Thursday, 26 April 2012

The 'Look'

You know it, that no-nonsense glare that tells you she means business, and needs no voice to say 'You are in serious trouble, mister. Drop those drawers and over my knee, and I do mean NOW."
Daunting, ominous, and irresistably erotic...

Saturday, 21 April 2012


“All right, I don’t believe we’re getting anywhere here anymore. I think we’ll have to take this up a notch.”

“What do you mean? Please, Penelope. Don’t stop now.”

“You’re liking this too much, and I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson well enough to have earned that.” She sat back. “Let’s have you up on your feet. Come on, let’s go.” I didn’t want to get up, but I felt so under her thumb right now, I obeyed without thinking.  

“Oh my, you are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I blushed, smilled guiltily, and stepped away to make room. She rose, slapped my face again. “Hey! Who gave you permission to rub your bottom?”

I stopped immediately, and apologized. Shaking her head, she tucked a hand under my arm and marched me out and down the hallway. “We are running out of time, but I am not leaving until I’ve gotten through to you,”  she said loudly, in order to be heard over the echo of her own high heels. 

“Where are we going?” I asked nervously, though I was loving being led around like this, with my bottom stinging so deliciously. 

“It was a mistake for me to let up on you with the hairbrush just when you were starting to get the message. We’re going to remedy that now.”  She turned abruptly, dragging me into a small kitchen area. She pointed to the sink. “Fill that up with hot water, and I mean hot.”

“What for?”

She left without answering, leaving me standing there looking foolish. I wasn’t sure what she had in mind exactly, but I did as she commanded. When she re-entered the kitchen, I paled to see the cane in her hand. 

She smiled sweetly at me. “Don’t look so surprised, RR. Did you think this was just for show?” She tested the water in the sink with a tentative finger, flinching and shaking the scalding water off.  “Perfect. Now, hop up and dip those buns in for a good soak.”

I hesitated, naturally. She gave me a hard, impatient glare.  “Well?”

I swallowed and hoisted myself up, perching my bum over the steaming water . I looked pleadingly at Penelope, but there was no yielding in her eyes this time. “Oh, stop fussing so. You’re already numbed down. You’ll hardly feel it.” 

I touched my sore buttocks to the water. She was wrong. It HURT. I hissed through clenched teeth, trying to find resolve in those lovely green eyes and shapely legs.

“Deeper, if you please. I want those buns well poached.” 

I did as I was told, whimpering softly. 

“Good boy. Now just relax for a bit.”  

“Please, Miss Penny, what’s the point of this?” I whined through clenched teeth. 

She looked at me quizzically. “What, you don’t know? Really, Red Rump. Any good spanko knows that a wet bottom is far more sensitive. The heat opens up the pores and the moisture acts like suction when the implement strikes, forming a temporary seal that pulls at the skin, and causing it to snap painfully back into place - if the implement is withdrawn immediately after impact, that is.”

I gaped at her, more than a little aghast. “How do you know something like that?”

She batted her eyes girlishly. “I’m a spanking writer, dear. I like to research my subject matter thoroughly."

While I parboiled by bottom for her, Penelope laid the cane on the table, and proceeded to transform her persona before my eyes. She tied her hair back and removed her jacket, revealing a black waist corset over her blouse. She rolled up her sleeves and donned a pair of gloves from her jacket pocket. She was no longer the upright businesswoman, but the classic image of a female disciplinarian. Taking up the cane again, she swished it to and fro, letting me hear its unnerving song. “Whush! Don’t you just love that whippy sound?” she mused, scrunching her shoulders with delight. 

Before I could answer she demonstrated her stroke on an innocent kitchen chair.


My whole body tensed as though I’d taken the blow myself. Real fear twisted a knot in my stomach. My reaction did not go unnoticed by Penelope. Those green eyes sparkled like emeralds. “This is going to be so awesome! OK, that’s enough. We'll have you out of that sink so we can get down to business, shall we?”

Now I wasn’t sure the scalding water wasn’t a preferable environment for my poor bottom. But I knew better than to hesitate. I hopped down, and my knees almost gave out under me, they were trembling so bad. 

Penelope laughed, a sound like little chimes tinkling in a spring breeze. “Nervous, are we? Well, you’ve a right to be. Maybe we might get somewhere here, after all. Turn round, grab hold of the counter and bend WAY over for me.”

I gulped, my heart pounding, but forced my reluctant body to obey. 

