Mad (Wo)Men

I'm sure it would come as no surprise to anyone who is a regular visitor to this blog that yours truly would be a big fan of the series Mad Men. To celebrate its return to the airwaves for a fifth season, I thought I'd do a little photo tribute to the gorgeous women who strut the halls of Sterling Cooper Draper & Pryce, Inc. (and the halls of my spanko imagination):

There are a couple of spanking references in the show, like the time Joan angrily summons a misbehaving employee to her office; once she stalks off, the guy turns to his buddies, saying, 'ooh, a spanking! Just like in my dreams!' (he took the words right out of my mouth). Sadly, but predictably, she doesn't spank him, but it makes me wonder if there is an outtake where maybe... just maybe...


So which of them would you choose to have your hide tanned by? The bodacious Joan? The slim and prim Betty? The perky Peggy? Maybe the drop dead gorgeous Megan...?  


My answer would be 'yes, please.'

Getting the Message Out

Now that I have your attention..... I want to direct it toward a few blogs run by ladies like the one above. Most of you are probably acquainted with them already, but for those who aren't, or who have not reported to them for a dose of well-deserved discipline lately, here is a little reminder to follow the links to them on my blogroll:

The Spank Shop is an emporium of wonderful spanking stories by the equally wonderful Aunty Andrea. Digging into the shop's corners, you can find little treasures, like the report from Debbie DownUnder, when she actually met up with Elizabeth Hurley ( a well known spanko) who shared how she keeps her cricket star boyfriend in check with regular spankings.  Andrea has been immensely supportive of me and this blog is the better for it. She is celebrating her first anniversary online, so please drop by the shop and give her a nod.

Strict Julie Spanks is a stand-out blog run by an outstanding lady. What makes it stand out? Julie is relatively new to the whole spanking scene, and is taking us along on her journey of discovery as she finds new and numerous means of disciplining her husband. There is a freshness and energy to her writing that conveys real spark and personality, and she pursues her new dominant domestic role with all the eager relish of a kid in a candy store. 


Naughty Little Writer is the blog of spanking fiction author Penelope Hasler, who could not have picked a better name for her blog. She is a very naughty young woman indeed, who confesses someone should give her a good spanking. But beware - because while she may be naughty herself, that doesn't mean she will tolerate any nonsense from you. She is not adverse to picking up a hairbrush or crop herself.... oh, and she even has an e-book of spanking stories available for  naughty little readers.

Dreams of Spanking is the blog of professional spanking model and film maker Pandora Blake. Miss Blake lives on both sides of the paddle, and she can dish it out as well as she can take it. You can watch her do both in the numerous clips on  her blog. Prepare to gulp. Pandora knows how to use her implements. 


No list such as this would be complete without the mention of that mecca of  FD spanking blogs, Dana Kane, Disciplinarian. Ms. Kane is a true professional and although I've never met her, strikes me as a very sincere and genuine enthusiast of discipine and punishment, with a generous and understanding soul (not to mention very tall and very attractive... )


If I have neglected any dominant ladies out there who feel they have been overlooked, feel free to email me a good stiff scolding and I will right the wrong...

Wagging the Finger

Now unless you want me to take my belt to your behind, I suggest you smarten up...

Not another word, do you hear me? I have had it with your excuses....

I'm giving you to the count of three to drop those drawers and grab your ankles...

Now you wipe up the mess you left on my lap and then get your sorry keester into that corner...

The bath brush is hanging over the tub - and don't give me that look! You know you've earned it...

I leave this last caption up to you, dear reader....

A Slight Departure

Thought I'd try something a little different this time around, and go for a more cartoony look.  Truth is, I figured it would be a quicker way of doing a color piece, but it really didn't save that much time.

RetroFix - I Dream of Jeannie (spanking me)

And what self-respecting Spanko wouldn't?

Not just gorgeous, but such an inviting lap too...

 

Makes me wish I were a naughty elf...

Looks like Major Nelson better bend over that couch if he knows what's good for him.

That is an oversized lipstick, right?

