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Good Day to all you naughty boys, and as a friend of mine would say 'phooey to all you dads' and sirs' - okay just joking, keep your hairbrushes on!   I am planning on core updates this month, more to follow that will see a number of improvements.   We may move to a better video module, depending on poll results and I want to emphasize we will not lose our current videos, they will remain accessible.   One thing I am keen on is bringing back arrowchat, we actually bought and paid for a business license for this software, but it stopped working after we did an upgrade.  It is much better that our current chat system and includes both voice and video chat.  I think the problem is due to short URL's during the plugin installation which may need to be temporary disabled until completed.  I won't know until I try and we do have some tech guys on here, so I may reach out to them for ideas but I really do want to get it fixed.   If I have mis spelled some words or my grammer is not approved, the I say 'Phooey'!   hugs   James    

If you regret having met a partner you'd never met before, or if you're looking forward to seeing a partner with whom you had a wonderful first meeting, it's because, deep down, all the ingredients for a good or bad relationship are usually in place when you first meet. It's easy to believe that it's all the fault of one party or the other, but that's a mistake. Rather, it's the result of a mixed bag of pre and post communication problems, choices, organization, availability, inexperience, dishonesty and sometimes abuse on the part of one or the other. Don't imagine that only the spanker can be an abuser; the spankee can be too. There's really no reason to think that you'll necessarily be dealing with an abuser. Even if the session was unsatisfactory, the problem is often simpler. In any case, dialogue is better than the staggering reflex of Generation Z and millennials: blocking and/or silence, sometimes coupled with the gossip of virtual conversations. These ridiculous situations must be avoided. Refusing to talk is always harmful. But if spanking is a physical exchange, it's one that can only take place after another exchange, verbal and fantastical, essential and necessarily longer than a few sentences for Grindr or other sites of this kind. It's not a last-minute “date” by nature. So we need to banish the reflexes of immediate consumption. And dialogue is the only condition for an excellent meeting and then for a good ongoing relationship. A failed session can have many causes, but it's always a certain frustration or bitterness that marks the failure. A good session, on the other hand, is based on a current that has flowed. That's easy if the current is based essentially on physical and seductive considerations, but in this "kink" in general it's not enough. Above all, it's the sharing of a common vision of this activity, and common expectations that are fully met, that make for success. There's no problem that can't be solved or prevented by communication, apart from cases of abuse of course. But on this subject I don't intend to say anything. Normally, everyone should be aware of what they should and shouldn't do on a moral level. If the spankee (most of the time) has the impression or feeling of having been sexually assaulted or raped, it's up to him to denounce the aggressor. In this case, unfortunately, we're no longer dealing with the fantasy of spanking, but with the repression of predation. I'm not interested in predators. I've known one, and he's retired, so much the better; it's not worth discussing. The only real problems that can't be solved, even if discussing them isn't forbidden, at least to avoid regrets, remorse, bitterness or resentment. Incompatible expectations, inexperience or lack of experience, stupidity or a predatory or parasitic mentality are the only real shortcomings that I don't think can be resolved through dialogue. Not solved, of course, but talking about it in any case won't be useless so that everyone knows why it didn't work and what they need to do for the future. What doesn't work with one person may work with another. There's nothing definitive, and this in no way prejudges the quality of the spanker or the spankee. Through communication, it's always possible to find common ground, even if you come to the conclusion that you're not right for each other. Staying on good terms anyway isn't a bad thing when you're playing in such a small and peculiar community where, sometimes, some people are inclined to say just about anything about anyone. It seems to me that you should never meet anyone without first discussing everything that will determine the session to come. You can never ask enough questions, nor can you ask stupid questions. Sometimes, you even have to ask a question again, clarifying it to make sure there are no misunderstandings. Anyone who gets irritated by the questions asked runs the risk of being a neophyte or inexperienced, or simply a fantasist. Precisely, the discussion should not be about fantasies and more or less hot stories. The exchange isn't there to entertain a story that might help someone jerk off behind his screen. On the contrary, you need to anticipate and determine everything that needs to be determined before the session. Questions should be practical and aimed at the concrete implementation of the date, not a catalog of fantasies. Once you've a priori that your age, size, stature, physical condition and state of mind are compatible, the following Ten Points are undoubtedly part of the necessary dialogue, a catalog of unavoidable commandments for preparing and enjoying the session when the time comes. 1/ Scenario or not; if so, which elements; don't envisage a role-play that's unrealistic or not to your liking; set the limits of the scenario and determine whether or not a deviation is possible; a safe word or not. 2/ The implements, which ones and their choice, determined in advance or left to the discretion of one of the two, a prioriof the spanker however, but to be seen. 3/ The duration of the spanking and its intensity; its progressiveness; possible marks and bruises, bearing in mind that this is not always easy to predict, especially for a novice who doesn't know how to measure his blows or how his skin will react; you can also use creams, such as Hemoclar (French - in pharmacy), which, as its name suggests, clears up hematomas; arnica won't help against marks, but it will be useful against pain. 4/ Speech during the session; verbal spanking, or not, or very little; what words to use; what tone to adopt; in general this goes with the idea of scenario or absence of any staging. 5/ Other forms of punishment: slaps or no slaps; ear or hair pulling; corner times (duration and positions too); secondary punishments that you value or reject. 6/ Positions; required dress, clothes and underwear; undressing, and who undresses and gets undressed or not; shaving, if any, before or during the session. 7/ Caresses, whether allowed or not; which areas are allowed and which are not. 8/ Whether or not sex is possible, and which acts: from simple kissing to penetration, the range is wide; if sex is possible, when? 9/ Quiet times: small talk, about anything and everything, specific things determined in advance, snacks...; alcohol or not (not recommended in my opinion); the same goes for narcotics (personally, strictly no! I'm just looking at possible cases). 10/ Respecting consent: what is determined before the meeting must be respected; if a change occurs during the meeting, it must be consented to by both parties; the presence of a third; the participation of this third party in the action; whether or not filming or photography is allowed, and if so, what the limits are, and for what purpose. By respecting these rules of communication, without becoming formalized, impatient or irritated by all these questions, and without letting yourself be drawn into a sterile conversation that will only nourish a fantasy that will never be lived, you can normally prepare a session correctly. The remainder is a matter of chance, of whether the current flows or not, of your state of mind at the right moment. That said, a bad session is not necessarily significant. A better one can rectify the situation. Especially if the dialogue has resumed on the points that didn't work. As spanking between men falls into the very specific area of consensual violence between adults, communication is very important, and is the only way to reduce the risk of misunderstandings and misunderstandings. Everyone must remain responsible for what they want and what the other one doesn't want. In the end, these are the only two obligations of a good spanking-partner: that he looks after what he wants and what you want. When everyone does the same, the meeting is never totally bad.