She tapped my knees lightly with the cane. “No. Don’t bend at the knees. Feet wide apart. What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever been caned before?”

“No, Ma’am…”

“Really? But I’ll bet you’ve fantasized about it, haven’t you?"

“Many times, yes."

“Well, this should be quite the education, then.” She soaked a dish towel, and ran her cane through it. “Actually, I’m sorry we don’t have more time. Caning is an art unto its own, you know? There’s so much richness in all the little rituals and techniques….I’d really love to put you through the paces thoroughly, but as it is, you’ll just have to be satisfied with the crash course.”  Shaking any excess water off her weapon, Penelope took up as wide a stance as her skirt allowed, and ran the cane up my shivering legs to rest on my tensed buttocks. 

Her earlier anger had faded. She was loving this as much as I was dreading it.
“Up on your toes. Good. And make that bad little butt reach for the sky. That’s a good boy! Now we can really get to the seat of the problem.”  She tapped the cane teasingly a few times, a tiny bit harder each time until she saw me wince a bit, then slowly drew the cane back. She made me wait, relishing the suspense. 


“I’m not sure that I –“


The impact was so severe that it took my shocked nerve endings a moment to react. But react they did, screaming in protest. I gasped, buckling at the knees while a thin line of hornets drove their lances into my soft flesh. 

Penelope waited patiently. “Yes, I know it hurts bad, dear. Take your time.”

I had no idea the cane would be so wicked. As the pain slowly receded, I straightened up, gripping the counter with white knuckles. It had hurt more than anything I’d ever felt, and we were just beginning. I looked at her through bleary eyes as she bent the cane back and forth in her hands, a look of patient, but unyielding expectancy on her face. No, Miss Penelope was not done with me yet. Come on, the voice said. You can do this. Remember, you love being punished by beautiful women…. I gritted my teeth and resumed the proper stance.

Penelope nodded. “Good boy. But aren’t you forgetting something?” I pushed up on my toes and stuck my bum out to receive her next stroke.  She chuckled. “Yes, there’s that. But that’s not what I meant.”

Of course…. “That was One. Thank You, Ma’am. May I please have another?”

“Ahh, so you are familiar with some of the proper etiquette, aren’t you?”

“I’ve done a little research of my own.”

“Oh, I’ll bet.” 

She rubbed the cane on my hot stinging flesh, enjoying how my legs quivered in anticipation of her next stroke. She employed the same technique as she’d done before, tapping the cane lightly, but did not slowly graduate to a hard stroke, just delivered it with a sudden unexpected force.


I twisted, a little squeal escaped my lips, but I stolidly held in place. “Two, Ma’am! Thank You!”

Her tone was casual, almost as though she were discussing the weather. “You know, you might want to let it out. It’s OK - there really is no one else around to hear us.” Her next stroke caught me low, right across the ‘sweet spot’. I gasped, but still held my tongue.

“My, you are a stubborn one…” She delivered me two more rapid, withering slices that broke my lips open. I let out a howl, and crouched, unable to keep my stance.

“That’s better! Aren’t you quite the little choir boy?”

While I squatted there, clutching at the counter against the burning lances that assaulted my flesh and my will with equal zeal, Penelope stepped closer, leaning her butt against the sink. Taking up the dish towel, she re-soaked her cane. “What’s our count, young man?”

Real tears were welling up now, blearing my up close view of those lovely curving legs only inches away. “Five, I believe, Ma’am…”

“You believe?”

“It’s five, Ma’am. And thank you.”

She squatted down and lifted my chin. She spoke softly, even kindly, but those green eyes bore into mine. “Let me explain something to you. A proper caning has rules, strict protocols, sort of like a tai chi exercise. Both parties have to display the proper respect for the ritual. For your part, you show compliance, humility and gratitude. For my part, I’m required to demonstrate an unrelenting strictness, unmoved by pleas or pity. It’s not easy, you know – I’m not naturally a cruel person. Now I know it hurts something terrible, dear, but you do want me to punish you, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I whimpered.

She placed a hand to my face. “Now, as I’m seeing real tears, I’m willing to accept that you’re learning your lesson. I’d be willing to stop right now and give you a nice cuddle. Would you like that?”

God, yes! “Oh, Penny, that would be so wonderful…”

She let me dwell on that thought a moment, then burst my little bubble:
“But here’s the thing. A proper caning really should be delivered in portions of a dozen, or half dozen – you know, ’six of the best’ and all that sort of thing. So, like it or not, I have to give you at least one more stroke. You understand, don’t you?” She gave me one of those vixenish smiles that always turned my resistance to water. 

