planning to spend New Year 2011 in Mexico she asked for some favours and I arranged to meet her so that I could keep my side of the bargain. I ended up spending a whole day in a government office, not something that I do with a good grace, but I was cheered up by the thought of the fucking that was to follow. I said goodbye to her late that afternoon with a smile on my lips and a tilt in my trousers as I anticipated the ride that was planned for the following week. Alas, it all went vile as Marina had one of those brain farts that women get from time to time, even cynical players like her.

I shall not bore you with too many details of what happened. Marina later claimed that she was shocked by my appearance when I turned up leaning on a walking stick, as she had no idea that I had been so ill. On the other hand, Raven her successor claimed that the old Moose was jealous of my new affair with her. Whoever was right, the upshot was that Marina picked a fight with me, dragged Raven into the dispute via e-mail and generally enraged me so much so that I told her that off was where she could fuck from that moment on.

If you think that I am being harsh, then you need to remember that Marina broke the cardinal rule of life with me, and it is a rule that I do not keep secret. Women fuck or they fuck off and by her attitude she chose the second option and that as far as I was concerned was the end of the matter.

Marina could not leave it at that because she needs me more than I need her so in spring 2011 she started trying to worm her way back into my good books by leaving a few agreeable comments on the blog, but she sloped off when I made it plain that I was in no mood to forgive without punishment.

Silence was her next strategy and when I did not get in touch with her, she contacted my in November 2011 to offer her complete, unconditional surrender.

… I am very sorry for what I did. Will you be in Mexico City next month? If so I will accept whatever punishment you choose to give me…

Feeling rather warm and cuddly I mentioned to Raven and then said that maybe I would let the Moose off and just take her for a drink instead. I am sad to have to relate, but Raven burst out laughing at my remark.

I cannot speak for you, but I just hate it when women get like that.

Raven was right, of course, as I did spend the next few pleasant weeks getting the Moose into the correct frame of mind to go across my knee. We chose the 21 December 2011 and I like to think that with each day that passed on the road to that day Marina began to shake more and more and was almost ready to wet herself at the mere thought of what lay in store for her. I would like to report that I had a great deal of sympathy for the poor dear, but sympathy was the last thing on my mind as Retribution Day drew near.

Once I had arrived in Mexico City I wrote to the Moose and reminded her of what lay in store, and I reminded her of why it was going to happen. I also asked her if she understood what had led up to the moment and requested that she give me her full, uncensored feeling on the matter. Her reply, which used her old pet name for me, was thoughtful and clearly showed that she was accepting her fate with as much good grace as she could muster:

Dear Hamster,

I am writing this message as a response to your request. Last year I was very bad because I did not do as I had promised. I was too much in shock after seeing you and as a result, I failed to keep my word. I am deeply sorry for acting in such a way. You did not deserve it.

However, I do deserve to be punished for this action and I am willing to go through this ordeal if that is what you decide. I am sincerely sorry for my behaviour. Thank you for being here and for giving me the chance to make things right.

Moose

I want to just pause here for a moment and let you know that this is not my translation, those words are exactly as the Moose wrote them. Not bad for a girl who speaks English as her second language, what do you think? Quite how I managed to let this one slip through my fingers is still something that baffles me, by the way.

I replied to her and suggested a time and place for our meeting and the Moose replied accepting both. This was my final text that day:

Good, now think on this: I am going to smack your bottom until it is the colour of a ripe tomato.

The following day I decided to see how the girl was considering her fate so I texted her as follows:

Is the time flying or does it hang heavy in your mind as you ponder tomorrow?

This reply came shortly afterwards:

I am working at the moment, but I have had a headache for several hours now. I think that it is due to tomorrow.

As we headed towards the morrow, I reflected that the lot of the poor Moose was not a happy one. 

Then I burst out laughing.

Marina, Part One

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Weekending: A Failed Spanking

Welcome to Weekending, a new feature to end each week's postings and send you off  with a smile on your lips, or something...

This is Tricia, a very naughty girl indeed who also found herself across my knee at last week's munch. Unlike J who was soundly spanked to my complete satisfaction, Tricia managed to score a hit which had me reduced to a fit of giggling hysteria, thus truncating her well-earned correction.

I had Tricia nicely in position as you can see with her skirt up and knickers down and was entertaining the throng of onlookers with some solid hearty smacks to that quite delightful rump when it all went pear shaped.

Tricia was being spanked for cancelling plans to meet me without giving due notice, not once but at least twice. Ergo I felt that this session was well merited and long overdue:

"Are you planning to cancel any more dates?" Smack! Smack! Smack!

"No, I won't, I promise," she yelped.

"We had a lunch date, didn't we?" Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Yes, we did. Ow! Ow! Ow!"

"And you cancelled," I told her, landing three hearty smacks to emphasise my point.

"Yes I did! God, it bloody hurts," Tricia said, stating the obvious as women are wont to do at times like that.

"Will you cancel again?" Smack! Smack! Smack!

"No, never, ever again!"

"So when are we having lunch?" Smack! Smack! Smack!

"I dunno,  fuckin' lunchtime!"

That did it. The giggles started and refused to stop. Other people in that basement stopped what they were doing and came over to see Uncle Nick unable to control himself and then the sight of Tricia dancing around, sticking her tongue out and generally enjoying her triumph.

I'll have her next month, you see if I don't.

Janus Reviews A Spanking Good Life

The new Janus website reviewed A Spanking Good Life in April this year and here is their opinion:


We were delighted at Janus to receive a copy of ‘A Spanking Good Life’ by Nick Urzdown to review. Those with knowledge of the history of Janus will know that long-time Janus editor AG Van Okker also published his memoirs under the same title more than 30 years ago.