This is a strange and barbaric name for, for want of a better word, an enthusiast of spanking, whether spanker or spankee. However, while it may seem easier to protect yourself from a disastrous spankee - which is just a misperception, but a minor one nonetheless - it's much harder to protect yourself from the grip of a toxic spanker. Undeniably, finding a partner who shares this fetish can be an undertaking that is, if not perilous, at least legitimately distressing. But that's not the hard part. Websites specializing in this activity offer a wide range of spankers and spankees. The difficulty lies in translating the virtuality of a profile, more or less faithful to reality, into the concreteness of a potential physical encounter. Sharing a common interest in spanking is a good start, but not enough. Discerning a reliable, respectful partner who corresponds in every way to your expectations isn't easy. The main obstacle to fulfilling this fantasy is fear of the unknown. It's only natural. The absence of real meeting places in France doesn't simplify the task, and the possibility of a successful experience often seems illusory. You might as well be looking for a platypus at Macy’s. As a result, a first meeting with a stranger is bound to be stressful, even if, after prolonged exchanges, the conditions seem right. The only real question is how to identify the real pervert to protect yourself as quickly as possible.                                               From a practical level, it's easy to outline the conditions required for a successful meeting. These include the need to find the right partner, to organize the date in the right way, and to ensure that your motivation truly lives up to your own expectations. The right partner is one who shares your conception of spanking, in whole or in part; who corresponds in age and physical condition to your erotic universe (for yes, spanking is part of this domain, and the first of all sexual organs remains the brain, which is only inflamed by particular physical traits that belong only to it, i.e. to each individual); and finally, those who, like you, see spanking either as a non-erotic, punitive practice, or, on the contrary, as mixed with sex or simply with assertive eroticism or cuddling. So, it's important to take your time, especially when in doubt, to determine with a profile found on a site whether or not respective expectations are compatible. It's better to have long discussions than to rush into things in such a way as to avoid disappointment. Next, the material organization is essentially a question of location, day and time. You must be prepared to make yourself somewhat available when the right partner seems to have been found. Not everything can happen by chance. It doesn't have to be a waste of time. Risking nothing has never led to anything. Finally, it's up to you to get yourself ready, motivated and ready for the big day. As the meeting has been prepared at length in a written exchange for a first date, and more succinctly for a renewal, normally the try or its conversion should not make the person who really wants to receive a spanking candidate on his knees or lie on the knees of a more or less unknown person, hesitate. Only a first encounter is necessarily, and legitimately, frightening. Immersing oneself in the unknown is not generally reassuring, but when it's a question of sharing such a particular experience, made up in part of domesticated violence, this unknown is reasonably frightening, given that the domestication of violence remains objectively the most difficult variable to apprehend. The best thing to do is to take the time to get to know each other before the meeting, even if it means arranging a pre-meeting in a café, for example. In reality, this fantasy doesn't sit well with immediate consumption. You shouldn't go onto a website and look for a spanking partner with the idea of finding a “dating” for the next hour. It's neither serious nor realistic. You need to make sure you're on the same wavelength on the subject, both in the broad outlines and in the details of implements, positions, sequences, possible scenarios, intensity, duration, limits, disrobing, nudity, physical contact, sex, safety word, etc. When a guy you've made contact with doesn't ask you any questions or gets annoyed because you're asking “too many” questions, chances are it's a bad match, or at least he's inexperienced. No regrets in this case. It's also a good idea to check out what your future partner has posted on his profile or links. There are plenty of sites and social networks to support them with visual information, giving you an idea of how he likes to practice as a spanker or spankee. Talking to other Internet users who have met the individual you're considering is often useful, even if you must be wary of testimonials, which are necessarily subjective and may not be entirely sincere. A good or bad experience is not automatically representative, and we're all different. It is therefore a help, but an opinion should not be taken as a definitive truth. The most important thing is to build mutual trust. And such trust can only be established through a prolonged and varied exchange. It's a good idea to ask questions from time to time. Confirmation is better than misunderstanding.                                  The real difficulty in a date of this kind, whether it's a spanker or a spankee, is to avoid toxic individuals. They can be quickly, and without any scientific pretension, lumped into the category of narcissistic perverts on the spanker's side or parasitic personalities on the spankee's side, but not only, most often manipulative in both cases, but any number of other profiles can arise (I won't go into them here). I'm even more aware of this because, unwillingly, even a little stupidly, I was the victim of a parasitic spankee and a narcissistic pervert spanker at the same time. I should have spotted them right away. I was professionally prepared for it, but I let myself be overwhelmed by their mastery of their respective perversions, all in a triangulation that is most classic in this scenario. Nonetheless, the advantage of a unfortunate experience, is that it can serve as a lesson for oneself and others. We have every right to want to spot them, as these guys can in some cases go as far as cruelty, or even sadism, which is not unimportant in our fetish world, where a relationship of force, domination or even violence can play a real or fantasized role. These guys are often socially well-adapted and know how to maintain an image of themselves that is attractive to the outside world. Initial exchanges are therefore always reassuring and seductive. They know the social codes and