The Origin of Spankings, pt. 2: The Babysitter Incident

The following is a true story, and one which I believe played a pivotal role into making me a lifelong Spanko. I was 8 or 9 at the time. We lived in a typical house in a typical suburb. Brenda was probably 18, and literally, the girl next door. Well, the girl across the street, anyway.  The descriptions and images are the truest that my memory can supply -

Brenda had babysat me and my brother a few times, and I'm sure I had a crush on her. I'd often fantasized about being over her knee, but with my brother around, it seemed too difficult to pull off - he would have told my parents if she had punished me, and I didn't want my parents involved in any way. But that particular night, he'd gone to a sleepover at a friend's, and I knew that if I were ever to get her to spank me, it would have be now or never.

The budding Spanko inside me concocted several schemes designed to ignite Brenda's temper and earn myself a spanking, but I knew that none of them were a guarantee. I was a quiet, shy, and well-behaved child and had never given her any trouble. I had no idea how she would react if I just started misbehaving. She might only get mad enough to chew me out, and - while the idea of being angrily scolded by this young woman excited me - I was afraid I might get too intimidated to push her to the next level if she were not encouraged to go there herself. I had to do something that. once done, was impossible for me to back out of. The solution was obvious and childishly simple.

I would just walk straight up and and ask her if she would give me a good spanking. Please.
 

Easy, right?  No. Like the saying goes, easier said than done. I had to psych myself into it. This was not going to be an easy leap from shy little boy to nasty little brat. A war of wills raged inside me between desire and fear that still echoes down the years. That evening I discovered the power of anticipation. You know what I mean - that electric concoction of excitement and rising trepidation, what I call the thrill and the chill, that adrenalin-pumping suspense when you know the time is drawing inexorably closer. To this day, I still find that to be as potent an experience as that of the spanking itself.

I was playing on the living room floor while she sat with her homework on her lap. Bare, pretty knees poked out from beneath her books; picturing myself perched over them bolstered my determination. 

 A hundred questions raced through my mind - how would she react when I asked her to spank me? Would she get angry? Laugh at me? Refuse and send me to bed? If she agreed, how would she do it? Would she turn me over her knee, or just stand up and start whacking? Would she give it me barebottom? Maybe make me fetch her a hairbrush? How many swats? Would she spank hard and fast, or slow and measured, alternately scolding and driving her points home with an explosive flurry of  swats? How long would it go on, and would I break down? If I started to cry, would she stop? Or just spank harder?
All these mysteries only served to add fuel to the fire. Several times I told myself 'now!' but still chickened out. 

After all, Brenda may have been a slim girl, but she had thick arms and wide shoulders, probably capable of delivering some very solid swats. It would be a hard spanking, and I'd deliberately put on the thinnest pajamas I had to ensure I got the most from what I had coming to me, should Brenda not be willing to expose my barebottom.

It took a long time to screw up my courage, but with my bedtime drawing close, I had to either get up or give up. So I got up. I'm sure my knees were shaking, and my heart pounding as I approached her chair, enrapt in a boyish sense of wonder. The adrenalin must have been raging.

I remember Brenda looking quizzically at me as I stood beside her (in just the proper spot should she have a mind to drag me down over her lap), as I stumbled over my words. Somehow I managed to blurt out my request.  She reacted with predictable wide-eyed shock, which turned to outrage surprisingly quickly. 
I don't recall anything she said, but I do remember being shocked myself at how quickly I found myself staring face to face with the carpet.

I suppose she must have scolded me, because I had time to reflect on my situation. I was really in for it! Over Brenda's knee and about to get a good hard spanking! The excitment of the moment and the feeling of lying over her lap were winning out over the fear. I guess I was entering that peculiar headspace that spankees often experience. It's like your mind says, 'OK, this is now unavoidable, so I'll deal with it by embracing it fully.'

So what happened next?

Nothing.

Believe it or not, that was the moment my parents chose to come home. I guess Brenda and I were both too occupied in our little drama to have heard the car pulling up. There was no warning until we heard them at the front door. They would not have seen us the moment they entered, but a few steps inside and the view of the babysitter with their son over her knee would be plain enough. Understandably, Brenda panicked and hauled me back to my feet before my folks actually stepped inside.
I don't remember much else, other than standing there, still trembling, awash in a runaway mix of emotions - mostly embarrassment and frustration. 
Brenda had acted quickly, and my parents had not noticed anything amiss. But they shouldn't have been there - it was too early. I think they had come home early because one of them had not felt well. Brenda said nothing about the incident, but she left hurriedly, and never came back to sit me again.