I nodded meekly. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She kissed my forehead and rose to resume her place, waiting patiently for me to take up mine. I lifted up on my toes and pushed my welt-laced bottom up for her.
Penelope ran the cane lightly over the weals. Even that feather touch made me wince. 

“I should tell you, RR, that the final stroke should also be the hardest.” 


I cried out again, then crumpled to my knees, blubbering out the obligatory thanks and giving way to the sobs that the pain demanded of me.

“There’s a good boy. Let it all out for Penny.” She let me sob quietly for a few moments, while she let the sink drain. “Please assume the position again for me, RR.”

A wave of panic ran through me. More strokes? I almost protested, but thought better of it. If Miss Hasler was not yet done with me, then who was I to contest her judgment?’

Whimpering softly, I complied. 

“Feet apart, please.”

Instead of laying the cane on my abused bottom, she poked it between my legs, prodding, exploring. 

“Hmm. Not so aroused as before, and still willing to accept correction without question. We have managed to teach you something today, haven’t we?” 

“I hope so, Ma’am.” 

She laid the cane aside, and applied a lotion to my bottom that cooled the fire.
I shuddered with the sheer delight of it. Then she drew my underpants back up and patted my bottom a last time. “You can stand up now, RR. We’re done.” Instead, I fell to my knees at her feet, relief and gratitude overwhelming me.I thanked Miss Hasler sincerely for all her efforts on my behalf. She hugged me tightly. “It was a kick, wasn’t it?” she breathed in my ear, sending a shudder of gooseflesh down my back.

“Profound, to say the least.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

I’m not sure ‘enjoy’ was the right word, but despite the excruciating pain, I knew I would leap at the chance to do this again. And I even promised not to draw any more naughty spanking drawings.

She laughed. “There, there. When did I say to do that? Go ahead and draw what you like. Just be aware, young man, that you may have to face the consequences afterward….”

Sunday, 15 April 2012


The following is a new avenue for me, a foray into spanking fiction which has its origins in reality - well, sort of, anyway. The story is dedicated to the wonderful Penelope Hasler, who is both the inspiration and the 'star'. Back in March, she portioned out to me a very thorough virtual paddling that had me all agog - you can read it on her blog here: I'll Give You a Red Rump, My Boy! (it's in the comments section, but be warned - it WILL make you jealous). Further, she promised I was in for the real deal if we ever met offline, so this is my fantasy on how that encounter might play out. Without giving much away, I can tell you that I do not fare particularly well in it...
My sincere thanks to Penny for allowing me to turn her into Miss Hasler, and for proofreading the story and fixing all my errors -


