Saturday, October 31, 2015

Collection Update #4

Having a survival job that deals with food and kitchenry (yes, I just made that word up), so many ideas for good spanking implements appear all around.  Here are two more kitchen utensils now a part of my collection:

Large Wooden Spoons

Length: 14"; 8 1/2" handle, 5 1/2" bowl
Width: 2 5/8" at widest
Thickness: 1/2"

Unfinished and roughly sanded, these are very lightweight.  The back side of the bowls are nearly flat which, along with their width, gives them a sizable stinging surface.

Crepe Turner 

Length: 12"; 4 3/8" handle
Width: Tapering 1 1/2" to 1 3/4"
Thickness: 1/4"

Olive Wood.  Very light, with a similar shape to the icing spatula in Update #3, but thicker and inflexible.  The edges are also tapered, giving a slight roundness to each side, as well as the tip.  The only thing I don't like about this toy is the small diameter of the handle which, like a wooden spoon, tires my hands after a short time.

This is why I love kitchen stores!

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Hello Again; Collection Update #3: Heavy Metal

It has been months, but I'm back.  A lot has happened, but little has changed.  I'm on a job hunt, trying to escape New York City (again);  I actually took a *gasp* vacation; just last week I think I may have actually gone on a date, with a beautiful dancer; and my survival-job injuries are just as bad, if not worse, than they were when I was undergoing physical therapy for them, last January.

So, since it's been a while, and I want to finally put them away, here's another update to The Collection!

A few months ago, I finally splurged, and picked up some items I've wanted for a long time:

18" Metal Ruler

Length: 18" (clearly)
Width: 1 3/16ths"
Thickness:  < 1/16th"

I love rulers as spanking toys, and this one is especially stingy!  Stainless Steel, it's thin and flexible, yet sturdy, and long enough to add swing strength!

Perforated Turner (Spatula)

Length: 8" + 5" handle
Width: 3"
Thickness: Less than I can measure.

Stainless steel, with fairly sharp beveled edges, so this one needs to be handled with care.  6 sets of triple 1/4" holes add to the sting.

Icing Spatula

Length: 10" + 5" handle
Width: widest = 1 1/2"; tapers to 1 1/8th"
Thickness: 1 cm

Stainless steel, even thinner than the ruler, and a little more pliable.

This. Thing. Stings!

This spatula is perfect for a quick, hard punishment, or to put the icing on the cake (figuratively, and literally).

Now the poor, unused toys can rest with their siblings, in the dark drawer of loneliness.  Someday, little metal friends......someday......

Monday, March 2, 2015

To Blog, or Not To Blog.........the question remains.

As many of my fellow bloggers know, blogspot recently decided to implement what is tantamount to an ultimatum censorship, informing individuals in an email, "we'll no longer allow blogs that contain sexually explicit or graphic nude images or video."  I can't say I was surprised, especially in light of the recent outrageous British legislation, censoring pornography made in the UK.  I mean, "rights, shmights".  Why should we little people be able to make decisions for ourselves (and don't even get me started on US "politics"...a misnomer if I've ever heard one)?  I've kind of felt, since I began this blog, that this was coming; the main reason I've not been more present here.  Like others, upon receiving the threatening email, I began to look for other venues to continue my little bloglet, unencumbered by iron-fisted censorship scrutiny.

However, I just read this on someone's blog:

"This week, we announced a change to Blogger’s porn policy. We’ve had a ton of feedback, in particular about the introduction of a retroactive change (some people have had accounts for 10+ years), but also about the negative impact on individuals who post sexually explicit content to express their identities. So rather than implement this change, we’ve decided to step up enforcement around our existing policy prohibiting commercial porn.  

Blog owners should continue to mark any blogs containing sexually explicit content as “adult” so that they can be placed behind an “adult content” warning page.

Bloggers whose content is consistent with this and other policies do not need to make any changes to their blogs.

Thank you for your continued feedback"

I sincerely hope this is the case, as clear-cut as it sounds, but I will continue to look for a different location for my thoughts, mainly because I still believe it is just a matter of time before some money-grubbing lawsuit by an over-protective absentee parent whose teenage kid exploring their sexuality gets caught by the nanny, frightens the overseers of this domain to continue down their censorship road; but also because I feel we were, all of us, just spanked (and not in a good way...) entirely unfairly.  Despite my not putting faith in Astrology, I fit the profile of a Libra very much, having a strong sense of, and need for, justice.  Because of their rash decision, revoked or not, I have lost respect for blogspot...perhaps it will grow back, but I'm doubtful.

Any suggestions for other bloggable resources would be greatly appreciated!!

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Children's Stories' Stories of Childhood

Upon my mountainously messy desk has lain a copy of Roald Dahl's "The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More".  I read it sometime last year (maybe as far back as last spring?), and it has resided beneath heaps of other intended projects, awaiting my inspiration and patient determination.......until tonight.