I am sorry if the ending to this story is disappointing  - think how I felt about it! - but I can only relate what actually transpired. I wish I could tell you that she spanked me good and hard, gave me a stern lecture, and marched me up to my room, but ....
Anyway, the point of it all is that I sometimes wonder if only getting to the brink of realizing my boyhood spanking dreams that night actually had a more galvanizing effect on my Spanko-ness than if I had gotten a good shellacking from Brenda. The effect of that evening was to instill a powerful memory of the thrill of the anticipation, unmitigated by the memory of any serious discomfort.


Then again, maybe it would not have made a difference in the end.  I suspect Brenda probably would have had me regretting my request in short order, but the memory of the pain would have faded with time, while the adrenalin rush of that anticipation and the thrill of being over her lap would have lingered on.

 And on and on....

The Origin of Spankings, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Belt

     Recently, I was reading an article (here) over at Aunty Andrea's wonderful Spank Shop, posted by one of her male readers, who related how his boyhood desires to be spanked unfolded, and it started me pondering a question of cosmological significance (at least to my cosmos):
    So where does this 'spanking thing' come from anyway? Just how is it that some people (more than most suspect, according to some surveys) become attracted to the idea of discipline and punishment as a component of our libido? The question has always intrigued me. Is there a cultural factor involved? The 'English Vice', as it's been called, may not be unique to the Brits, but it is certainly more prevalent in western societies than in the rest of the world. My global visitors map shows they come from every western, industrialized, Christianized nation,and virtually none from outside that sphere).This fact alone opens up a whole truckload of questions: Has the guilt-based religious system instilled some inner need to be cleansed through suffering? Or perhaps our ego-driven, super-competitive, overly stressful lifestyle inspires a backlash, either to let go of the burdens of responsibility and let someone else be our decision maker, or in the case of tops, to regain a sense of control in a society where we have so little?
    On the other hand, perhaps it is not culture-based at all. Some of us would claim to be 'born Spankos', with the 'kink' already hardwired into our brains, or programmed into our genetic makeup. Others don't discover their predeliction for punitive play until adulthood, most often through a partner who is either already a Spanko or just through experimental foreplay. I suspect, though, that the majority of us became aware of this side of ourselves during childhood, often from being spanked.
     I am not qualified to spout universal declarations on any of these questions - I can only speak to my own experience.


    Unlike some Spankos who were punished frequently as kids, spanking was not a common practice in my household. A means of last resort, yes, but relatively rare. I was a quiet, well-behaved child, who almost never did anything that warranted physical punishment.  Nor did I have any desire to be punished by my parents. I respected them, and would have been mortified to drive them to the point of spanking me. But there were plenty of women on tv and in the movies who inspired thoughts of spanking. TV moms and teachers were a legitimate target of desire.
    When you're a kid, the most revealing view of women you have commonly available is of legs. Summer fashions revealed their delights in droves - smooth, round thighs, sunlight glimmering off  knee and gently curving shin. It was - and still is! - maddening. And spanking offered a means of getting up close and personal with what I considered the most exciting aspect to women. The idea of dangling across a pair of lovely legs was mesmerizing (still is,too).
    Add to that fact that the vast majority of my teachers were women - so I came to associate women with figures of authority, and disciplining in class was not the legal and social taboo it is today. Watching a female teacher scold or spank a student was a spectacle that held not only myself, but every kid in class spellbound. Afterward, in the yard, the other children would crowd around the one who'd been punished and pommel him/her with questions - how much did it hurt? Does it still sting? Were you afraid? Did you want to cry? Let's see if she left any marks! I suppose the kid in question was something of a hero to the rest of us. It should have been clear to me then that they all shared my fascination for punishment on some level. But it wasn't clear to me that there were formative sexual underpinnings being forged in us all. Probably in most of my classmates, such incidents are overwhelmed by later, non-spanking experiences - but, with some of us, their power still resonates.
    That's enough rambling for one day. The second half of this post topic will deal with a more specific experience that probably did more to shape my Spanko-ness than any other.


NEXT: The Babysitter Incident.