Nick’s book succeeds on a number of different levels. The real life descriptions of the many spankings he has administered are rich in detail. You genuinely feel as though you are on a journey with him through all the naughty girls he has known and corrected over the years. There’s also plenty to enjoy about the history of spanking magazines, the industry in general and Janus in particular (although we don’t recognise some of the events Nick describes!).

Nick is refreshingly honest about the emotionally difficult events in his life which provides the reader with a real insight into how he became the man he is today. Like him or not you have to respect him for choosing to live a life completely true to himself.

‘A Spanking Good Life’ is a great read – we think Van would have approved. You can buy a copy of Nick’s book on Amazon and read his blog here.

Lauren, Part Nine

As my cock opened Lauren's body and slid firmly into her sleek wetness she opened her mouth to let out a groan and her hands clutched me behind my back. I felt her nails dig into my flesh and as the fucking progressed she ran those nails down my back, digging them deeply into body and then clawing them downwards. The effect was both painful and erotic and spurred me on to thus my cock faster into her body. I lifted myself up on my hands with my arms straight and I towered over her, rocking my hips backwards and forwards to get a good thrusting rhythm going with my cock.

Lauren rocked her head from side to side on the pillow, her teeth still clenched in that animal snarl of hers, her nails now on the side of my body, but still digging their way into my flesh. Each time I the machine power of my pelvis thrust the cock into her she threw her hips upward to meet the downward thrust of that piston as it powered its way into her helpless body.

It was as if Lauren was slowly taking control of the fuck process, because every time I tried to slow down to catch my breath, she speeded up her hip movements to keep the velocity at full speed. I can remember grinding my teeth together in irritation as deep within my balls I could feel the juices heating up and beginning to twirl around in preparation for the final charge.

The problem was that there was literally nothing that I could do about it. I tried relaxing my body on top of hers, but all Lauren did was reach down somehow and cup my balls in one of her hands. Then she began to expertly manipulate them, fingering them in some way, so that the bubbling juices within each meaty orb became a boiling mas of heavy, potent cock oil that pushed against the gates that held it confined in a demand for freedom.

"Jesus, I'm not going to hold out much longer," I muttered, trying desperately to clench every singe muscle that I had in a failing attempt to hold back the tide.

"You don't hold on to nothing, you hear me? You gimme everything you got," she whispered in my ear, as she urged me on to relax my hold and let the oil flow over her innermost working.

My balls relaxed first and the hot creamy juices began their inexorable rise to the surface. I felt the torrent flow up the shaft and then everything just gave way and the potent cream flooded out and into Lauren's willing body.

"That's right, that's right, you gimme it all," she urged, as she felt the liquid heat spurting into her in an unstoppable tide.

With a final shudder I collapsed on top of her, all energies spent. We lay together intertwined for a good few minutes and than we slowly unravelled ourselves and lay on out sides, facing each other and smiling.

"You don't believe in slow and gentle," was all I could think of to say.

"I don't like a slow hand. I like 'em hard and fast," she drawled. Then sitting up in bed she looked at me speculatively. "This girl still feels hungry," she said. "You wanna feed me again?"

I laughed as she went off to shower and I began to sort out my clothes. Afterwards I took her off to eat tacos from a roadside stall. I could not complain as she had emptied my balls so it only seemed fair to fill her belly.

A few days later I were standing at the long distance coach station, saying goodbye to Lauren and meeting her delightful daughter. As the two of them climbed aboard the bus that was ready to depart Lauren turned to me for a final hug and we wished each other well.

"You have a good life, and if you're ever in my neck of the woods, you gimme a call," she said.

I nodded by way of reply and as the coach drove off I wondered wistfully for a moment how things might have turned out had we not had such enormous distances separating us. Then I began to think what it would have been like to actually own Lauren as my very own and then I began to speculate how much she would have been brought me on the day that I sold her.

Then I went and had a tequila or three in a nearby cantina.

Lauren, Part Eight

As I finger fucked Lauren I looked at her well leathered rear end with great pleasure. I do so hate blowing my own trumpet, but it was a damned fine bit of work that I had done with those buttocks to make them as bright red and swollen as they were. Not only that, but Lauren looked as if she was ready to go off like a rocket as my middle finger eagerly explored her tight wetness.

She clenched her pussy muscles tightly as my finger explored her hidden depths and rocked her hips backwards and forwards in wanton delight. A cry came from her lips and before it had finished it turned into a long low moan of pure animal delight as Lauren reached her moment of truth. As her climax arrived and then deepened she let out a scream of primordial delight and grabbed my hand to force my finger into exactly the position that she wanted it to be to give her the maximum amount of terminal pleasure imaginable.

Lauren collapsed on the bed, all her energies momentarily spent. I recovered my hand and slumped on the floor next to the bed and let he rest for some minutes.

"That was incredible," she said, dreamily, at length.

"Was incredible? We have not begun yet. I have a cock that needs your attention, young lady," I told her in mock seriousness, as I began to strip off my clothes.

"But daddy, how can you think about doing such a thing to your poor little girl? I couldn't do that with you, not now that you're my daddy and all," she said with one of those butter would not melt in the mouth expressions.

Naked as I then was I was in no mood for idle banter, so I picked Lauren up and sat down on the edge of the bed pulling her across my knee as I did so. I grabbed a flailing arm and stuck it out of the way and then I administered a dozen or so hard smacks to that already ravaged bottom.

