Ask the Spanking Mavens

On our guest blog today, Dorothy in Twickenham Writes...

Dear Spanking Mavens,

I am so vexed my jaw is sore from clenching. I am not so much looking for advice as a place to vent, so please bear with me. I'm in hospital at the moment due to some distressful stomach ailment, but it isn't my illness that's making me angry, it's my boyfriend. Usually he is very kind and supportive, and I love him dearly, otherwise I would kill him for what he said this morning.

Without going into detail, my illness has to do with the lower intestine, and the discomfort has been somewhat intense, enough to put me in hospital. The doctors gave me pain relievers and all, but I can't take those forever, and what they have come up with now is a course of medicated enemas, quite large ones in fact, 500 millilitres at a time. I can't say I relish the thought of even one such treatment, let alone morning and evening every day for a fortnight. In fact, I was so stunned when the doctor told me I said nothing, just sat there in bed with my mouth open. My boyfriend Jim (not his real name, Prof, I checked - A) merely patted my shoulder and smiled reassuringly. He has visited every day I've been here, and as I said, is most supportive. But when the doctor had gone and I'd had time to process what the man said, I became quite angry, and told Jim in no uncertain terms that this simply was not on, having to put a horrid nozzle in my behind twice a day and fill myself up with a pint of some nasty concoction.

The nurse was still in the room, fiddling with the monitor machine, and she had her back to us, and then after I said what I said, Jim very calmly told me that HE would do it for me, give me the enemas. At first I thought he was joking and told him so, and said I would simply insist they find another way to give me the medicine, at which point he got rather a strict look in his eye and said, "We can do this one of two ways. Either I give you the enema like the doctor ordered, or I can give you a hard spanking and THEN give you the enema, so quit being so stubborn about this."

I can't begin to tell you how embarrassed I was, since the nurse heard every word. He and I are intimate, sexually that is, but I am basically very shy. We don't live together and I still shut the door when I use the toilet if he's in my house. Yes, he does spank me on occasion - well, frequently in fact, which is one reason I chose to write to you since I think perhaps you'll understand my problem better than most. I'd had spanking fantasies before but never acted on them until I met Jim, but still spanking is simply foreplay for us. Once in a while I will wind him up, act naughty and stroppy to give him an excuse to take me over his knee, and sometimes he will pretend to be annoyed at some trifling fault or error I've made, but it all ends up the same, with us having it off in bed or on the sofa. And we certainly never broadcast our little game, because I don't want the whole world to know that being kinky really gets my motor running.

But getting back to what happened, I was once again stunned to silence, and I couldn't even look at the nurse when she turned to walk out, though I did glance up as she passed by, and I swear she winked at Jim. He denied it, of course, when I finally was able to speak and ask him about it, and I insisted that I talk to the doctor again, to tell him there must be some other way to administer the treatment. But Jim got even more stern and strict, and said he wanted me out of hospital NOW, even if it meant I had to take medicine I didn't particularly care for, AND that if I kept acting such a brat he would spank me right then and there so the whole staff and all the other patients could hear. I really don't think he would have, but I couldn't take the chance, and being already so embarrassed and stressed out I simply began to cry, and Jim held me closely while I sobbed.

He has gone back to work now, and I'm due to be discharged late this afternoon. I've been rehearsing my arguments with him, all the reasons that he shouldn't be allowed to look into so intimate a place and put a nasty nozzle in me. I mean, wouldn't you feel just helpless, having that done to you? I'm sure I would be quite capable of doing it myself, yucky as the task seems, but Jim said he'd not have it, that I might stop before all the medicine was in, or not leave it in long enough to work before I went on the loo, and before he left, he had already figured out a schedule of when he would come round and 'see to your sweet little bum,' as he put it. I didn't argue with him, since I was still quite concerned about his threat, but I'm almost sure I shook my head the whole while he was outlining his ghastly plan.

Anyway, I suppose my question is, don't you think it was rude and awful of him to say that right in front of the nurse, about spanking me and then giving me an enema? And isn't it even more rude and awful for him to insist upon doing such embarrassing things to my behind? I mean, isn't a girl entitled to some privacy? Especially in regards her backside? Spanking is one thing, and we both enjoy that, but this other is quite beyond the pale, don't you think?

Thank you for taking the time to read this. Any comments will be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

Dorothy in Twickenham

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http://devlinoneill.wordpress.comhttp://myspace.com/angelika_devlynDear readers: http://www.critters.org/predpoll/reviewsite.shtml
Angelika's Ordeal (Part 2)

Just to back up a little, not only was the Professor grumpy, but I managed to torque off his new pal Michael as well. Why don't these flippin' Americans have any sense of humour? All I did was call him Mikey Wikey when I posted to that Cherry Red blog, which I thought was cute. How was I to know his sisters teased him by calling him that? It's not my fault he's so sensitive about his name, but anyhow he said, right there on a public blog, that I was going to get a slippering because of it. HMMPH!