are quick to classify their interlocutor into a social box, enabling them to determine whether he is potential prey. It's when they get close and intimate that their toxic tendencies manifest themselves, notably through emotional manipulation and the devaluation of their partner, who is often first dazzled by the narcissist's brilliant attitudes and self-confidence. He proceeds like a pointillist painter, using small strokes. The stain only appears when the small stipples have accumulated sufficiently. It's even more legitimate to want to protect yourself from it, as it's not exceptional for a hold to be established with this type of personality. Lastly, there's only a very small chance - on the order of very, very close to zero - that a narcissistic pervert or parasite will question himself. So how can we spot the toxic personalities who could ruin our lives if we don't watch out quickly? As I've already written, we need to have a long discussion with a potential partner before seeing him, and during this exchange, we need to learn to be attentive to various signs that can reveal a toxic person. It's not necessary for all these signs to be present, but if many of them become obvious, then there's a problem. By definition, inordinate self-esteem presented for oneself is an early sign of a narcissistic personality. In the first instance, it appears to us as an incredibly assertive, even dominant person, which is something we regularly seek out in our fantasies. This assertiveness is often seductive at first sight, as it signals a secure personality and can subsequently suggest the solidity and reliability of the person concerned, leading us to believe that taking charge will be all the better, especially when it's a spanker we're looking for. On the other hand, the perverse side is harder to spot, as a narcissistic pervert knows how to subtly manipulate those who approach him. However, when there is a difficulty in the exchange, a difficulty in communicating with the other person for example, or a feeling of unease, guilt or fear that you can't explain when you are in the exchange with the person concerned, perversion shows its face. The other facet of perversion is parasitism. I thought, like everyone else, that this aspect was easier to detect. But it's not. Often under pleasant, encouraging and attractive appearances, it's in reality pure seduction, all the more formidable as it takes a long time to realize that you're being used, manipulated, reduced to a mere material or tactical interest, an instrument in a larger calculation in which you're really nothing. Psychologists refer to this perversion as primary narcissism. In all cases, parasitic personalities are hunters and predators like narcissistic perverts. The difference is that the former will have a parasitic lifestyle and won't hesitate to live at your expense. Everything is due, since it's given “voluntarily”. On the other hand, it's illusory to expect anything in return, even a pain au chocolat or a cup of coffee. Like all donations, consent is a one-way street. The reactions of the narcissistic or parasitic pervert are often surprising, can hurt you and leave you in a state of confusion at the end of your exchanges. Clues may lead you to ask questions about the state of your relationship with one of these two types of perverts, and the answers are usually quickly found on specialized Internet sites that present the key characteristics of these perverts, or even tests to find out if you're dealing with one. The main thing is to avoid them. Overall, perversion develops in one or other of these perverts according to historical, family or personality parameters. The origins are multiple: strong emotional deficiency during childhood, resulting in an inability to develop normally (cold, distant, maltreating, abusive parents); lack of limits imposed on the child by parental authority, resulting in an inability to understand the needs of the other and to respect them, starting with those around them and the abuse of a younger sibling, for example; sometimes an “innate” antisocial personality. Knowing this may seem of little importance, but it does enable you to spot a few signs in an exchange that should set off the alarm bells.                                 Other useful signs that can be spotted are listed below: -Inordinate or over-inflated ego, self-esteem and self-image; -Overestimated abilities (also self-indulgent self-diagnoses: HPI, autistic...); they can talk about anything with “science” and confidence; -An obsession with unlimited fantasies of success, influence, power, intelligence, beauty or perfect love; -A display of pride or even arrogance; -A conviction that they are special and unique, that they deserve more than others, that they have special rights because of their superiority; -In short, an exaggerated and unfounded perception of their importance and talents (megalomania); -The imposture that often follows (exaggerated presentation and undue use of titles, diplomas, biased or enhanced status in their role); -The use of lies therefore, and with ease to boot; -Projective identification, which sometimes enables the persons concerned to drain you of your own assets; -Using their reputation; -The desire to be in the spotlight, easily and/or systematically positioning themselves at the center of attention; -An overly seductive side; cultivating a charming, helpful and honorable image in the eyes of all; -Another side are a gravedigger of others' image; a tendency to devalue others in order to shine socially; -A preponderance for moralizing and accusing others; denigration (they're very critical of the world and those around them); -A (cruel) lack of empathy (they rejoice in the harm inflicted on others), all the more difficult to detect as such in this fantasy since this trait is precisely part of it; -Subsequent victimization (they blames others); if you object to a criticism, they'll tell you in no uncertain terms that you're responsible and guilty for their actions, inducing in you an extremely perverse sense of guilt to the point that you internalize this and condition your actions and words, going so far as to think that you might be the wrong person; -They will devalue you, diminish your qualities, make you question yourself, reconsider your self-esteem and tell you “I'm nothing without him”, since through this game the narcissistic pervert brings you on the one hand what you will have subtly lost with him on the other; -Jealousy and the need for attention (real emotional and mental vampires); -Your weakening; isolation; if you enter their sphere of action, they seek to isolate you from your loved ones, from your former relationships, in small and increasing