Lauren kicked and bucked like a bronco as I administered that second correction. I was not angry at her, but there was no way she was going to treat me like a fool, if that was her intention. It may not have been, in which case she received the spanking to grow on account of further naughtiness as it were and I laid on the smacks as soundly and methodically, first to one cheek and then to the other.

"Hey, I was only joking," she protested as the fire was rekindled in her buttocks.

"That's OK, so was I," was all I said as I dumped her back on the bed.

"A girl's got to try, hasn't she?"

"El que no transa, no avanza," was all I said as I got into bed next to her and pulled the bedclothes over us both.

"What does that mean?"

"It's Mexico's unofficial motto. It means if you don't hustle you don't get anywhere. Be corrupt like everyone else or live in the shit forever," I told her.

"Ain't that the truth all over," was all she said.

"Now then, this cock needs your urgent attention," I told her, putting my still flaccid member into her hand.

"It's a floppy old Joe, I don't know if I can raise the dead," Lauren jibbed.

"You had better succeed, or you can kiss goodbye to your going away present," was all I told her without any fuss or anger.

That did it!. Lauren became a very enthusiastic  little doxy indeed and with my cock firmly grasped in her fist she stroked it awake and then on to full power. With a little urging she took it in her mouth and at that moment mission control ran a systems check and after consulting blood flow, muscle power, stamina and cock oil levels, decided that we were all systems go for the fuck. With a roar I pushed Lauren onto her back, took my meat in hand and guided it myself into her gateway. We were go for launch!

To be continued.

How to spank: a pictorial guide

The last Wednesday in every month is when sound men and lippy females gather at the Station Bar in King's Cross for an afternoon of alcohol, discussions and the odd public spanking. It fell to me to take J in hand and to increase the level of humiliation that she felt having her knickers taken down in from of the multitude, I asked a rather amiable fellow to photograph the event.

 

Of course, the skirt has to be lifted, not only to increase the severity of the discipline, but also to ensure that the victim knows that whoever is in charge, she most definitely isn't.

 

And for the same reason the knickers just have to come down. A bottom that has not been smacked bare has not been smacked at all.

Then preliminaries having been completed the spanking may begin. It is important to lay on the smacks firmly and not to listen to the complaints that emanate from the female's mouth as the sound of a hard male palm cracking across a soft female bottom, resounds in the narrow confines of the basement.

Eventually, the girl will be unable to keep her legs still and will have to be reminded that if she does not remain in position the spanking will be prolonged.

In spite of this quite reasonable warning many a girl will refuse to keep still and the legs will continue to kick.

Sometimes a hand will fly behind to cover the buttocks as they tingle under the onslaught.

I always grab the arm at times like that and hold it firmly behind the recalcitrant girl's back. The spanking then continues until such time as I feel that the lesson has been learned.

Often this can take rather a long time. As you can see, I  hold the girl in position, ignore her pleas, and administer the spanking that I feel that she deserves.

Sometimes the wriggling may produce a banging great hard on. This girl was told that in future she will be expected to provide a hand job at least to ease the ache that her actions have caused in my middle leg. She replied that she was not an expert at such things and was told to practise with a banana.

Tired but triumphant. There is nothing finer than resting for a moment après spank, leaving the victim in position to reflect on her misdeeds.

Lauren, Part Seven

My belt is over two inches wide and when doubled over the heavyweight leather makes for a fearsome instrument of correction, and Lauren jerked her head involuntarily as the cruel black leather left its imprint upon her bare, helpless bottom.

I paused after the first stroke had been laid on to admire my handiwork, but also to give Lauren a moment that would allow the bite of the leather to really sink into her consciousness. I saw that she had clenched her teeth with her lips wide open and was breathing heavily through her mouth as she rode the  kiss of the leather. Her bottom was already marked with a redness that was as wide as the belt, but more noticeable on her right cheek. As I was standing on her left that made sense, but it would mean that I would have to move to the other side of the bed later to even out the colouring as it were.

That was for the future. For the present I lifted my arm again and brought it down with all the force of my shoulder muscles behind it onto that helpless bottom that lay underneath. About an inch above Lauren's rump I flicked my hand backwards so that the belt carried on under its own momentum, but only the end catching her bottom with all its might.

"Please God, this is hurting. You lay it on as hard as he did. It's like my dad's back whupping me again," Lauren cried out with all the power of her lungs. 

"Keep still. Remain in position. If you move you will be given extra, that I can promise you," I said by way of reply. Lauren had made no attempt to move, by the way, but I still feel that it did her now harm to hear my command, just in case she was planning anything silly.

Lauren calmed herself down and dropped her head into her fists again. I waited a moment - one should always wait a moment I feel - and then I delivered strokes three, four, five and six, one after the other. Each one hard, and each one meant to hurt, as I taught that saucy young doxy to know her place.

Having administered the first half dozen I walked around to the other side of the bed as I felt that is was time to give the other cheek some kisses. Before I began the second stage of the thrashing, I took a moment to press Lauren deep into the pillows and order her to arch her back for the remaining strokes. Apart for a single whimper she made no sound as she carried out my orders. Then, with her back arched to my satisfaction, I raised the wicked leather again and brought it down with a firm, solid whack across a bottom that was rapidly lost its moon-like hue and was now beginning to resemble a hot august sun.

I then gave her the second half dozen, calmly and methodically, and as each cut landed all Lauren did was twist her hips involuntarily and clench her buttock cheeks. I waited as I always do until she had relaxed her bottom before I laid on another stroke. When she failed to relax after one particularly ferocious kiss I told her quite simply that if she did not loosen her bottom for the belt then I would add extra strokes to the punishment. She did as she was ordered and apart from that one moment of insolence, the girl did not give me an ounce of trouble when undergoing her correction.

