Back in the day, I sure would have liked to spank these two.
And in the current generation, “Nancy Botwin” is on my fantasy list.
The girls of Alpha Psi at The University of Alabama recently got some negative press for being cute, white and having Dad’s wealthy enough to afford them pledging the sorority. Bacall and I both graduated from UA. Her Dad did not have the means to afford her the sorority social life, but she was was cute. I was in a outlaw frat.
So here are some pictures of the racists sorority gals. Bless them.
Another from the vault by the Divine Miss E. This one was written a decade ago.
Not enough time to do anything but grab a few necessities and hope
nothing important was left behind. She hated it when the secret service guys
did that big mystery thing. National security and all that. Whisked away
without even saying goodbye to the other girls. Not even her room mate! Her
agent assignee was such a jerk. Probably kept that stupid ear monitor tuned
to the weather channel or all-wrestling channel and just pretended he was in
constant contact with the White House. These people need to understand that
they were merely employees, here to serve HER, not some kind of keepers whom
SHE had to obey. As soon as she saw her daddy, she'd fix that agent's wagon.
But now that the dust had settled, life in the family wing of the White
House was already boring. And always these creepy agents around to "suggest"
that she do this or that. In fact, nothing would be better than a little fun
right now. Feeling revived, she jotted down a list of friends who might be
in DC and gave it to her social secretary. Yes, indeedy, a little party was
just what this prison needed to perk up the place. Daddy was so busy making
stirring speeches and glad-handing, that what he didn't know wouldn't hurt
him. Besides, even if he found out, mom would smooth ruffled feelings and
remind him it was not presidential to loose his temper.
The gin and tonic was cool and soothing going down. All the tension
flowed out of her and the music filled her mind and moved her body. Two more
and she was definitely in a party mood. The fifteen buddies she rounded up
were helping themselves to the bar and starting to loosen up as well. Mr.
Jerk Agent was ordered to stand guard at the door to the suite, so the
cheerful fun could proceed interrupted. He had dared to argue with her, but
she quickly let him know that he was there to serve and protect, not boss her
around. She enjoyed the blush of anger that swept across his face, and felt
totally triumphant when he sullenly turned and took up his post outside the
suite. As the night wore on, the music was turned up and the lights turned
down. Several couples took their pleasure on the sofas and richly carpeted
floor. Abruptly a blinding triangle of light filled the room from the opening
door. Several dark suited men entered the room, flipping on the lights to
reveal the disarray. The music snapped off, and half dressed lovers scrambled
to pull their clothes together. Jenna pulled herself up and peered over the
back of the sofa, blinking in the bright light, "What the hell?"
"Party's over folks. All guests will be escorted home now." Agent Jerk
made this announcement with a satisfied smirk on his face. "No WAY, Jerk!
This party isn't over until I say it is over." "Miss Bush, I am to inform
you that the President has given us our orders, and there will be no
discussion." "Fuck YOU!" Jenna burst into tears, humiliated in front of
her friends, and thundered to her room and slammed the door. An hour of
screaming, kicking, and cursing the secret service passed before Jenna
finally cried herself to sleep.
A bell was tolling dolefully over and over. Why wouldn't it stop? Scary
images flashed through her consciousness. Tossing restlessly, the deep
tolling of the bell awoke her and she realized it was not a bell, but rather
someone endlessly knocking on the door to the suite. She turned over and
covered her head with the pillow and shouted "Shut the fuck UP". A blessed
silence ensued. Was she coming down with the flu? That groggy feeling, that
headache, the touch of uneasy stomach... then she remembered the countless
libations of the night before and moaned as she thought about having to sleep
off a hangover. But at least she could sleep. Suddenly someone was beside her
bed and bodily lifting her. It was Agent Jerk. "What's the matter? Are we
being attacked??" Jenna shrieked, panicked. "No, Miss Bush, when you didn't
answer my knock at the door I felt it necessary to enter and intervene."