The cafe was nestled among the willows that lined the bank of a wide pond. Swans and ducks carved lazy trails through the mirror waters, while Sunday strollers tossed them morsels of bread.
Only the discordant shouts from the cricket field beyond disturbed the tranquility of the scene. I approached the cafe patio, scanning the crowded tables for the red purse Penelope had told me to look for. Unsuccessfully - a pang of disappointment and foolishness took hold, until an elderly couple rose to leave, revealing a patch of vivid scarlet on the table behind. The woman seated there wore one of those big round beret-type hats and was facing away from me, watching the cricket match.
'You can still get out of this,' the warning little voice in the back of my head urged. 'Turn and go before she sees you!'
I have a long sad history of NOT listening to that voice. I went forward.
"Uh, Penelope?" I asked, almost whispering as though just uttering her name would reveal our purposes to everyone in the cafe. She turned, and my butt cheeks clenched. Between high cheekbones and the dark bangs poking out from under the canted brim of her cap, a pair of hazel green eyes greeted me. Now, I'd had a weakness for green eyes ever since Miss Ballantine, my seventh grade geography teacher - well, suffice to say, this young lady already had me at a disadvantage...
"RR, is it? Hi." She smiled and stuck out a slender hand. I took it, wondering how that hand might feel landing hard on my bottom.
It all began so innocently and commonplace as I bought her teas and we exchanged the usual pleasantries and small talk - how did I like London? What sights had I seen, that sort of thing. I could almost have forgotten the reason we were there, when she gazed across the pond in reaction to a commotion on the cricket field.
"Ever had it from one of those?" she asked wistfully.
"Beg pardon?"
"A cricket bat, silly."
"Uh, no. Looks like they would hurt."
"They do. A lot. But they're heavy. Not for the faint of heart. I remember one time, bent over a chair in my fav schoolgirl skirt, one of those things almost knocked me and the chair onto the floor." She looked back at me, a little evil grin at the corner of her mouth. "Maybe you'd like to try one yourself?"
The notion was a daunting one. She chuckled. "You blush easily, don't you, RR?"
"On all four cheeks, Miss."
She laughed, and, reaching into her purse, withdrew an envelope. "I need to be somewhere for supper, so let's get this show on the road, shall we?"
She tossed the envelope before me. "These are your instructions. Follow them to the letter. Do you have the package I told you to bring?"
I nodded.
"Right, then. I'm off. I'll see you a little later." She rose and leaned down close to my face, lifting my chin. "And RR - don't be late. Understand?"
Those green eyes transfixed me. "I won't. Promise."
She smiled, patted my cheek, and strode off. I watched her go, admiring the slim figure that made her bouncy knee-length skirt sway so sassily.
Ten minutes passed while I gathered my wits about me, then opened the envelope with trembling fingers. The paper inside showed me an address and a time - 4pm. Beneath that was a rubber stamp in red ink of a paddle with a little heart in the center of it. It was signed P.H.
I checked my watch. Almost 2 now, and so much still to do...
I paid the bill and hurried away from the little cafe. Behind me, the crack of a cricket bat clapped the air.
The cab ride from my hotel to the address in Hammersmith Penelope had provided took longer than I'd expected. Recalling her warning, I'd wanted to be early, but it was 4:05 when it finally pulled up in front of a three-storey building. Should have taken the Tube, dammit! "Here y'are, mate," the driver said. "Sorry I couldn't quite make the time. Hope it doesn't cause too much of a pain in the ass." I almost laughed as I thrust his fare at him. If he only knew how apt his choice of phrase was...
"Hey," he called as I started off. "Don't forget this!" he reached into the back and handed a large manila envelope to me.
The package! Damn! I could only imagine the reaction of someone finding and opening it - not to mention Penelope's reaction if I showed up without it.
"Thanks," I said, snatching it and hurrying to the front entrance. The instructions had said to buzz 207, but my finger hesitated over the button. Was I sure I wanted to do this? The old inner conflict surged anew inside me - wise discretion vs. foolhardy desire, the chill vs the thrill. But even that inner voice had to concede it was too late:
'You promised.'
I pushed the button.
"You're late, RR," the speaker scolded me.
"I'm sorry, Penny, the cab -"
The door buzzer interrupted me. "Second floor. Third office door on the right."
I hesitated a bit too long and the buzzer went silent. The door remained locked. Dammit! Not good. I buzzed again.
"What, you're still outside?"
"Sorry, Ma'am..."
"Yes, you are. Now get in here!"
This time I responded instantly when she buzzed me in.
The interior was dim and a bit musty. The smell of varnish permeated the air. A steep old oak staircase loomed before me, beckoning ominously. The apprehension was starting to gain ground on my ill-considered desires. But I was already in trouble for my tardiness, and as I did not want to make Penelope any more cross with me, I ascended the stairs. The steps groaned resentfully.
Atop the landing a long narrow hallway yawned, peppered with office doors. The third one on the right lay slightly ajar. Courage, lad, my voice said, suddenly acquiring a ridiculous English accent. You're supposed to be a spanko, aren't you? This is what you crave. Remember those green eyes...
I swallowed back my fear and entered the office, resigned to meet whatever fate Penelope had in mind for me.
The office was empty.
What the heck? Was this all some elaborate joke? Then I noticed the array of spanking implements arranged neatly on the desk. Slipper, spatula, several small paddles, a rolled up belt, brushes of various lengths, and -
- a cane with a curved handle.
I stared at them all with no little trepidation. They seemed to stare back with an eager menace. A cane?! Holy crap. What was I getting myself into? I thought suddenly of the park earlier. There, and all over the city, people were out basking in the sun, laughing and playing and enjoying the fresh air. I could have been there, amongst them, but no - I’d chosen to be here, standing foolishly in the half-dark of some empty office waiting to be punished like an errant schoolboy by some virtual stranger I'd only met online and for twenty minutes in a cafe.