A dozen strokes had then been well laid on and Lauren was sobbing heartily into her hands. As I paused to consider the work in progress she turned to look at me with her tear streaked face and she began to nplead for mercy and forgiveness:

"Please, please, I have sure enough learned my lesson. Please daddy, let me go and I will be a good girl from now on," she begged.

Should I let her go? That was the question that ran through my mind. Then I decided that a bottom under the hand is worth any number travelling off to the United States and out of reach, and I told her my decision:

"I'll give you six more to grow on!"

"Nooooo, please, that is too many," she whimpered, still making no attempt to either cover her bottom or get up from the bed. Clearly the odd protest was allowable under her father's old rules, but anything else was strictly forbidden, and Lauren had taken that lesson to heart.

"Arch your back. Relax your buttock cheeks, or you will receive extra," I told her. Lauren did as she was told with only a minimum of fuss and I raised my arm for the thirteenth time that day.

Crack! The leather bit into Lauren's sorely tried buttocks, as it did again with number fourteen and then again with the fifteenth cut. I noticed as this last tranche was being administered that Lauren riding her hips up and down in a way that can only be described as lascivious. As I walked around to the other side to administer the final three she continued to do that and I realised with an involuntary smile that she was in sexual ecstasy.

I lifted the belt three more times and each time I  brought it down with a solid crack across her Lauren's fiery red buttock cheeks. As each crack landed Lauren gasped and ground her pussy deeper into the pillow, her teeth clenched in the snarl of a lioness as the leather bit into her helpless flesh.

"Please stop now. Please I'm begging you," she said.

That was fine by me as my arm was aching and I considered the punishment to be over anyway. I ran my hand down Lauren's back and when I reached her bottom I let my fingers play down it until I reached her pussy. Then I slipped my middle finger inside her and she arched her back upwards to receive it.

"My, my, what an excited little whore you are," was all I said.

To be continued.

Lauren, Part Six

"Right, girl, you know why you are here," I said as soon as the door to our third floor room had been closed and locked. 

Lauren began to fidget, fingering her long cotton skirt as she did so, but she said nothing. Time to increase the voltage, I decided:

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, girl," I instructed. Good, she was now doing her best to look me in the face. Not doing a very good job, it has to be said, as her eyes darted all around it rather than meet my eye, but at least she was not looking at the floor. "That's better," I told her.

"Thank you," she replied, in a voice scarcely above that of a whisper.

"I shall repeat my words, since you obviously have trouble understanding simple English, girl. I said that you know why you are here, didn't I, girl?"

Lauren's lips moved but no sound came out. Eventually she managed to nod, and I gave her one of  the mirthless smiles that I reserve for times like that with girls like her.

"Good, you are here to have your rump steak tenderised just as it should be for your disgraceful behaviour," I told her in my past paternal manner.

"Tell me what I have done, daddy," she whispered.

"What you have done! What you have done! You have the temerity to stand there and ask me that! How dare you, girl!" I was extemporising like mad to buy a few seconds so that I could think of some plausible reason to order her into the traditional posture to receive discipline. Ah, I thought as inspiration hit me, this is a good one: "Look at the shameful marks on your neck and face! Tattoos - the marks of a slut indeed!"

"Daddy," Lauren wailed, in a tone that proved to me that I had scored a hit.

"And do you think that it was right and proper to run off down here, spending all your money on a man who does not love you? And what about that poor child of yours? No, this is long overdue, my girl," I said as I unhooked my belt.

"Nooooo, please, nooooo, not that daddy," cried Lauren, but I was not to be dissuaded from my duty.

"Girl, I am going to tenderise that rump steak, you mark my words," I announced as I pulled the belt slowly from out of its trouser loops and then doubled it menacingly.

"Please daddy! Please, I'll be good in future daddy," Lauren whimpered.

"You most certainly will. And you will remember to be good every time you feel your backside for the next few days. Now get yourself onto the bed and take up your position," I ordered her.

I have to be honest and say that the last bit was pure guesswork, because I had no real idea if Lauren had been trained to take up a punishment posture, but it turned out to be inspired as she demonstrated that she had. Without a word she turned and walked to the king sized bed that took up about a quarter of the space in that hotel room. The pillows had been covered by the bedspread, so Lauren took two of them and placed them in the middle of the bed. Then she lifted her skirt to just above her knees and climbed on top of the bed to kneel just behind her pillow mound. Finally, and without saying a word or waiting for any further instructions from me, she lifted her skirt above her waist and then lay down on top of the pillows.

To say that I was stunned by the performance is putting it mildly. To give myself time to relax I walked over to the bed and tugged her white girly panties up so that the wrinkles were removed and they hugged Lauren's bottom firmly. I noticed that she certainly had an interesting collection of tattoos on both legs, so it was hardly surprising that the Mexicans found her foreign and strange. I stepped back to admire the sight of Lauren lying quite submissively with her face buried in hands that were clenched into fists.

Enough admiring the scenery, I decided. Then I stepped forward, placed my fingers into the waistband of Lauren's knickers, and then I peeled them slowly and gently down to just above her knees. Then I stepped back and took up the belt. I folded it in two and smacked it noisily against my left palm.

"Lauren, this is going to hurt and you are going to cry, but I do not expect you to move or try to cover your bottom, do you understand? Answer me, girl," I demanded quietly but firmly.

"Yes, I understand," she said, in a voice already growing liquid with tears that would soon be falling from her eyes.

With that I raised the belt above my head and brought it down with a resounding crack across Lauren's bare and defenceless buttocks.

To be continued.