So there I was in that musty old gymnasium, flat on my back on this padded bench with the Professor pulling my legs back to see if my ankles would reach behind my ears. Really! It's not enough Michael was going to give me a slippering, but I had to be splayed open like a Christmas turkey? And it's not even a slipper but one of those blasted Italian leather shoe soles he's so proud of. Some company he used to manage sold them in the States. I wondered if Customs found it, looking through his luggage, and asked him about it. Knowing him, he told the agent he was going to spank me with it. So then he started spanking my butt cheeks, which are like stretched to the max, and all the while lecturing me that I have no one to blame for this but myself, and it's my fault I'm being punished, the usual rubbish, and that damnable Dev smiling encouragement at him. Why don’t they just tattoo 'Spank Here' across my bum?

And of course Michael's got a huge grin on his gob, like I needed to see how much he was enjoying himself, stinging my bottom so much with his nasty bit of leather. So I quit looking at him and looked up, which was a big mistake, cause there was the nasty professor, staring right at my very naughtiest bit of all while he held my legs up. Well you were! You said I had to tell the whole truth and I did see you looking at it!

Okay, okay, so it was a little damp down there! That isn’t my fault! Stupid hormones.

So anyway Michael was really going at it on my behind, and even zipped a few real stingers inside the cleft, which was way out of order and made me squeal and call him a sodding prick, another big mistake that made him swat even harder, so my bum was pretty red and a bit swollen by the time he finally put down that stupid slipper, sole, whatever the hell it was, and Dev let loose of my ankles. He let me rub for a minute, but wouldn’t let me say anything – just kept shushing me every time I opened my mouth, and then hauled me off to the corner. Gosh! I hate the corner, but this was like ten times worse. Dev stood me there, and said to clasp my hands at the back of my neck, and keep them there, and don’t you dare rub your heinie, and all the rest of it. And I probably shouldn’t say, but I think I earned a few good-girl points cause I kept my head down, like bowed, the whole time I was in the corner, only truth to tell, I was looking at that filthy floor, wondering if black beetles were going to creep out of the wall and crawl all over my sandals. They didn’t, thank God, and I only had to stand there a couple of minutes, but I was really, really glad when Dev came and took me away from there. Well, glad for a second or two, anyhow.

Cause Michael had his flipping satchel open, and I near fainted dead away when I saw what was in it. He knows how much I hate even the thought of enemas, they both do! But there was Michael, holding this big red bulb syringe with like a six-inch nozzle on it in his hand, smirking at me, and I just screamed and ran for the door. Only I didn’t cause Dev had a steel-vise grip on my arm, like he was expecting me to do just that, and he starts shushing me again, and telling me they won’t stick the horrid thing in my um … there if I take the rest of my punishment like a good girl, and what I am I supposed to say? No, forget it? Too bloody likely. I HATE enemas! Did I mention that? So I promised, several times.

My heart was pounding like a sledgehammer, and I was promising Dev ANYTHING the whole while he was bending me over the side of the damn vaulting horse, and I mean like way over, so my butt was pointed at the ceiling. He’d put one of those sheets on the horse, but I could still feel the cracked leather under my tummy, and the damn thing smelled like a horse, all mouldy and stuff, and then Dev reached into the satchel and pulled out his favorite belt. It’s the wide, heavy one he wears with jeans, and just that sound when he slips it out of the loops makes my hind cheeks clench, which they did the second I saw the thing, sound or no, and doing that reminded me how sore I already was back there, outside and in!

Now Dev never has at me too hard with the belt – he’s not big on leaving welts, for one thing, and he always folds it in thirds, so it’s short and makes more a thud than a lash on my bum. Except that time he wrapped the buckle end around so there was about two or three feet of long, whippy tail hanging out of his hand, and I forgot all about the promise and jumped right off that stupid horse. Well, I wanted to, but Michael was there, and pulled my wrists behind my back to keep me down. Didn’t keep me from screaming and yelling even before Prof Punishment started on my poor situpon, and I’m telling you that leather just BURNED every time it cracked on my bottom. Not that he cared how much I kicked and wiggled, and even Michael was telling me to count the strokes, and then slapped my behind with his hand until I did. God, those two!