steps; -Perverse language, i.e. language based on the narcissistic pervert mode: devaluation, guilt-tripping, victimization, hurtful innuendo, constant judgments, the art of attributing or imputing one's own actions to you, etc.; -The behavior of what psychologists call a life “hacker” (mental fog, making you dependent on everything); -The progressive negative effect on the way you think, act and relate to others in your social circle; -Discussion hacking (including hijacking his skills on a network or site); for example, it talks about you or another person... and then the narcissistic pervert makes it all about himself (“I've had the same problem”, “I've been there too”, “I've been through the same thing”, etc.), then it's all about him, others story doesn't interest him at all; -An unverifiable, magnified past; for example: “When I was young, I was a tennis champion”, “I was top of my class”, “I met the King of Norway”, “I read the whole of Heidegger”, “I was a victim of my father, my brother, so-and-so”, etc.; -For parasites, the exploitation of others to achieve their own goals and the absence or near absence of guilt due to limited empathy capacities; nothing is ever undue, it's a gift.                                            Among the techniques used is love triangulation. If you're in a relationship with this type of individual, he's probably already tried to create a triangulation situation to put himself forward. He can make you believe that someone close to him is trying to seduce him or become his lover, in order to use your jealousy or arouse your interest, and so on. Triangulation is fearsome. Then there's gaslighting, a form of mental manipulation designed to make you lose your bearings and your ability to judge, for example by distorting information or presenting it in another light or partially to favor the abuser, or by falsifying it to make the victim doubt himself and his perception of things. Finally, breadcrumbing (or Hansel and Grettelling) is a form of manipulation, whether intentional or not, which consists in acting as if you were sincerely interested and invested in a relationship with someone, when this is not the case. In concrete terms, you receive intense crumbs of love or affection from time to time, before being mentally tortured and emotionally abused again, sometimes in very subtle ways. That's it, I think I've already gone on too long for a piece of writing intended for the network screen and with the sole aim of giving a few keys to those who are naturally worried at the idea of meeting a stranger in this very special world of spanking. I'm too old to not believe in the power of the written word. It's not very seductive, but it's not useless in the long run. If it could save someone from such an unfortunate encounter, that would be a lot.                                            

Broken Curfew from Dad’s Perspective It’s wet and storming. The rain is beating against the window and the thunder rolls. Jacob lays sleeping naked beneath his quilt, oblivious to the fact that I heard him sneak in past curfew last night. I let him think that he had gotten away with it. It gave me time to calm down and him time to lull into the sense that he got away with it. Jacob is 17 but thinks he’s 30. He still lives in my house and must follow my rules. Sadly, he must learn again and again that I am the one in charge. At the break of dawn, the next morning, I walk silently into his room belt in hand. I throw back the covers and Jacob bolts awake, suddenly fully aware that he is busted and in serious trouble. He knows better than to resist, so he rolls over onto his stomach automatically assuming the spread-eagle position. WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! Jacob screams into his pillow but he’s holds steady, He knows better than to try to get away or make it stop. WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! Young man, you WILL be home by 5 PM since you can’t get home at 10. WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!!WHAP!!! He’s bawling now. I leave the room to let him cry it out and get his composure. He has school in a few hours, and I know that he won’t dare be late today...  

BROKEN CURFEW                 I thought I was being extra quiet.  It was a rainy Saturday morning and I  was supposed to have been home while it was still Friday night. It was only 15 minutes past my curfew.             I eased the key into the deadbolt and slowly let it slide so as not to make that deafening “click” when it released.  I stepped into the dark motionless living room and was instantly flooded in light. There stood a mountain of the man that was my father, Seth.  It was obvious from the bed head that he had been asleep. He stood only in his white briefs, hands on his hips and that “look.”     I could only stand stone still and sheepishly stare at that chiseled face, toned Pecs, those steel blue eyes cutting through me and those firmly planted legs that looked like timbers.   “I told you to be home at 11:30.”  “Sorry, Sir.”  Seth set those cold steel blue eyes on his teen and the silence was deafening… “Stay put!”  I knew it was all over now.  I watched the tensed shoulders of my father recede down the hall.  In those short few seconds, it took him to return, my stomach churned.   Seth returned prison strap in hand and pointed to the couch. That silent order had me baring my butt. I lurched when my exposed genitals made first contact with the cold leather of the couch. I knew that was the only leather that was going to be cold.   “Boy! I am tired of having to remind you of how to behave!” WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!!  “Oww, oww!!! I’m sorry, Dad!!”  My ass was already burning, and I knew it was far from over.             “This attitude and disobeying me is going to STOP!” WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!!  WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!!   WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!!   WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!!   WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!!    “Dad! PLEASE!!! I’m sorry!!!”  “You will be, I’ll make sure.” WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!!  WHAP!!  WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!!  WHAP!! WHAP!!  WHAP!! WHAP!!  WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!!     I was reduced to a crying heap.  No pride, no attitude, just real tears and real sobs. “Since you can’t get home on time, you will be home every night for the next 6 weeks by 8!  And God help you if you are late.”  “Yes, Sir!  I swear I won’t be late!”   “Get to bed boy.  I don’t want to see till well after sunrise tomorrow.”      