Lauren, Part Five

As we left the restaurant, I began to ponder exactly what I was going to do with Lauren. I am not a cruel man and I would no more lift my hand to an undeserving female than I would smack the snout of of a disobedient dog, as we decent fellows just do not behave like that. I began to conclude that the best thing would be just to spend a pleasant afternoon slipping her a length of cock, send her on her way with a pat to the rear and then wander of to a cantina for a snifter or three.

"That belt of yours sure looks thick and hard," Lauren said, apropos nothing at all. Clearly she had read my mind and decided that  punishments came before pokes, or something.

"It has served its purpose for many a long year. Come to think of it, I have had it for about thirty years, so it has certainly done its job down the decades," I told her glibly.

"Have you used it on many girls?"

"I don't keep a record of the times that I have tenderised a rump with it. Let me think, yeah, I have used it a few times," I said, as I hailed a cab and ushered Lauren into it.

"What did you say? Tell me again what you said," Lauren asked, with a sudden urgency in her voice.

"Eh? Well, I said that I have used my belt to thrash a few backsides in its time," I told her as the taxi lurched through the traffic on its way the the hotel that I had chosen.

"No, that's not what you said. Give me the exact words, please."

"I said that I had tenderised a few rumps, or something," I replied.

"That's what my dad used to say to us. Sort of, anyways. He would say that he was gonna tenderise a rump steak as he was taking his belt off. He always used to say that, just before he told me to lie down on the bed. He would pull that big old belt out of its loops and tell me that he was gonna tenderise my rump steak for me," she said in a liquid voice far gone in reverie.

"What would your daddy say if he knew that you had got yourself all tattooed up and were down here in Mexico?" Trust me when I say that I can lay on the guilt with a trowel if the need arises.

"He would tell me how bad I was and how he was gonna tenderise my rump steak for me," Lauren said, quietly.

"That is exactly what I am going to do to you as well," I promised her as the taxi pulled into the hotel's forecourt.

To be continued.

Lauren, Part Four

"Your blog is great," Lauren told me as she enthusiastically cut into her steak, "but it's your videos that I really love, she enthused.

"Yeah? Which video do you like the most?

Lauren licked her lips before replying. "The one where you have the girl on the bed and are using your belt on her," she said in a voice that had suddenly grown very husky.

"I know the one you mean. It was  a tawse that I used on her backside," I said.

"A tawse? What's that?"

"A short piece of leather, about as wide as a man's belt, but much shorter. It's used to bring the disobedient to heel," I said, aware that a lump was developing in my trousers.

"My dad would have loved one of them. He used his big old belt, and made us lie down on the bed when he was gonna give us a licking with it," Lauren explained. So that was where her love of corporal punishment came from.

"Us?"

"Me, my mom and my two sisters. When he decided to lay it on, believe me none of us sat down for a while afterwards."

"How did he die?"

"Got himself falling down drunk one night and hit a tree in his pick-up. I was just 16 and I went to his funeral with a sore ass on account of him whupping me the night before he died," Lauren explained, with a catch in her voice.

"Was it a thick belt?"

"Just like yours, but much older. I don't know when he got it, but it was older than me. He once told me that whupping ass with it was the best way to keep it supple, she said, laughing.

"You said that you did one to ones, how did you get into that?"

"I was moving around and I met a guy who had a thick belt, and he introduced me to guys who would pay to punish a girl. I earned good bucks for doing what I enjoyed, and not many folks can say that," she concluded.

"What's the deal with the tattoos?"

"Got 'em on my travels," was all she said.

"They are probably why Benito's mother doesn't like you, along with your daughter, of course," I said.

"She hasn't said anything," Lauren answered, dubiously.

"She doesn't have to. It's the way they are. It's one thing having a discrete tattoo in the small of your back that nobody can see, but even having one on your wrist in this country marks you out as the local good time that has been had by all," I said, pointing to the artwork that Lauren had on her neck and left cheek to illustrate my point.

"What about my daughter?"

"Why should sonny-boy feed some other man's child? That's the way his mother thinks, I guarantee. And sonny-boy does as his mother tells him, they all do," I said.

Lauren nodded her head at my truisms. "Time to get the fuck out, I reckon," was all she said.

"Good idea," was my reply.

"Listen, I like you and all that, but I am going to hit that border with about twenty bucks to my name and I have to get clear across the country to my mom's place. Is there any chance of you giving me some help towards things?"

"I can tell that you were lying about the money, but not to worry, I'll pay the fare for your ride," I said.

"What makes you say I was lying to you?"

"Oh, I can tell when people lie. They move their lips when they speak," I said.

"OK," she said, unable to control her laughter. "Maybe I do have a few dollars extra, but I'm still not a rich girl."

"A ride for a ride strikes me as a very good deal indeed," I told her with a grin.

"Indeed it does," she said, simply.

To be continued.

New Book Finished

It is 11.55pm on Friday 25 May 2012 and I have just this minute finished the first draft of my second book, which will be called Good Times With Girls. You have no idea how pleasing the sensation is to have a complete manuscript on my computer's hard drive. The second draft should be ready in about a week, Raven willing as she is the unpaid editrix. Then it will go off for proofreading and I have a provisional publication date in mind of very late summer.

Wish me luck!

Lauren, Part Three

I was in no mood to check long distance coach fares and schedules that day, so we arranged to meet just after Christmas to go to the main coach terminal to sort everything out. There are several coach companies running to the border and it struck me as easier just to go along in person rather than try and do it on the telephone or web. Sure enough, I was able to ask questions, compare prices, and get a rather nice deal on a luxury coach that was leaving for Nuevo Laredo, right on the border, on New Year's Eve. That was probably why it was so cheap, but Lauren was not in the least bit concerned about spending the first few hours of 2012 on a coach as it blasted through the deserts of northern Mexico; all she wanted to do was get out of the country.