Dahl has been one of my favorite children's authors since I was very small, listening as my mother read "The BFG" aloud to my brother and I at bedtime--although she'd previously read "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" in this manner to my brother, this was the first time I can recall having this endearing experience (I think she may have continued for one more book, "James and the Giant Peach" before this practice perished permanently).  Being a consummate collector, I have copies of nearly all of Dahl's books.  This one, however happened to be my least favorite.

Among the encompassed short stories is a non-fiction tale entitled "Lucky Break; How I Became a Writer".  Having already been disenchanted by the book as a whole by this point, I was doubly astounded to find this short story begins with a description of what it was like to be caned at the boarding school Dahl attended as a boy.

I know I've stated this before (probably multiple times), but I'm not a big fan of caning, in large part because caning did not exist even as a concept during my childhood (i.e. I'm enticed most by paddles & wooden spoons because I knew about them as spanking punishment tools that I'd not experienced, but had never even heard of caning until muuuuuch later, let alone explored the idea with my over-active, enormous imagination).

Nevertheless, I found this to be a fascinating story, almost lending me experienced knowledge of such an occurrence. here it is.  I've typed it out (as I've intended to do since I read it, whenever that was), verbatim (barring any typos I didn't notice), despite my OCD-ish disagreeing with quite a bit of the editing:

            Let my try to tell you how I myself slid in through the back door and found myself in the world of fiction.
    At the age of eight, in 1924, I was sent away to boarding school in a town called Weston-Super-Mare, on the southwest coast of England.  Those were days of horror, of fierce discipline, of no talking in the dormitories, no running in the corridors, no untidiness of any sort, no this or that or the other, just rules, rules and still more rules that had to be obeyed.  and the fear of the dreaded cane hung over us like the fear of death all the time.
    "The headmaster wants to see you in his study."  Words of doom.  They sent shivers over the skin of your stomach.  But off you went, aged perhaps nine years old, down the long bleak corridors and through an archway that took you into the headmaster's private area where only horrible things happened and the smell of pipe tobacco hung in the air like incense.  You stood outside the awful black door, not daring even to knock.  You took deep breaths.  If only your mother had been here, you told yourself, she would not let this happen.  She wasn't here.  You were alone.  You lifted a hand and knocked softly, once.
    "Come in!  Ah yes, it's Dahl.  Well Dahl, it's been reported to me that you were talking during prep last night."
    "Please sir, I broke my nib and I was only asking Jenkins if he had another one to lend me."
    "I will not tolerate talking in prep.  You know that very well."
    Already  this giant of a man was crossing to the tall corner cupboard and reaching up to the top of it where he kept his canes.
    "Boys who break rules have to be punished."
    "Sir...I...I had a bust nib...I..."
    "That is no excuse.  I am going to teach you that it does not pay to talk during prep."
    He took down a cane that was about three feet long with a little curved handle at one end.  It was thin and white and very whippy.  "Bend over and touch your toes.  Over there by the window."
    "But, sir..."
    "Don't argue with me, boy.  Do as you're told."
    I bent over.  Then I waited.  He always kept you waiting for about ten seconds, and that was when your knees began to shake.
    "Bend lower, boy!  Touch your toes!"
    I stared at the toecaps of my black shoes and I told myself that any moment now this man was going to bash the cane into me so hard that the whole of my bottom would change color.  The welts were always very long, stretching right across both buttocks, blue-black with brilliant scarlet edges, and when you ran your fingers over them ever so gently afterward, you could feel the corrugations.
    Then came the pain.  It was unbelievable, unbearable, excruciating.  It was as though someone had laid a white-hot poker across your backside and pressed hard.

    The second stroke would be coming soon and it was as much as you could do to stop putting your hands in the way to ward it off.  It was the instinctive reaction.  But if you did that, it would break your fingers.


The second one landed right alongside the first and the white-hot poker was pressing deeper and deeper into the skin.


    The third stroke was where the pain always reached its peak.  It could go no further.  There was no way it could get worse.  Any more strokes after that simply prolonged the agony.  You tried not to cry out.  Sometimes you couldn't help it.  But whether you were able to remain silent or not, it was impossible to stop the tears.  They poured down your cheeks in streams and dripped onto the carpet.

    The important thing was never to flinch upward or straighten up when you were hit.  If you did that, you got an extra one.

    Slowly, deliberately, taking plenty of time, the headmaster delivered three more strokes, making six in all.

    "You may go."  The voice came from a cavern miles away, and you straightened up slowly, agonizingly, and grabbed hold of your burning buttocks with both hands and held them as tight as you could and hopped out of the room on the very tips of your toes.

    That cruel cane ruled our lives.  We were caned for talking in the dormitory after lights out, for talking in class, for bad work, for carving our initials on the desk, for climbing over walls, for slovenly appearance, for flicking paper clips, for forgetting to change into house-shoes in the evenings, for not hanging up our games clothes, and above all for giving the slightest offense to any master.  (They weren't called teachers in those days.)  In other words, we were caned for doing everything that it was natural for small boys to do.