Well anyhow, Dev gave me ten really hard lashes with the belt, and my bum was just on fire when Michael helped me stand up. Then he gave me a hug while he rubbed me back there, which was so nice I cried a little bit, which I almost never do, but then Dev took me away from him and stood me closer to the wall mirror and made me look at my arse, and it was just bright red, and all stripy from the belt, and looking at it made it hurt worse, and I cried a little bit more when Dev hugged me. So that was it, right? I got spanked and slippered and whipped, and my bum felt like I sat in a wasp nest, so I’m a good girl now, right? Hell, no! I get angry all over just thinking about it, but then Prof Devil O’Neill switched on the freaking treadmill, and made me get up on it and start walking!

Damn, that hurt! Every step made my hind cheeks just ache, and I could see myself in the mirrors, front and back, walking along, my bare arse glowing red and looking oh, so swollen, and Michael was digging in that stupid freaking nasty satchel again, and pulled out a couple of hard, shiny, evil wood paddles, not very big but horrid looking, and I grabbed the handrails on the treadmill and just screamed for them not to, but they stood one on each side and held onto my arms and just smacked my burning bum with those vicious little bits of polished board, and all the while these brutes are paying NO attention to me, only pointing out to each other the spots on my scorched situpon that aren’t quite hot and painful enough yet, and it just went on FOREVER, horrid, vicious, nasty wooden spanks landing over and over and over on my swollen bum, and tears were just pouring down my face, when finally Dev kicked the emergency shutoff switch, and I fell backwards into his arms. God my arse hurt! Bustards.

Okay! Yes, I deserved it, Professor, sir. Yes, you were both very kind to pull the benches together and sit knee to knee so you could drape me over your laps and smear nice cool lotion on my unfairly blistered bottom. Oh. I meant to type SORELY, not UNFAIRLY, honest! And yes, I’ve learnt my lesson, and I will be a good girl forever and ever, and I really do appreciate you and Michael taking the time and effort to correct my behavior, sir. How’s that?

I was NOT being snarky! Rolling my eyes and giving you the finger, now that would be classed as snarky. Give me a break! So anyway, after quite a lot of lotion, which I really truly enjoyed – I shut my eyes and tried to guess whose hand was which, especially when fingers started slipping a little toward my naughty bits – and they both said I was forgiven and they loved me, even when I was naughty, which I really like to hear. I mean, who wouldn’t?

So then Dev called a taxi on my mobile, and they helped me dress. Michael put my knickers in his pocket, which I thought was cute, and it took both of them to get my bra adjusted, which I also enjoyed. The taxi driver looked at Dev and Michael kind of fish-eyed, cause of the cop uniforms, but then took us round a little pub a few streets away, one where they don’t know me, and Dev didn’t even blink when I ordered two double G&Ts straight off. The barmaid was kind of a frowzy redhead, but had a real bubble butt and wore stretch jeans to show it off. She gave us a bit of the fish-eye as well, and I swear Michael’s neck nearly broke watching her walk to the bar after taking our orders. He and Dev downed their pints in pretty short order, grinning the whole while, but not saying anything about what just went on – except Dev sort of looked at me sideways when I whimpered and wriggled on the sofa, nothing between my sore bum and that knobby tweed except a cotton skirt. But did he care? Ha!

We chatted about their overseas plane ride, and this and that, and then Michael wanted to try the shepherd’s pie, so we had an early supper and made a night of it at the pub. Michael left a ten-quid tip for the redhead on top of what Dev put on his credit card. Men! I was almost glad when they dropped me at my flat and went back to their hotel.

How’s that, Professor, sir? Does that about cover it? No! I don’t want to put on my school jumper! I don’t CARE if Michael bought a cane! This is SO not

Angelika Explains All and Publicly Apologises? (AGAIN!) Dear Readers,

Well this just really, truly sucks, having to write this, being MADE to write it, while his Pedantic Professorship sits and looks over my shoulder, and it wasn't even my fault, for Christ's sakes!

Okay, okay, so here's what happened. Devlin went back to California for a while and left me here to carry on solo, which he should have known not to if he had any sense. It's not that I go looking for trouble, but even when he's here I can't seem to keep out of it. Anyway, I told him I was looking for another job, since just doing my blogs and web sites and stuff doesn't keep me nearly busy enough, and he was cool with that. So anyway I did find another one, just part-time until he came back and we could get serious about the Mavens column and so forth, but then when he emailed and asked me what kind of job I found, I said JOKINGLY that I was going to be a policewoman. So even you, dear reader, can see the joke!

Well obviously he didn't take it as I expected, but went on and on about how that made sense, that being an authority figure during work hours and a submissive the rest of the time was yin and yang or some such nonsense, and how it was better than being a bikini waxer at a women's spa, which is like totally his own fantasy, the pervert. So anyway, I wrote back and tried to explain that I was KIDDING, but did he listen? Do Tops EVER listen? NO! And all of a sudden I'm in deep trouble, not only with Prof Pedantic but his new best buddy, Michael, who can be a really nice guy only sometimes he thinks he's Dev's protégé or something, and they're going back and forth on a blog called CherryRedReport, and being all Toppy and threatening and stuff, and STILL not listening to me, despite a very nice public apology, the prigs.