Lauren gave me an old fashioned look as I translated the price of the ticket, which came to about £75.00, and began to mutter that she did not know if she had such an exorbitant amount in her possession, what was she going to do, and would not kind gentleman help her out? You are familiar with the routine, I am sure, and all I did was stand back and enjoy the theatrical performance.

"I take it you're not going to help a poor little girl,"  she said, acidly.

"Not until she performs to my complete satisfaction," I replied, genially.

Lauren immediately discovered that she did have some extra money after all, and how could she be so silly as to forget it? I just grinned at her attempt to pull a fast one and to her eternal credit, Lauren had the decency to grim shamefacedly back at me.

"If you are going to try it on, at least be original," I told her as we left the coach station.

"It sometimes works," she answered with a shrug.

"Life can little else supply, but a few good fucks, and then we die," I told her.

"That sounds like a quote," she said.

"It's from John Wilkes, an eighteenth century English radical who understood many things. The quote is from his Essay on Women. I have it written on my business cards," I told her. 

"I do not fucking believe you! Prove that to me!" Lauren was whooping with delight, clearly thinking that she had caught a bullshitter in the act, so I pulled out my wallet and handed over one of my cards.

"Look on the back," I told her. She did, and sure enough her eyes widened as she read my little motto.

"Good God and sonny fucking Jesus, too! So what do folks say when you hand one of these out?"

"If I gave a fuck what people thought about me, I wouldn't have those cards," I told her.

"OK, I understand that," she replied, nodding her head. "Can we go for lunch? I promise not to spend too much of your hard earned money, but I honestly do not have much left now."

"Let's have a good lunch and we can discuss what we are going to do for the rest of the afternoon. There are some very comfortable hotels in this district which rent rooms by the three hour period, we can go to one of them after we have eaten," I told her.

"Can I have a nice big juicy steak for lunch?"

"Of course you can, my dear. And afterwards you can have an even nicer lump of meat in the hotel," I told her, making her giggle.

So off we went to eat.

To be continued.

Lauren, Part Two

Spotting Lauren in the restaurant a couple of hours later was not exactly difficult. Not only because she was white, but also because of the number of tattoos that she had. I counted two on her neck, plus several stars that had been engraved onto her left cheek. I noted that she was wearing a thin long sleeved sweater and a multi-coloured cotton skirt that brushed against her ankles, and I wondered how many other tramp stamps she was carrying?

I sat down and breakfast was ordered and duly arrived, and as we munched our way through the day's first meal, Lauren began to explain her problem. Now, I know that you do not really care about the discriptive stuff, so I shall give you the short version of what had happened in her life.

Lauren had been living with her four year old daughter and Benito, her Mexican boyfriend, in the USA. Benito had done something or other and various thuggish types were after him, so he had cajoled Lauren into emptying her savings account and taking off for Mexico City. The young daughter still thought that it was all a great adventure, but after three months Lauren's sense of humour had become a little strained, especially as Benito's family had put her to work driving the family-owned pesero along its allotted route. A pesero is a collective taxi which runs a set route and which picks people up and drops them off anywhere along it, but the drivers need to speak Spanish, and since Lauren did not have a word, she was packed off to drive with one of Benito's teenage brothers as a conductor.

"I want to go back to the USA, but I don't even know where the long distance buses run from, or how much it costs," she explained.

"Why don't you get Benito to take you to the station?"

"I keep asking him, but he always just says that we will go tomorrow, but that never happens either because he is busy or he is getting drunk with his brothers," she explained.

"Do they pay you for your driving?"

"No," she answered firmly.

"You need to start helping yourself to some of the takings when the brother is not looking," I told her.

"I'm way ahead of you on that one," she replied with the first smile of the day.

"So what do you want from me? You have money, so I don't see what the problem is," I said.

"I don't even know where the bus depot is, how to book my tickets - I don't even know where the buses run to in the USA," she explained.

"How did you get down here?

"We went to Laredo, in Texas, and then took a bus down here, but it was late at night when we arrived and I couldn't find my way back there if I tried," Lauren said.

"OK, lemme see. You want me to take you to the main terminal and get your tickets for you, and then put you and your daughter on a coach going to the border, is that the idea?"

"Yes please, she said, wriggling deliciously in her seat.

"I'll have to speak to Benito - I don't want any problems for my family when I am back in England, I told her.

I was expecting a protest, but all Lauren did was shrug and tell me to go ahead.

"Why did you choose me as your knight in shining armour?"

"I knew you were around from your blog, and I figured that you might want to help," was her cryptic answer.

"You like the blog?"

"Yep, and the videos that you have on it as well. I can see now that it's really you in them. You sure whup hard, don't you?"

"Does Benito smack you?

"Naah, just the odd kick or punch when he is drunk," was her contemptuous answer.

"Ever been spanked?"

"My dad did it when I was growing up. Did it until he died when I was twenty," she said, before carrying on, looking me directly in the eye: "I also did one to ones in Chicago when I needed the money," she said, firmly.

"Really? And do you need any money now?"

"I think that I may have enough to get us to the border, but not enough for the Chicago leg," was her considered reply.

"It sounds to me as if you need a daddy to take care of you, if your good," I said quietly.

"But I'm not good. I'm very, very naughty," came her response.

"Then I shall adopt you as my very own for the duration of your time in these United Mexican States," I told her. "When do you want to leave, by the way?"

"In about a week, tops," she replied.