"Intervene?? What?! Are you nuts? I'm tired and trying to get some rest
here." "Miss Bush, the President has requested that I escort you to the
Oval Office and see that you are presentable. After your night of carousing,
I'm afraid a cold shower is in order to sober you up." "Put me down you
jackass!" Jenna kicked and squirmed and tried to slap at his face, but he
pinioned her wrists with a laugh. "Your career is OVER, Jerk! My daddy will
have your ass hung out to dry." Securing her bodily with one arm, he
turned the shower on full blast with cold water and thrust her in. Jenna
thought every nerve in her body would explode. The panties and tee shirt
provided little protection from the deluge of icy water. Too shocked to even
scream, she gasped. Just as quickly the torture ended and she sagged against
the wall of the shower stall, catching her breath. The door opened, and she
was dragged out dripping wet. He pulled her close to his face and barked,
"Miss Bush, my name is Agent Brock, and you will address me by that name. You
will now make your self presentable and be ready to walk with me to the Oval
Office in ten minutes. Failure to follow these instructions will result in
additional intervention. " He turned on his heel and marched to the sitting
room, leaving her trembling with anger and upset." FINE, Asshole. Let's GO to
the Oval Office."
She strode past him and sensed that he followed her down the corridor.
Reaching the Oval Office she boldly brushed off the secretary and went
straight in. "Oh Daddy, thank heavens you're here. This Agent Jerk- you
wouldn't believe the things he has done to me! I have never been so
humiliated in my life. I want you to fire his ass right now!" President
Bush's eyes narrowed as he studied his out of control daughter. Recent events
had shaken him out of his complacency, and added an edge of hardness to his
face, and resolve to his intent. Rising from his desk, he fixed his sternest
gaze on Jenna. "That is enough, young lady. Your drinking and slutty behavior
are over now. Your disrespect of the agents who put their lives on the line
for you, is over now. Your use of foul and unsuitable language is over now.
"But Daddy!" "Not a word. I will not be moved. Furthermore, I realize
that you have been allowed to act like a spoiled brat. That is over now. I
intend to apply a firm discipline to this situation. I can hardly command
this country if my own daughter is running wild." The President pressed a
small button on his phone and instantly Agent Brock stepped in. "Agent Brock,
Miss Bush is about to receive a good paddling, and I expect your assistance.
Step over to the coat closet and hand me that frat paddle hanging inside the
door." Barely suppressing a smirk, Agent Brock handed the hefty paddle to his
"Jenna, step over here and bend right over this desk. I am going to
paddle some sense into you as I should have some time ago." " Daddy PLEASE!
What on earth are you thinking of? I'm too big for that. And not in front
of Agent Jer- I mean Brock. Please!" "Jenna, now. Across the desk. Or would
you rather I put you over my knee like a five year old?" Jenna was
sobbing now, and looked on the verge of collapse. Her daddy had undergone
some terrible metamorphosis. The strain of recent events must have done this.
His eyes were fixed on her in a threatening squint and his lips were drawn in
a tight line. Fear compelled her to obey him and she stood before the desk,
her hands on its cool surface. Slowly she lowered herself until she was bent
fully across the desk, bottom high and defenseless. Hot tears dripped down
her face. Tears of shame and embarrassment that Agent Brock should be allowed
to see her this way. No doubt that bastard played a major role in all this.
President Bush stepped forward and pushed her skirt up to reveal a plump
soft bottom creased by a bright pink thong. "I better not ever see this sort
of garment on you again. Is that clear?" "Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy, don't
paddle me. I promise I'll be good." "Yes Darling, you will be good- I
assure you." He brought the heavy paddle down hard on her trembling bottom,
and again. Jenna jumped upright and clutched her burning bottom. President
Bush smiled briefly at Agent Brock. This was going quite well after all. He
put the paddle down and walked around to his side of the desk and took his
seat. Jenna choked back her tears and looked defiantly at her father, but
said nothing. Two licks, she thought, big fucking deal. Already the burning
had subsided and she smoothed her skirt down. "May I be excused?, she hissed
through her teeth. "No, Jenna. We're going to have a little talk. Please
resume your position across my desk." Jenna was horrified. She looked around
the room to see if there was any way to escape. Her father's face had a
relaxed expression now, but the eyes betrayed no mercy. "Young lady, will you
obey me or shall I ask Agent Brock to PUT you across this desk?"