BEACH PADDLE   Living on the Georgia coast offered Jimmy and his son the opportunity to get outside a great deal and enjoy the beauty around them.  They walked daily in the park or downtown on the riverfront.  Some evenings, they would venture out to the beach to watch the ships coming in to go up the river to the port.   These adventures were something that father and son loved to do together.  They did it as often as possible.  One gloomy afternoon, Kevin was in a foul mood and let his mood override his mouth.  He broke the cardinal rule of sassing his father.   Jimmy is a built, sturdy man.  He loves his son a great deal, but he will not tolerate disrespect.  The father was very good at containing his anger where his son was concerned.  He never yelled at him when they argued or had an issue.  He didn't have too.  He could get his point across without raising his voice and Kevin knew that very well.   At the time of the proverbial slip of the tongue, Jimmy seemed to ignore the comment and went on as nothing was amiss.  Kevin was stunned and silently thanked his lucky stars that he had evaded his father's considerable wrath.   Jimmy was a strict father who believed in stern corporal punishment for any and all infractions.  He has an array of implements that could and would get the job done.  Unbeknownst to his only child, Jimmy had already retrieved the clear Lexan paddle and put it under the seat of his car...   After dinner was done and the dishes were clean and put away, Jimmy non-nonchalantly suggested that they make a trip to the beach to watch the boats.  Kevin all but scampered to the car.   It was a warm, clear evening and the drive out was pleasant.  For the last two hours of daylight, father and son sat in the sand, water at their toes, watching ships come and go.  As dusk set in with just a little hint of light still in the sky, Jimmy told Kevin he had to go back to the car for a second but he would be right back.   On purpose, he had walked them to the far Northwest corner of the beach that they like to sit at.  Here the sand dunes were high, and nothing could be seen or heard over the crash of waves against the sand.  Kevin was still oblivious to anything being wrong when his father returned.  He had completely forgotten about the earlier spat.     Jimmy put his  arm around his son and led him up and over the first sand dune so that they were on the inside of the dune, surrounded by sand.  There happened to be a large boulder sticking out of the sand.  Perfect for what was needed.   At that moment, Jimmy handed the paddle to his son and reached down to untie and pull off his son's swim trunks.  He placed his hands on the boy's shoulders and told him that he had not forgotten the earlier incident and that since it had been a slip of the tongue, he was not going to deal with it as harshly as he would have if he had thought it intentional.   He turned his son around, made him place his hands on the rock with his legs spread.  He placed the paddle centered of Kevin's ass and told the boy that he was going to count out loud, 25 licks and apologize with each one.  If he were to lose count, they would start over till he got it right.   Being outdoors and plenty of room to swing, Jimmy brought the paddle down solidly across his son's ass cheeks. "One, Sir, I'm sorry, Sir!!"  Kevin's cheeks rippled from the force, but he stayed in place and took what he had coming.   Licks two through 12 fell hard and sure.  Kevin counted out as ordered, never losing his place. Jimmy switched sides and delivered another 8 resounding strokes.  By this time, Kevin was breathing hard, his voice cracked when he spoke.  Jimmy knew he had his undivided attention.   "You know how these last 5 are going to be, don't you?”   "Yes, Sir.  They are going to be harder, Sir."       "That's right.  You don't have to count these.  But I do want you to clench your cheeks tight and keep them that way.  You are going to get 15 more instead of just 5. 5 hard licks on each cheek and the last 5 dead center just as hard as I can swing."   "Ye--Yes, Sir, Daddy."   Kevin stood and clenched his cheeks as ordered and on the 4th lick of his right cheek, he broke and began to cry.  Not to be deterred, Jimmy delivered the other 6 licks before the final 5.  He placed his hand on his son's shoulder and told him it was for his own good.  He made him bend over and grab his ankles, sticking his butt out as far as possible.  With a heavy hand, he delivered the last 5 licks as hard as he could swing.  The sound was deafening it were not for the sound of the waves of the ocean.  The crack of the paddle, the sobs of the son.   When it was over, Jimmy gathered Kevin into his chest and held him and his boy whimpered and cried it out.  The slate was clean, all forgiven. Kevin redressed and the Strickland men walked the dark stretch of beach back the lighthouse and headed home.              

Baseball Window Dad has told me time and time again, not to be practicing my batting in the back yard.  He gets out there with me in the evenings after work and on the weekends that I don’t have a game and we work on catching and fielding.  But he says the yard is too small for batting practice, so we usually go to the park for that. It has been raining so much lately, that the practice field at the park close by our house is so muddy, you can’t get any effective practice in.  So yesterday, even though I was not supposed to; Danny Higgins and I were out in the backyard, batting. I told him that I could not hit them hard because they would go out of the fence and into Mrs. Gribble’s house.  That old bat lives behind us and had a second story with plenty of windows that she loves to snoop out of. Luckily this particular afternoon, she was not home.  We had been going at it for about half an hour and I was mainly working on pop flies and bunting.  But after a bit, I was getting bored with this, so when Danny pitched the perfect pitch right down the middle, I swung for glory. As it were, it turned out to be Hell.  My bat connected perfectly and caught that ball in its’ sweet spot and was gone.  It soared right over the fence and that earth shattering of glass when it struck the upstairs library of Mrs. Gribbles’, made me almost puke. Danny of course, vanished in a flash. I was left standing alone in the back yard, red handed with the bat in my hand.  And to make things worse, I did not know that Dad had just got home from work and stepped into the kitchen when my ball went flying. He’d heard the crash and saw the culprit.  When I turned around, he was standing on the deck with his cell phone in hand.  I heard him telling Danny’s dad what had happened and that he was just as guilty as I was. I overheard him tell Mr. Higgins, that I was already being dealt with and tomorrow at school, we could both compare notes. My knees about buckled under me. Dad simply pointed toward the house, and I scurried past him, head down and up to my room. I hastily put the bat away, undressed and was standing in the corner when dad walked in. He unceremoniously tossed me onto my bed, and I automatically assumed the spread-eagle position.  In a flash, his belt was off and landing furiously on my butt.  It was always worse when dad doesn’t speak during a whipping.  He did not utter a word.  He was laser focused on beating my ass and he did.  He covered from the top of my butt to the top of my thighs and gave it his full effort. I bucked and screamed into my pillow but lay there and took it.  I was guilty as sin, no use to try to fight it. When I was reduced to a heap of tears, Dad left the room but told me not to move.  I was scared. I lay there for what seemed an eternity before he returned with a piece of paper in his hand. Since he had left my room, he had gone over to Mrs. Gribbles and taken measurements to replace the broken glass.  He had told her that he had already dealt with me and that together, tomorrow afternoon; he and I would fix the window. He handed me the paper and told me to read it.  I did not understand the measurements, I suck at math, but my father explained in an eerily cold voice, that those measurements for that window would be coming out of my butt with his brush tomorrow night. I was mortified.  