So anyway, Dev cuts his California visit short and comes back to East Anglia, and even brings Michael with him, which would be cool cause I kind of like Michael, from his emails, and wanted to meet him, EXCEPT I know the only reason he’s here is to punish me, and I think I already mentioned that this is SO NOT FAIR!

OKAY! His Professorship just told me to stop saying how NOT FAIR this is and get on with it. GOD, what a

Well anyhow, they'd got this whole scenario planned out, with me in the starring role, except they're the ones who wore the costumes – police uniforms that Dev hired from some shop in the high street – something about punishment fit the crime, yeah right - only they're the kind male strippers wear, with the tear-away seams, and it was really hard not to laugh, thinking at any minute they'd yank off their clothes and have nothing on but a thong bikini, maybe with sequins and tassels. They never did, though, and I pretty much forgot about all that for the next few hours, and I gotta tell you, it was the longest few hours of my life!

I don't know how, but Dev found this old gym on the edge of town. It hadn't been used in years and was really run down, and most of the lights were broken so it was really dark and spooky, and kinda dungeon-y looking. I was wearing just a skirt and a blouse, nothing fancy, and as soon as we got into the place and Dev locked the door behind us, Michael tells me to strip! I mean come on! The place was filthy to begin with, but Dev brought a bunch of paper bedsheets like they use in hospital, and he laid a couple around on the gym equipment while I was arguing with Michael, then Dev yelled at me to strip, and I decided I'd better do it.

Christ, it was cold in there, and I was shivering as much from nerves as chill, but those two just stood there, one on each side of me, arms folded, trying to look all constable stern while I took off my clothes, and to be honest, in that light they did look sorta scary. Michael had this leather satchel with him, and as soon as I got down to bra and knickers, he opened it up and took out a box of rubber gloves, and gave Dev a pair. Let me tell you, I did NOT want to take off those last shreds of clothes, but Michael got as Toppy as I'd ever seen him, and said if I didn't lose my underwear he'd cut it off, and at that moment I was pretty sure he meant it.

So anyway, once I was stark naked I actually didn't feel as nervous, and I'm not sure why. Dev took my hand and made me lie on my back on a padded bench, that he'd already covered with one of those sheets, then he made me open my mouth and put his thumb on my tongue so he could look down my throat, and then looked in my ears, and up my nose, and in my eyes, and even in my hair, and I'm thinking, THIS is really weird, and it was almost funny. Except then he reached down and pulled my knees up and apart, and swatted my hands away when I tried to cover myself down there. I mean, Dev's had a fairly intimate eyeful of me in the past, what with all the bare-bottomed and bare nearly everything else spankings he's given me, but I hardly knew Michael, for God's sake, and he's standing there trying not to smile, tugging at his gloves menacingly, and I just know he's just itching to get WAY up close and personal with my naughty bits, so can anyone blame me for squealing and rolling off the bench?

Dev could, cause he picked me up right under his arm and smacked my bottom really hard, and that latex on skin sound just echoed off the walls, and not only that, I could see both my face and my behind in the mirrors, which just made my face turn bright red. It's not fun watching yourself get spanked naked like a bad little girl, let me tell you. And add to that the fact I hadn't got any spanking since Dev was gone, my bottom was pretty sensitive and it didn't take long for him to convince me that I'd better submit to the 'cavity search,' as Michael kept calling it.

The less said about THAT the better, only I'm getting that look from Dev right now, so … okay, it actually wasn't as bad as some trips to the docs that I've had to endure (for those yukky smear tests) – at least they didn't bring a speculum and a wicked grin along - and I shut my eyes really tight while Michael opened my bum cheeks really wide and put his fingers in both my little holes. I bet he was smiling the whole while he was doing it, too, and I got just a little bit of a tingle, though I hate to admit it to those creeps. And then I almost laughed when he said to Dev, "She's clean, Chief Inspector."

After that it only got worse. Dev started in with the scolding, as only he can, about fibbing and deceitfulness, and how naughty I was, and on and on, and I really did try to listen, mainly cause I love to hear him talk even when it's a bunch of bull and not my fault anyhow, but

Okay! Yes, it was my fault. There. Happy? So anyway, it isn't easy to listen when all you can hear is a hand slapping your butt over and over and OVER again, which is what happened next. Dev and Michael both took off their stupid gloves and gave me a warm-up over their laps, that left me pretty rosy behind, and it actually felt sort of good, all nice and toasty back there, except I knew damn well they had hardly started.

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Part two of " Angelika's Ordeal " coming soon...

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