On a rain-soaked cross-country, Charlotte’s daring shortcut seems to have won her a coveted place on the running club’s prestigious Cotswold training camp, but her strict coach, Miss Denham, is not so sure. Praise turns to punishment, with a very thorough spanking in the clubhouse changing rooms. Along this course of discipline, her coach cuts no corners! ArtMastodonBluesky
Charlotte’s day was going rapidly downhill, and it was only 11 o’clock. To her dismay, she was already facing some of her least favourite things. The running club coach, Miss Denham, had saddled her with an extra run. Officially, this imposition was punishment for her chronic lateness, but unofficially it was for her even more chronic impertinence. As if things weren’t bad enough, the heavens had opened.
She returned to the clubhouse drenched to the skin, her white cotton vest and navy shorts tightly enfolding her athletic assets. It was a warm day, which was some consolation as she dripped her way towards the changing rooms. It had been a relief to see the empty corridor, sparing her the additional shame of staging an impromptu wet t-shirt contest. Still, she revelled in private triumph, knowing her illicit shortcut through the woods behind St Mildred’s churchyard, had shaved a mile from the usual course.
At Marlebridge College, two mischievous students stage a birthday spanking in a strictly off-limits location. But, their forbidden fun takes an unexpected turn, becoming a lesson that neither of them saw coming. It turns out that some traditions are best handled by a seasoned expert! ArtMastodonBluesky
It was 9:30pm when Edie Carlton ushered Lorna Bell from the bottom of the rear dormitory staircase and into the shadows behind the hydrangeas.
“Come on,” Edie whispered. “If we’re going to do it, it has to be tonight. Otherwise, you’d have to wait for another twelve months!”
“I never said I actually wanted to go through with it,” Lorna replied, clutching her cardigan. “I only mentioned that there’s this silly tradition for marking birthdays. We don’t have to.”
Stung by defeat on the tennis court, spirited Saffron engineers a wicked prank against her prim cousin Lily. Little does Lily know that her mortifying naked dash across the ornamental lawns will land her not to safety, but across the firm lap of Lady Camelia Armstrong... for a very thorough spanking! The Sore Winner is a tale of rivalry, revenge, and spectacular comeuppance. ArtMastodonBluesky
Saffron Armstrong was sulking. It wasn't an unusual state of affairs for the precocious débutante, but this bout did have an extra sting to it. The catalyst, as was so often the case, had been her cousin, Lily Lipton. A shy and bookish young woman, whose saintly achievements were forever being held up as reproach to Saffron’s lacklustre efforts.
In her mother’s eyes, Lily could do no wrong. Admittedly, it was much easier to avoid controversy if one never attempted anything daring.
When the Little Dithering Dramatic Society stages its boldest production yet, two actresses initiate a backstage plan even more scandalous than the on-stage drama. With sheer silk bloomers, a climactic spanking scene, and an unforgettable closing night, this theatrical tale of thrills and mischief is a performance that nobody will ever forget. ArtMastodonBluesky
The Little Dithering Amateur Dramatics Society had put on many frilly village productions over the years, but none promised quite so much cheeky delight as their upcoming performance of The Belle of Beaconsfield’s Bloomers.
Mr. Trask, the society’s long-suffering director, was not a man given to bold artistic risks. He was a perfectionist, a worrier, and above all, a stickler for propriety. Therefore, it was with no little discomfort that he approached Poppy Worthington before rehearsals began, clutching his notes like a nervous scholar.
When influencer, Arabella Finch, sneaks into the Seaforth Spa’s VIP suite, she expects bubbles and glamour for her livestream. Instead, clad only in a sodden bikini, she discovers “holistic spanking therapy” courtesy of a retired Danish javelin champion! Steam and Circumstance is a stinging tale of glistening correction, a formidable bathbrush, and discipline going viral. ArtMastodonBluesky
Arabella Finch lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. It was the type of voice she used when recording her sexiest ASMR content on her channel.
“Darlings,” she cooed into the camera, framed in the glowing circle of her ring-light, “this is a super-exclusive wellness experience. You're not supposed to be seeing this. In fact, I'm not even supposed to be in here.”
She reclined in the sunken corner-bath of the Seaforth Spa’s legendary “Gossamer Suite”. The tub was a tumultuous ocean of steam and froth, an effect she had achieved with three sachets of bath crystals and some unauthorised tinkering with the jacuzzi controls. It was a serious violation of spa rules that would have horrified the maintenance department. Bubbles trailed across her shoulders like frothy epaulettes, as if she were marching in a parade of indecency.