He had already punished me.  When I said as much, he just laughed and said, “That was for disobeying me. Tomorrow night will be for breaking the window.  And unless you want Mrs. Gribble to witness that brushing, I suggest you shut your mouth and hope that the supplies are cheap.” He went on to explain that for every $10 spent on repair equaled 1 minute with his brush OTK full force. I was terrified.  I hated those timed brushings.  They really are painful. I slept on my stomach all night and walked very gingerly into school this morning.  At PE while we were dressing out, I got a look at Danny’s butt, and he got a look at mine.  He was red and you could still see belt marks. I was crimson red and clear welts.  I told him what dad had said and he winced at just the thought of it.  He told me he would bring some aloe to school with him tomorrow just in case. I made the short walk from the bus to my front door with dread.  Dad got home a little after 5 and picked me up and we drove around the block to Mrs. Gribbles.  She didn’t make a snide remark or any unthwarted look in my direction and I was thankful when she announced to my father that tonight was her bridge game at the community center and to just lock the door as we left. It only took us about 20 minutes total to fix the window.  I still had no idea how much it was going to cost my butt.  We finished, Dad locked up and went home and put away the tools.  Dad told me to go wash up for supper, he had ordered in pizza.  I didn’t have much of an appetite, but at least I wouldn’t have dishes to wash tonight. He didn’t say anything else about the window or the brushing till we had finished the pizza.  He told me to go get ready for bed and when I was out of the bath, to bring the brush to him in the den. I showered and brushed my teeth and with high trepidation, retrieved the brush from dad’s nightstand and took it to him in the den.  I walked in, stood silently beside his recliner holding the brush behind my back until he was ready. Dad told me to hand him the brush and to go into the kitchen and bring back the timer.  I was so scared. My hand trembled as I sat it down on the coffee table.  Dad took out the receipt for the supplies…$27.99. I meekly asked if that meant 3 minutes or just the two.  He said he would compromise and make it two and a half minutes.  There were already tears in my eyes.  Tears of embarrassment and fear.  I knew this was gonna be bad. Dad looked at me in earnest and told me that he knew I was scared, and we both knew this was going to hurt but that I would survive.  He told me beforehand that I could make all the noise I wanted.  He would not be mad or disappointed in such outburst.  He moved over to the couch, sat and patted his leg.  I draped myself across his lap and waited. The searing heat that exploded across my butt was so much worse than I had imagined it.  It most likely would not have been so bad if I had not already been strapped the night before.  That tender flesh was again searing and sending shards of pain straight to my brain.  I was numb, couldn’t process thought.  I could only cry and wait for it to be over. Those 2 and half minutes seemed like an eternity, and I just knew my butt was going to be destroyed.  There could not possibly be any skin left. Dad let me up and had me crawl into his lap and cry it out.  I absolutely lay my head against his shoulder and bawled.  I was ashamed that I had hurt him by disobeying him.  That realization was more painful than both the whippings I had taken. After a bit, Dad carried me upstairs and put me on my bed. He got the aloe out of the cabinet and slathered it all over my aching backside.  He asked me if I wanted to see, and I nodded yes.  He had me stand up and turn towards my mirror.  I turned my head and saw that to my surprise; I did not have any broken skin.  No blood as I had envisioned, but I did have a couple of bruises and would for a day or too. I was thoroughly chastised and promised my dad I would never put him in that situation again.  I apologized profusely again and began to cry, again.  Dad brushed the fresh tears away from my face as he pulled me to him in a tight embrace.  “All is forgiven son.  Lessons learned.” He tucked me into bed, still on my stomach and asked if I wanted the sheet over me.  I did not.  I hoped that the air conditioning would somewhat soothe the heat on my butt throughout the night. Dad tussled my hair, kissed me on the back of head and turned out my light as he walked out and shut the door.

REPORT CARD     I know that I should have studied harder.  But I HATE Geometry and will never use it!  I almost hurled when I saw my report card.  I had told Dad that I was squeaking by.  He knew that I was not good at math, but he also knew how I am when I don't like something.  So I knew this evening was going to be a painful one.   I came straight home and made sure all my chores were done except for dishes, since we had not had supper yet.  I took a shower and dressed in boxers and a t-shirt and was sitting on the couch awaiting my fate.  I would have gotten out that mean Jokari paddle that Dad likes, but I did not want to be presumptuous.   My father must have ESP because when he came through the door, he sat his dusty work bag down and went straight for the report card.  He didn't speak, he didn't have too.  The closed eyes and the deep sigh said it all.  "Go to your room and let's get this done."  I knew that meant no paddle.  I went to my room, stripped and waited.   Those five minutes seemed to crawl.  But then like a tornado Dad was there.  I was on my stomach facing the headboard, but I could hear his buckle loosen and then a torrent of searing pain across my ass followed.   One cheek and then the other; culminating squarely across both cheeks in unison.  It hurt, God did it hurt!  Dad laid it on in silence.  All he said when he was done was, "This is Geometry at work."   As he was buckling his belt back, he announced that after dinner we would "talk" further to make sure the message was received loud and clear.  I almost hurled again.  I also knew better than to redress, so I just put on a jock and a t-shirt since Dad doesn't allow nudity at the table.   Thankfully, it was Dads night to cook and despite which I am sure he knew was going to be a bad report card, he made my favorite dinner of Chicken Parmesan with garlic bread.  We sat in our normal conversational tone and chatted about trivial things.  Anyone who would have seen us with have thought that all was right in the world.   Since dad cooked, I cleaned.  I was standing at the sink washing the cast iron frying pan when Dad walked by and rubbed his hand over my butt..."Those are some nice welts you have there young man."  I just gulped because I knew that those welts were going to have something added to them before the night was through.   When cleanup was complete, I went into the den where Dad sat in his recliner watching TV and I knelt at his feet with my head down, arms at my side and waited silently for his next order.  That order did not come for over 45 minutes, when at the conclusion of his show, he instructed me to go retrieve my white hairbrush from my nightstand drawer.   I made that long walk and back on shaky knees.  I hated that mean little brush and knew that it was going to get quite a workout.  I returned to the den and handed it to my father and stood where I was awaiting instruction.   Dad patted his lap and told me to sit down and look at him.  I was ashamed to have to stare into those blue eyes that were already showing displeasure.  Dad asked me a series of questions about what I had been doing in the past several weeks after realizing that I was not doing good in Geometry.  I had to ruefully admit that I had not been seeking out a tutor, asking my dad for help and had been carrying on in my normal routine instead of buckling down and studying harder.   Dad never raised his voice, but I heard every word he said and the inflection of the tone he used.  "That is why we are going to have this talk.  