Remember those eyes...
"Do you like my little toy collection?"
I wheeled to see Penelope leaning against the doorway to an inner office, arms folded. If I thought she was attractive at the cafe, she was breathtaking now. She'd discarded the park-going outfit for a businesswoman's jacket, white blouse, and tight, almost knee-length skirt. Stockinged, elegantly-curved calves dragged my eyes down to a pair of stiletto heels. A pearl necklace and matching earrings completed the ensemble.
"I - uh, um..."
"Speechless, are we?"
"Uh - yes, I guess I am at a loss for words."
She came forward, high heels clacking loudly on the ancient wooden floor. She perched her butt against the desk directly in front of me and fixed me with a stern stare. "Well, you might start with an explanation of why you're late."
I swallowed. "Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry..." I explained about the cab and the traffic, but she put an impatient finger to my lips. "I didn't ask for excuses. You should have made an effort to leave early just in case, shouldn't you?”
I bit my lip and looked sheepish, as I often did when I was scolded. It was a poor ploy for leniency, but nothing of the sort showed itself in those hazel magnets she glared at me with. I muttered a lame apology.
"Frankly, you don't sound very sorry," she admonished. "But I think we can take care of that before we are done. At least you thought to put on a decent shirt and tie for this. Let's have a look at your nails. Hm. Cut and trimmed. All very well, but don't get it into your head that such gestures will earn you any credit against your punishment, understand?"
"No, Ma'am, of course not. That was not what I'd intended, really."
"I should certainly hope not! Now let's begin by having a look at that package of yours, shall we?"
My brows lifted, and she couldn't help but laugh. "I meant the envelope you brought. What 'package' did you think I meant, Mister?"
I blushed as I handed her the envelope. "Sorry, Ma'am, I thought -"
"I know what you thought. Now, lose those trousers - trousers only, mind you! - and hang them on the door." While I did that, Penelope pulled out the contents of the envelope: several sheets of paper.
She leafed through them, her face darkening with each successive one. I reddened when she turned a look of indignant distaste upon me. "What the -" she thrust one of the sheets in my face. It was a copy of my drawing 'Beyond the Threshold', with a woman delivering a harsh hairbrushing to a clearly suffering man. "You want to explain this to me?"
I thought the drawing was pretty obvious, but of course I didn't say so.
She pushed another drawing in my face - several sorority girls had a guy held fast over a stool and were about to give him a double paddling, with a cane waiting in the wings. "And how about THIS?!"
I stumbled over my words, genuinely taken aback by her tone. "I - you asked to see them - they're for my blog..."
"I gathered that! But that is NOT what I'm asking, is it? I want to know why you would draw such nasty things in the first place!"
"Well..." I shrugged and gave her my best coy smile. "I guess I'm just a naughty little artist. Ma'am."
Penelope took hold of my chin and stuck a finger in my face. "Don't get smart with me, young man! You are in a lot of trouble!"
A sudden defiance rose in me, sparked by the injustice of her outrage. "Well, you call yourself a naughty little writer. What's the difference?"
Those wonderful green eyes flashed hotly. Her palm struck like lightning across my face. It shocked me - not only the unexpectedness of it, but the intensity of the pain and the fury that fuelled it. "Are we here to discuss my habits, or yours?"
I gaped at her. If I had entertained any illusions that this escapade was going to be just a game of harsh words and playful smacks, they were quickly dispelled. "Mine, I guess..."
"You guess rightly! Now remove that shirt and tie and we'll get down to business. It's time Red Rump lived up to his name!"
Plunking a wooden office chair in front of the desk, Penelope sat down and patted her lap. Her skirt was short enough to reveal more than a hint of lovely thigh; I admired the sight a moment too long.
"Now you listen up. If you're not over my knee by the count of three, you forfeit any warm-up spanking. ONE."
I hustled to prostrate myself down over her lap. It was warm and feminine and I suddenly felt right at home.
"That's more like it." She rolled back my underpants to expose my bare bottom.
"Is that a cologne you're wearing?"
"Ralph Lauren. I put a little on my lower back. I hope it's to your liking..."
"Very thoughtful, I must admit. But, sadly for you, it won't stay my hand." She patted my bottom lightly, grabbing each cheek and shaking it, assessing her 'canvas'. "Now let's get some ground rules straight, dear. I know how you like to squirm on a lady's lap, but I won't have it, understand? If you -" she stopped, sighing in apparent exasperation.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"What do you think is the matter?"
"I don't -"
"You're getting hard, aren't you?! You think I can't feel that against my leg?"
I blushed anew. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I can't help it..."
"Do you realize how inappropriate that is?" She reached down, pinched my ear and turned my head to look back up at her. "You're being punished, remember?" She landed a swift SWAT! on my bared bum. For a slender gal, she had some core strength in her shoulder. "Now get yourself under control and learn your lesson!" She proceeded to lay into me with hard, alarmingly painful swats that soon had me fretting. It was glorious, but did little to address the issue which had ignited her burst of temper. Unthinkingly, I tried to squirm as well, which earned me a hard tap to the back of the head.
"I told you not to squirm, didn't I?"
"I know, but -"
WHAP! "Didn't I?!!"
"Ow, yes! But it's hard not to - you said there would be a warm-up!"
She let out an exclamation of indignation. "Ohh! You're giving me backtalk now?!" She reached for a hairbrush, laying its deceptively cool surface on my buttocks. "Warm-up spankings are for good little boys who cooperate and do as they're told. Do you think you're co-operating?"
"OW! No, Ma'am, I'm not!"
"So do you deserve a nice, slow warm-up?"
"I, I..."
Another flurry of poignant STINGING swats 'encouraged' me to answer properly: "No, Ma'am! OWW! I don't deserve - AAOW! I'm sorry! OW-OWW!"
"Go ahead and bawl all you like. It's Sunday. There's no one in the building but us. Now hold still, will you!"