When a beautiful young ticket inspector forgets to announce the Duchess of Belminster’s stop, her first week on the Midland Line suffers a painful derailment. Within a plush private compartment, she finds herself turned-over an aristocratic lap. A First-Class Spanking is an express journey en route to thorough discipline! ArtMastodonBluesky
The Midland Line's junior ticket inspector, Nancy Briggs, straightened her cap, admiring her reflection in the gleaming window of the first-class carriage. She looked as though she’d marched straight from the uniform catalogue, freshly minted pride stitched into every seam. Her navy-blue jacket, nipped at the waist, underlined the generous curve of her breasts, and the snug, hip-hugging skirt was guaranteed to turn heads. Upon her belt, her brass ticket-punch hung like a ceremonial sword of office.
Having been promoted from the ticket office just a week before, Nancy was eager to set her new role on the right track. At only nineteen, she was the company's youngest inspector, and was determined to prove herself punctual and reliable beyond her years. As per uniform regulation, she had made every effort to pin her brunette hair into a formal bun, although one rebellious curl insisted upon flirting with her rosy cheek.
When eager saleswoman Laura ignores a No Cold Callers sign, she soon discovers that door-to-door marketing can be a perilous profession. Upended over a stern gentleman’s lap, she learns the hard way that clothes-brushes have more than one practical use. Cold Caller Hot Bottom is a saucy suburban frolic of misplaced confidence, simmering embarrassment, and the rueful consequences of a thoroughly spanked bottom. ArtMastodonBluesky
There were several signs along Victoria Avenue which Laura felt she could manage without. Mind the Step, Please Close the Gate, No Junk Mail. They were common sense, although a nearby electricity distribution box bore a Keep Out – Danger of Death sign, which she grudgingly admitted might be justified.
At number 42 the commandment No Cold Callers caught her gaze, but she dismissed it with breezy indifference and pressed her finger to the doorbell. It was a decision she would soon look back on with a rather different outlook. A hot and smarting bottom would be a salutary reminder to take proper notice of such notices. But of course, she didn't know that yet.
Keen to make her mark, Lower Bramblethorpe’s young and beautiful traffic warden, Maisie Trent, takes enforcement a step too far. Unable to hold her tongue, she soon pays the price in the most intimate of ways... with a very thorough spanking! The Firm Hand of Justice is a saucy tale where petty infractions lead to tender consequences. ArtMastodonBluesky
The clock beside the blackboard in the police-house duty room struck nine. Sergeant Hatch stood at ease, eyes skimming the Lower Bramblethorpe village wall-map with studied boredom.
Beside him, on a long wooden bench, sat Maisie Trent, the district's newest probationary traffic warden. Her back was straight, shoulders square, and her proud chest was provocatively accentuated by her cinched uniform jacket. The notebook clutched in her lap, and her polished shoes, drew attention to her shapely legs, while her peaked hat perched on a radiant tumble of platinum blonde hair. She carried herself with the air of someone who knew all the rules and was eager to enforce them.
When Daisy the housemaid spills a bottle of Ruby Rouge nail varnish on a priceless Persian rug, she finds herself at the mercy of Lady Worthington’s unyielding brand of domestic discipline. A painful and humiliating spanking with a heavy wooden hairbrush ensures that the redness soon spreads far beyond the carpet. The Ruby Rouge Calamity is an exquisitely upholstered tale of blemished rugs... and blistered seats. ArtMastodonBluesky
In the well-upholstered calm of post-war England, where domestic staff still curtsied while polishing the silver, there resided in a grand Mayfair mansion one Lady Henrietta Worthington. She was a buxom, formidable creature, discreetly entering her fifties, and possessed of the stature of an Edwardian sideboard — with a similar air of uncompromising permanence.
Her floral-print dresses billowed with the pomp and ceremony of garden parties long past, and the pearl necklace she wore was not so much an accessory as a warning label. A descendant, or so she claimed, of minor nobility, she viewed the world as one might view a naughty puppy in need of correction.
When Lady Octavia Berridge steps onto the stage at the annual Pageant of Virtue, she expects to deliver a rousing speech on modesty, not to find herself embroiled in a scandalous mishap orchestrated by her own niece. What follows is a tale of moral outrage, theatrical missteps, and one very public brush with discipline — literally. The Velvet Curtain Scandal is a cheeky lesson in artistic excess, familial correction, and why one should never mix Greco-Roman studies with a morality play. ArtMastodonBluesky
Lady Octavia Berridge would sooner be caught reading a scandalous paperback novel—in public—than allow the annual Pageant of Virtue to descend into chaos.
For forty-three years, the event had proceeded without scandal, disruption, or so much as an improperly positioned petticoat. Which is why, on a bright Thursday in spring, as she mounted the village hall stage to deliver her customary speech on the perils of modern behaviour, she had every reason to expect yet another triumph.