You and I both know that you were having issues.  But instead of coming to me, swallowing your pride and ASKING for help, you chose to ignore it and soldier on.  And you walked right off that cliff and failed the class.  So, this coming semester you are going to work twice as hard, cut out all extracurricular activities and bring that grade up. Because if you don't, the next conversation we have about this will involve the shed, ropes, and my strop."   With that, Dad placed his hand at the back of my neck and guided me over his knee to where my feet were off the floor, my hands were planted, my face was staring at the tile and my ass was angled up for full exposure and he started in with the white brush.  For 10 solid minutes, there was a non-stop fury of wood smacks across my already welted ass.   I cried freely and openly because I was broken and shamed.  The welts from before now had added bruises to them from the top of my cheeks to the top of my thighs.   When dad was through, he sent me and my brush back to my room and told me to get in bed and he would be in later to tuck me in.  I lay face down on my bed and cried into my pillow so as to not make noise.  I was already humiliated that I had cried so much and not taken my paddling like a man as I usually was able to do.  Tonight, I was just a loser of a little boy who got what he deserved.   When Dad came into my room, he sat on the side of my bed and stroked my hair.  He told me that he was not mad, that it was over, and things would be better.  He took some aloe from the bathroom and rubbed it all over my butt so that I would be able to sit at school tomorrow.  He then tucked me in, kissed me on the forehead, walked out the door and turned out the light.            

A Hike The boy should have known that he was in some serious trouble when I suggested a hike out in the woods.  He has had a smart ass attitude that last few days and I done warned him that he was asking for something he couldn’t afford. Boys will be boys I guess, and he kept right on running that mouth and rolling those eyes.  I was going to give him a damn good reason for those eyes to roll.  But this time they are gonna flow with tears… Saturday morning, we got up and stopped by Chik-Fil-A for a chicken biscuit and coffee before we take the drive down to the river.  Now this is not the regular hang out spot.  It is one of those spots that if you don’t know how to get there, you wouldn’t even attempt it. We were in my 4-wheel drive truck, and it was still a struggle to get there.  It is a beautiful sight and when we arrived, the entire area was deserted and peaceful. Just Mother Nature, my son and me. We walked to the area I was thinking about.  It was a warm, beautiful day.  Highs in the mid-80’s, blue sky, light breeze and the water on the river was calm.  At first, we just sat and chilled for a bit and had idle chit chat.  He had not idea his world was about to get dark. We took a short hike to the other section of the campground, but I still preferred the initial sight I had already scoped out, so we went back to that area and once we arrived, I stood directly in front of my son and locked eyes with him.  You could see the realization of the situation connect in his brain.  His pupils dilated and the color drained slightly out of his face. For the next few minutes, I took my time to explain in detail the reason that we are here and that the excuses are done, time is up and it’s time to pay the piper. I took him by the nape of his neck and took the few steps over to the tree I had spied when we first arrived and told him to strip buck ass naked.  I noticed the trembling in his legs and his knees wobbly as he stepped out of his jeans and his tightie-whities fell to the ground.  I went a step further and made him fold and neatly stack his clothes on a near by stump adding the chilling words, “you don’t need those for a while”. For a bit we both just stood there.  My son, naked and shuffling his feet as he stared a hole into the ground.  Me, arms crossed and foot patting against the leaves.  I put my hand behind his head and pulled him against my chest and held him there for a minute, explaining to him that I was not mad at him; but this had to be done and we both knew why.  He only seems to learn when his ass burns. I walked over to the knapsack I had brought and pulled out some small rope.  I instructed the boy to turn and face the tree, spread his legs, stick his ass out and wrap his arms around the tree and join his hands together.  I secured his hands with the small rope and made sure that it wasn’t too tight, but it was secure enough to hold him in place for what was coming. I let him stand there like that for a few as I walked in front of him and stared at the river before walking back and making a show of unbuckling my belt as I stepped closer to him.  Being the dramatic dad that I am, I made sure I snapped the belt with gusto for effect. I stepped behind my boy and muttered that it was such a shame that his lily-white ass was soon to be red, welted and striped.  I heard an audible cry of terror as he realized what striped meant. The first crack of the belt landed dead center of his tender little butt and he screamed out and it echoed across the water.  I was not to be deterred and the belt flew again and again landing all over the boy’s butt and top of his thighs.  I watched his little white flesh pink up and then turn to a nice shade of red and his cheeks jiggle with each blow.  I must give it to the boy; he kept his butt stuck out like he had been taught on the countless sessions before.  And I continued to lay it on. I was not as hard as I usually was when I put the belt to him because I fully intended for him to be well versed in the switch as well.  I hit him hard enough to make him holler and do the dance but that was nothing like the dance he would be doing in a few minutes. His breath was heavy and panting as I stopped the onslaught and put my belt back on.  That gave him a few minutes to reflect on why we were here and why this was happening. Once more I stepped in front of him as I walked over the river’s edge and took my pocketknife out and cut a fresh limb of a willow nearby.  I again made the dramatic motion of swishing the limb to make sure it was limber and sturdy for the task ahead. Tears were in his eyes as he watched this and he feebly begged me not to switch him, though he knew that it was pointless to try to get out of it now. He was visibly shaking as I stepped behind him once more and told him that he had earned this, and I was going to make sure that we did not have to make a trip out here again for a long time for this purpose. The swish was loud as I reared back and let loose; but my sons scream of agony was like thunder as I lit his ass up with the thin sliver of wood.  The boy danced and bucked and cried in earnest.  The stripes were clear and concise as they covered his ass and tops of his thighs.  I made sure he was going to feel every bump and rut we hit on the way home, and he would not sit comfortably for several days.  Hopefully this would cure him of his misconception that he called the shots at my house. When I was through, I stood aside and let him cry in earnest for a while.  He cried unabashedly and all his fight and spite were gone.  I walked up to him and cut him free of his binds.  He fell limp against me and cried like a little boy and swore that he was going to be a better son and not cause so many problems in the future. I held him tight and told him that I hoped that was the case or I would not hesitate to bring him back out here again and make it ten times worse than what he had today. Once he had regained his composure, I let him get redressed and we walked back to the truck.  I didn’t bring any aftercare stuff with me.  I figured that would wait till we got home and give him extra time to feel and reflect on the cost of his behavior. Once home, he went to his room and lay on his bed.  I ordered us a pizza for delivery and went into his room and applied the aloe to his well-marked, red striped butt and tussled his hair as I left him to recover and wait on our pizza to arrive.  