I tried - really, genuinely tried - not to wriggle and squirm away, but Penelope had a knack of delivering each swat to an unexpected spot, always keeping me on edge. I couldn't predict where the next would land, so I could not mentally brace for it. All I could do was try not to clench, which would only concentrate the impacts and cause deep bruising. A particularly severe blow to a patch of previously untouched skin on the outer edge of one buttock evoked a heartfelt yelp of pain that I think startled even her, for she put down the brush.
"Really, RR, I didn't think you would be such a cry-baby about this. I thought you liked getting your rump reddened. Or was it all an act? Is your mouth bigger than your bottom?"
I set my jaw and felt a stab of indignation myself. "No, Ma'am. I need my rump reddened. Please don't stop."
She took up the spatula. "Who said anything about stopping?"
The silicone spatula had a small blade and did not deliver the same 'punch' as the wooden hairbrush, but Penelope had a technique that made up for the difference. She chose a spot in the middle of my left cheek, and built up a series of targeted swats there, beginning with light taps, but each a bit harder than the previous one, until she was laying it on as hard as she could. Then she chose a new, fresh patch somewhere else and began again. This method had me in some genuine distress after half a dozen or so directed pastings, so that I was murmuring desperate little gurgles and gasps.
Relax, the voice said. Don't resist. Let the pain flow out and wash away. Don't try to hold it in.
During the next several minutes, I ascended to that state of mind where the mind deceived itself into interpreting the pain as pleasure. I glanced back up over my shoulder to watch admiringly as Penelope raised the spatula (so high!), then brought it down in a blur with a resounding CLAP!. I winced, shuddered with delight and exhaled a deep sigh of joy. This was where Red Rump belonged, over a woman's knee getting a well deserved, good old-fashioned spanking. I felt like a kid again, getting that licking that I should have had from Brenda.
We were approaching that time when the spankee's bottom was rapidly numbing and the spanker's arm was starting to give out. Looking down to see the blissful smile on my face, Penelope realized it too.
But if I thought I had won, I had another think coming...

Stay tuned for Part II, when Miss Penny gets serious...

Saturday, 14 April 2012

Wednesday, 11 April 2012

RetroFix - Martha Hyer

Once billed as Universal's answer to Grace Kelly, this Oscar nominated actress had wholesome Doris Day looks, but often found roles playing women with a nasty streak. It's a combination that works for me...

Saturday, 7 April 2012

Your Babysitter for Tonight

Good behavior is optional. Consequences, however, are mandatory.

Wednesday, 4 April 2012


Uh.... er...ummmm..... * nonsensical spluttering*......

words just fail.....

Sunday, 1 April 2012

Ahh, Spring....

When a young man's fancy turns lightly to thoughts of --
the lap of that cute new blonde in math class...

chicks in their underwear...

that hot mom next door who always seems to have a spatula at hand...

his two strict aunties....

chicks in their underwear brandishing hairbrushes....

detentions ...


his two strict Auntie's friends....

chicks in their underwear brandishing hairbrushes on each other...

and just generally getting into trouble...

 (I did get that quote about a young man's fancy right, didn't I? I'm sure that's how it goes....)