"Wonderful," I said. "Any longer and we could get bored with each other, and we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"

"No daddy," we wouldn't.

To be continued.

Lauren, Part One

My telephone rang incessantly and was obviously not going to stop in a hurry, so I rolled over in bed and answered it. I was amazed that anyone had my new Mexican mobile number, since I had only bought the card the day before, just as I had arrived back in the country in mid-December 2011.

"Bueno," I muttered blearily into the receiver.

"Hello," answered a female voice that sounded American. "Are you Nick? I would like to speak to Nick, please," the voice went on, speaking in pitch perfect English.

"Yeah, that's me," I replied, as I started my body in motion towards the bathroom.

"My name's Lauren and I'm from Chicago. I read your blog and your Facebook page, so I know that you are in Mexico City right now," the girl said.

"How did you get my phone number? I only got the Sim card yesterday," I told her.

"I'm not speaking on the phone," Lauren said, sounding thoroughly puzzled by my question. "I'm on my laptop, speaking to you on Skype."

I looked at my phone. Skype was installed on it, but had I fired up the programme? Of course I had, last night, when I configured the handset to the house's WiFi connection. I had just not switched Skype off afterwards, which was how Lauren had managed to get in touch.

"OK, I have Skype on the mobile and I thought you were ringing that," I explained. "What can I do for you, Lauren?"

"Well, I am a real fan of your writing, and I just love your blog," she squealed in those delightful tones that young girls often have when they are excited about something. "Can we do breakfast today? Or maybe just a coffee, if you are not a breakfast person?

"Are you in Mexico City?"

"Sure am!"

"It's a big place and I don't fancy travelling today after yesterday's flight. Where are you located?

"About a mile from you - you said which borough you would be in on Facebook. Why don't we meet  at the Vips restaurant on the main avenue heading downtown?" So she did know the area and could name one of the more popular chain restaurants. Funnily enough, it was the one that I used to breakfast at regularly when I lived permanently in Mexico City, so I was happy to agree to meet this curious female there.

"Wait, before you go," I said. "You had better tell me what you look like."

"OK, I'm 25, with long black hair that hangs right down my back. I wear long skirts," Lauren said, before pausing for a moment. "I have tattoos, a couple on my neck and face," she concluded at length.

I could feel my ears and cock perking up at this news. Lauren was 25, and read my writings. Did she have unresolved daddy issues that a 55 year old Uncle Nick would be perfectly placed to deal with? We would find out the answer to that over breakfast!

To be continued.

The 50 Shades of Grey Review

Raven started singing the praises of Fifty Shades of Grey almost two years ago before its phenomenal sales  hit the stratosphere. She said that the first book was amazing, but that books two and three were a disappointment. I have just managed to get through Fifty Shades of Grey and have no intention of even opening the next two volumes of the trilogy.

Don't get me wrong, I am glad that these books have been written as their success should have a knock on effect for the rest of us who write BDSM/CP works. Given the amazing success that C.L. James has had with her books compared to my fairly humble sales up to now, this review could come over as sour grapes, but that is not its aim. Anything that increases our profile is good for all of us, but I just wish that James had written something that was less like a Mills and Boon novel with some spanking thrown in.

That Fifty Shades of Grey owes more to romantic fiction than it ever will to la cosa nostra will be obvious to even the casual reader. Anastasia is our heroine, a 21 year old virgin who meets Christian, the 28 year old mega rich owner of a company based in Seattle. This is where the first doubt kicks in because the hero is just too young to play the role of a dominant, controlling man. He should have been made at least a decade older to be credible, but as a hero in romantic fiction where the age gap between the two main characters is usually about five years then he is perfect. 

This creates the second problem with Fifty Shades of Grey in that this reader was unclear if the book is primarily a BDSM work with the romantic stuff tossed in to appeal to a wider readership, or if it was intended as romantic fiction all along? It looks as if the latter is the case, and if that is so then it opens up a whole new window on Fifty Shades which emerges as little more than a book for the Mills and Boon ladies. Before anybody criticises that approach then it should be remembered that many a Mills and Boon novel contains a spanking scene where the wilful heroine is put over the hero's knee, so why not look at Fifty Shades in the same light?

Thirdly, Christian is obviously damaged goods who needs the love of a good woman to restore him to an emotional even keel. It is obvious that parts two and three of this trilogy will go into vanilla waters as the girl rescues her man, and that is not something that sends out a good image about either us or the world that we live in. The fact that men like me enjoy taking a naughty girl in hand does not mean that the girls we meet do not want to be so taken. We are people who seek each other out and do not seek to become sad vanilla losers. That is why we call them vanillas, because they are bland and boring to anyone who prefers the spicier flavours.

Finally, the prose drags on and on with seemingly no end in site as the girl spends long periods of time anguishing over whether he loves her or not. Please, the reader just wants to reach out and grab her by the neck. The guy is spending time and money on her, what more proof does the silly bitch want?

This is where Fifty Shades loses all touch with the BDSM world. The aim with out works is to create a volume where each chapter flows into the next, so that there is a complete wholeness to the book, but where each chapter can be read individually as a complete unit in itself. The rule is that providing the punter has read the introduction, then he can slip into any chapter and will know immediately what is going on. He can read the chapter, stroke one off, and get on with doing something more important with his life. That is not the case with Fifty Shades where we have to dig through acres of prose to get to the interesting bits. I must be honest and say that I began to skim read after a while and I suspect that I am not the only one.

So, Fifty Shades is a good conversation opener about our world, but it is not a good reflection of it. The prose is turgid in parts and mounds of it have to be covered to find the odd BDSM nugget. That said, you should buy it to have on your bookshelf as it will get the conversation going, especially if you have A Spanking Good Life on the shelf as well!