I have written several spanking stories over the years.  Some based on personal experience and some just simply made up as I went along.  Some are very explicit so not sure they would be appropriate for here and some are written as a short novel broken up into segments.  Any interest in reading them?

In just  2 weeks' time on Monday, May 27, it is a time in America were we remember our fallen soldiers. Today we wanted to take that a step further and honor our "fallen boys" who are lifted up by the experience of the CP Community. (Ouch, just reading that, I can see I'm treading on pretty sacrosanct ground, so I'll refrain from any other references to the actual importance of this revered day! Apologies if that offended any of my military peeps or just plain ol' more appropriate fellow American. I can be very inappropriate sometimes, obviously) Memorializing a boy's Spanking can be a key feature of an effective Spanking. We here at Cornertime Confidential call them "Behinder Reminders." Below is a little something I put together to get you thinking about why our CP Community finds Spankings so helpful. TonyMack Over Daddy's Knee  Look Closely, What do you really see? On STH, I was friended by Tony Mack from outta San Fran who's profile is the pic you see here. I love love loved it because it tells you quite a lot. And I just had to share it with you to illustrate a very valuable point. This boy is obviously very lucky... But let's look closer to see WHY. On closer examination, I began to realize, "Why do I say that? Why do I think this is a lucky boy?" I bet a lot of readers wouldn't immediately know why. Here's what I'm driving at: This Daddy not only cares enough to Spank this boy's bottom when he's been a bad boy, but also he is willing and able to commemorate the occasion with this image. I hope the boy in this picture got to see what about his behaviour resulted in what his Daddy had to do.  Now with this image on their phones, this Daddy can remind his boy of the experience by texting him the photo of what happened the last time he acted up.  With mobile phones, Daddys can text their boys these short of pics or vids of their last Spanking to remind boys. He could just be going out for a night on the town without Daddy, but a simple text of this image, will be enough to remind his to follow Daddy's Rules. As a suggestion to you Daddys out there, I want to emphasize that taking this extra step to create a Behinder Reminder can be very helpful during a Spanking—at the beginning, the middle, during Cornertime, at the end, it really doesn't matter when.  After you send him to The Corner, you can probably get an even better shot. The picture or video need only capture the situation the boy got himself into.  A vid or a pic can capture this key element time and again and be used over and over again with your boy. Look how simple this Daddy above achieved that! While this Daddy is probably doing this just to show what he can, maybe even just for his STH page, he is also conveying something really valuable. The image shows he cares and appreciates the value in actively using embarrassment and shame to keep his boy in line. Admittedly, you do need to check with your boys before using humiliation as a disciplining tool. But I think any boy who has been Spanked in front of others, knows just how impactful humiliation can be in improving a boy's behaviour. And raising the anticipation and excitement level in your relationship. adult boys like me hate the important place this valuable Spanking Tool—embarrassment and humiliation—can have in Daddys Toolbox. You will see many photos of a Daddys paddle or belt collection in STH profiles. I think that those images only tell me that Daddy might be a bit of a sadist.  If you are trying to convey that, that's helpful for your boys to know.  But if you are seeking to attract a real adult boy to "capital D" Discipline—those boys whose minds you want to get into, so you can punish them in a way that might even bring them to tears—well, you might consider other ways of capturing this in the photos and videos you use in your profile.   If This is on Your Whappz Profile What are Your Conveying? This might be just the thing you want adult boys to see. Once you go a little deeper, your images or videos can be used with your boys. Show them to your boys afterwards—maybe even as much as a week later! I think if this were my bottom in this pic, and let's just say those drawers came down (see pic at the top of this blogpost)...well, then, an email with this pic a day or two or a week later would be quite a reminder. The story being told behind the image is everything. Imagine getting that pic at work in the middle of a meeting! At lunch with friends! You may be an adult, but because you have a Daddy who cares enough to remind you, you suddenly become  very much a boy. Taking the Time to Remind Being exceptional when you are being a Daddy doesn't have to be difficult! All you have to do sometimes is not just capture the moment!. Sometimes all it means it that you take the time to remind your boy after the fact, what his behaviour requires you to do. Show your adult boy why his Spankings hurt you, more than it hurts him. 

So I have not worked out all the details yet to make this real fun, but here are the basics:   You get a group of dads and a group of boys.   Each boy picks a color coded card, for example white, grey, red and blue.   The boys then change into briefs of the corosponding color they picked from the card, but out of sight of the dads.   The dads then choose a single card each with the same colors as the briefs the boys are now wearing.   So we could just have each boy gets spanked by the dad with the same color as the briefs they are wearing , but we want more fun than that, right?   Maybe a certain color is an ACE card, or trump card?   What else could we do to make it more interesting? come on thinking caps on!   Hmmm different color of cushions on the spanking chairs .... think think think!