    So we watched our words.  And we watched our steps.  My goodness, how we watched our steps.  We became incredibly alert.  Wherever we went, we walked carefully, with ears pricked for danger, like wild animals stepping softly through the woods.

I have to be honest; this account almost makes me wish I'd had this experience as a child, although, as now, it would be more powerful and intimate for me were the disciplinarian to be a woman.

I can finally put the book away now.

*Note:  I've now tried 5 times to remove the spaces between paragraphs during the second part of the story, but blogspot just won't do it.  It sucks when computers actually are stupid!

Sunday, December 28, 2014

It's the end of the year as we know it...

I can't believe it's been almost FOUR months since I've written a post.  The sad thing is I have very little reason.  I could make many excuses, but the three really significant ones are these:

Firstly, I had a very busy "Christmas Season" in my survival job (high-volume catering), that began in the beginning of October, and came to a head the first few weeks of December (at one point mid-December I worked 80 hours in 8 consecutive days, from which I've almost recovered).  When I wasn't at work, I was utterly exhausted.

Secondly, my roommate acquired a kitten sometime in September.  She'd never had a pet before, and I am a consummate "Cat Person", so I try to spend as much time with the Little Monster as I can, especially since my roommate spends little time with him.

And thirdly--the primary reason I've neglected to write anything in this blog--I've become entirely addicted to tumblr.  Anytime I sit down at my computer, I end up there, laboriously searching through an enormous magnitude of beauty, humor, eroticism, and depravity.  There is so much to see that I find myself lost, much later realizing time has enthusiastically slipped by unnoticed.

Now the hour is late, and I'm trying to reestablish both sleeping and waking hours for myself since work has ceased, so I'm signing off before I begin typing utter gibberish; but I will be back soon... (SEE?  I almost typed "anon"!).  In the meantime, I have "reposted" my absolute favorite photos on my own tumblr account, and I welcome your attention there!   (This is a link, but blogspot won't let me make it any more visible...just click it!)

In the immortal words of The Terminator, "I'll be back!"

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Movie Quote

I am a huuuuuuuge fan of Netflix.  Before its inception, I payed enough in Blockbuster late fees to open up my own video store--most often because the employees didn't bother to check in my returns before the system automatically notated them as "late".  I did a celebratory dance--complete with a bonfire, loin cloth, and tribal markings--the day I joined Netflix.

Okay...maybe I'm exaggerating, but I'm sure I at least wiggled with glee.


My latest Netflix DVD (I still do the DVD's; no streaming) was "R.I.P.D."  It was a decent movie--part "Men In Black", part "Ghost", part any-comical-cop-movie-you've-ever-seen.  I'm a fan of Ryan Reynolds; I usually like him, even when I don't like a movie in which he appears.  Alternatively, I'm not much of an acolyte for Jeff Bridges--on this occasion, he (not quite sincerely) plays an Old-Western lawman, speaking unclearly, with something of a speech impediment (in an attempt to depict a colloquial twang).  He does, however utter one line that ignited my fascination.  Somewhat off-the-cuff, he implies that Reynolds's character has just incurred "Total humiliation.  Pants-down spankin' at the supermarket."

It was some time before I could release that image:  the idea of witnessing someone else's, or  having a loving, maternal figure actually bare my bottom for a punishment spanking in the middle of such a public venue.  The juxtaposition of this personally humiliating experience, taking place as a situation that is not uncommon--observed by surrounding patrons, yet not demanding everyone's attention, being a commonplace occurrence (as the flippant delivery of the dialogue suggested...and as my own limited memory of such childhood actualities indicates). The subsequent emotional cliff-diving created by both the continued shopping with a burning behind and tear-streaked face, and the now poignant awareness that others around know what just happened.

The entire scenario is decidedly delicious to me and my spanking aesthetic.  Even now, I long not only for such a sincere eventuality, but the innocence to fully experience it.

A boy can dream, right?

Thursday, September 4, 2014


My poor bottom is very red, sore, and burning!  Unfortunately, not for reasons I would enjoy; I have a sunburn.  Here's what I posted on The Facebook about my day yesterday:

      Had a wonderful time at the beach yesterday, with a couple of exceptions:
  1. I got crabs--a crab pinched my foot...TWICE
  2. The one and only smoker sat directly upwind of us. I was tempted to go over and pee on his towel.
  3. A jellyfish wrapped around my ankle--fortunately, IT was dead, so I'm not.
  4.  I burned my entire back side--it was a nude beach, so I mean my ENTIRE backside! 
      Okay...need to get off my butt (literally) and DO something!

 While I am enjoying imagining the burning in my bottom's having been put there intentionally by a lovely lass, I'm afraid of how much it'll suck if my butt peels......

...and I'm still a little creeped out by having been pinched by that crab!

(Another favorite artist, now going by "Spankingtoons"--you can see more at and on