50 Shades of Controversy

I was planning to write a review of Fifty Shades of Grey, but that is going to have to wait a few days as I was distracted by the very entertaining controversy that is swirling around the story of its creation. Put simply, some very sad people are terribly upset because they feel hard done to by Erika Leonard, the authoress of the trilogy, who writes as SnowQueens-IceDragon and E.L. James.

Those sad people are based around the world of fan fiction, a genre that I did not even know existed until I began to look into the origins of 50 Shades. In a nutshell Erika Leonard wrote the whole 50 Shades trilogy in chapters which was then uploaded as a work called Master of the Universe to a fan fiction site, that was dedicated to the Twilight novels. The Twilight fans - and there are thousands of these people - then helped her edit each chapter until it became a far more readable commodity. For instance, the authoress is British and needed help to turn her English terminology into the curious colonial dialect spoken in the United States. The readership did that for her and generally acted as editors should with the evolving manuscript, the difference being that in this case they did it for free. That is the root of the controversy because these fans claim that they only dedicated long hours to the work because they thought that Erika Leonard, or SnowQueens-IceDragon which was the nickname she used, was as much a fan of Twilight as they were, and it is obvious that she is nothing of the kind.

What is fan fiction? As the name suggests it is the fiction written by fans of a particular book or series, using the same names as the original characters, but either putting  them in different scenarios or creating a whole new reality for them. Erika Leonard took the second path which is why her work is a homage to Twilight, and cannot be seen as plagiarism of it. She kept the names from Twilight, but her Edward is a fabulous wealthy businessman and not a vampire, and the BDSM element which is central to 50 Shades is missing from Twilight. Nevertheless, she kept enough of the Twilight personalities in her fiction to please the fans and they raved over her work as it was uploaded chapter by chapter.

What this authoress had done was upload a completely new novel to an existing consumer base. To attract attention from that base she used the names from the main characters in Twilight and some of their personality traits. What she got was a fan base of her own and Master of the Universe began to attract attention from some of the publishing houses who keep an eye on these fan fiction sites. One such outfit is The Writers' Coffee Shop who eventually bought out the work as the 50 Shades trilogy. Obviously the names had to be changed, but aside from that the two works are almost identical.

That was when Erika's chums became her enemies as they started to scream that she was betraying the fan fiction ethos, that she had used them shamelessly, and so on and so forth. To be candid it looks to me as if Erika did play these people as suckers, but as W.C. Fields used to say, we never give a sucker an even break, so they deserved all they got in my view. If they were stupid enough to work hard for nothing more than a pat on the head then that serves them right.

As 50 Shades till sits on top of the best seller lists the rest is history. If you want to read the pathetic whining of some of Erika's former friends, then you might want to start with this site, if you can stomach it, as the writer behind it is one of the major whiners in all of this. One writer who has criticised Erika without whining is Jami Gold and you can read her piece at this link.

There the matter rests. Obviously Erika Leonard has not crossed any legal lines as no writs have been issued, so the claim is that she engaged in ethical misbehaviour. I do not accept that, but I would be interested in hearing your views.

Katie, Part Eight

I took Katie back to her car eventually. The journey was quiet, as in spite of my attempts to keep a conversation going, Katie preferred silence. I was pleased to see that she sat gingerly in her seat and I can remember smiling at that before I switched on the radio to give me some company as I drove the car through the Pennine Hills towards where Katie's vehicle was waiting. Eventually I manoeuvred my car into the area where Katie's estate car was still waiting for her and then I walked her slowly to it.

"I hope you can sit down comfortably during your journey," I told her genially, before leaning forward to give her a peck on the cheek.

"I'm sure I'll manage," she said, getting into the car and sitting down very gingerly indeed on the seat.

"Shall I call you?"

"No, my husband might be there. Let me call you," she replied.

"You need to get another mobile, a pay as you go type," I told her.

"Sounds like a great idea," she said, switching on her engine.

"I look forward to your call," I said, knowing damn well that she would not get in touch. Not that I was all that bothered, as I had seen  what looked like a rather decent restaurant as we had headed into the little town, and I had already decided that having had my balls emptied it was time to fill my belly. As Katie drove off I gave her a cherry wave and sauntered off to eat, think that was that in the Katie department.

Women often have the capacity to surprise men and Katie was no exception because she called a a couple of weeks later. At first the conversation was stilted, as if Katie was trying to limber up to say something that was important to her.

"I want to say something," she said at length.

"Sure," I replied.

"Why did you make me do that to you?"

"I didn't make you do anything, Katie, so don't play the victim with me. It won't work," I told her, firmly.

"Yes, but I don't want you that way. I wanted you as my father figure," she said.

"Katie, listen to me. We had this conversation before we even met. You are bored because of your home life and you take lovers. You feel guilty about this so you latched on to me as your father confessor who would punish you  and cleanse you of your sins. But, Katie, did you ever for one moment stop and think that I might want something else?

"No," she had the good grace to concede.

"You wrote a script, didn't you? And what you needed was an actor to play the role that you created. But that's not me, Katie, because I'm a man, not a character in your play.

"I don't want you as a lover," she said, which left me feeling wonderful, I can tell you.

"Not to worry, one swallow does not make a lover," I told her between clenched teeth.

"Do you have to make a joke about everything?"

"Being treated as a stooge leaves me with the option of laughter or tears and I prefer the former."

With that the conversation ended and I never spoke to Katie again.

What can I say? Katie could suck a mean cock, and she had not cost me anything other than some time and petrol, but the whole incident left a nasty taste in my mouth.