To avoid that humiliation, Jenna sank back down as she was ordered.
Looking up, she met the stolid stare of her father, but glancing beyond him
she was shocked to see the rest of her security detail grouped near the bank
of windows behind the desk. The various agents were grinning at each other
and obviously enjoying the spectacle. "Agent Brock, will you please lower
Miss Bush's panties and assist me by applying that paddle as we discussed. I
will be displeased if your strokes are less than brisk. Am I clear?" "Yes
Sir, Mr. President, quite clear". Jenna jumped as she felt Brock's warm
hands lift her skirt and slide beneath the waistband of her thong. Completely
exposed, the thong hung around her ankles. With a nod to Agent Brock, the
President said, "Now Jenna, I want to know if you will be rude to your
security detail in the future?" Before she could answer Brock brought the
paddle down on her already reddened bottom. Jenna jumped with a little cry-
"No Daddy, I'll be nice to them" His hands calmly folded in his lap,
President Bush continued to discuss her behavior, each remark or question
followed by a hard stroke of the paddle. Each time the paddle fell Jenna
cried out and soon was begging Agent Brock to stop. She was pressed against
the desk, straining to escape the punishment. Her father covered every aspect
of her deportment and soon the First Daughter was quite contrite and
At last, the paddle was returned to the closet, and Jenna's tears wiped
away by her father. When she raised her head from his shoulder, Agent Brock
had disappeared. "Daddy, I'm sorry. I was the one who was a jerk. Please
don't ever paddle me again." 'Jenna, I hope I won't have to either. Agent
Brock has assured me that he will report any problems to me and I will not
hesitate to repeat today's paddling. And furthermore, if I am not readily
available, I have authorized Agent Brock to put you over his knee and use his
hand on your bare bottom until he is satisfied with your attitude. And I have
a feeling that Agent Brock would not consider that an unpleasant duty."
Back in her suite, Jenna studied her bruised bottom in the mirror. In a
moment of daydream she remembered how Agent Brock's hands felt as he lowered
her thong. Not bad, not bad. Wonder what it would feel like to be across
those muscular thighs? Would he softly pat her before he spanked her?
Would he kiss her when he was finished? Wonder what he looks like with his
clothes off? A slow smile spread across Jenna's face . . .
Readers may recall that Bacall has had three medical issues with her paddling arm in the last three years. She has been out of commission 15 months over the last 32 months. Now that she is as recovered as she ever will be, I thought I would detail the issues.
Shoulder surgery – January 2013 – She went to PT for four months and was mostly back to normal by August.
Fractured wrist – September 2014 – After six weeks in a cast and a month or so of PT she was mostly whole by the next February.
Carpal tunnel surgery – June 2015 – The down time was not as long. A month of PT and after another month she can blister my bottom with gusto.
In the last few weeks she has been giddy that she is once again able to make me squirm when she puts the wood to me. She went on for days about red she made me. I think I like this. Anyway, I am now getting paddled about once a week. When I wake up with a dream of of being paddled, I share it with her and she makes it reality. It feels a lot better in the dream.
As I have aged I tend to pay less attention to birthdays. But, today this blog is eight years old. Hard to believe. So I am celebrating almost a decade of my inability to proof-read. Thanks for your patients.
PS- yes, I did that on purpose.
PPS - I actually do know the difference between its and it's, for example, but I just don't always execute carefully.
My trip down bad grammar lane started in the seventh grade. The English teacher was grossly fat and short. I don’t she ever moved from her desk. She was short and her huge boobs puddled on her desk like Jello. The entire first semester was devoted to diagramming sentences and reciting future past perfect tenses or whatever. When I found the second semester was more of the same, diagramming and gerundive phrases, I blew up and was tossed out of class. I was already out of History and sitting the last (dunce) seat in Algebra. So what was one more class to fail.
I never finished the 10th grade, but I was on the Dean’s list in college with a 3.7.
Stats: 1,025 posts, but only 1,897,060 page views. A meager 1,850 views per post. The stats go up considerably when I post lots of pictures. But, folks, the web pictures that appeal to me are few in number. I should have taken more when I had a regular parade of cute bottoms going over my lap. But, I had other things on my mind than photography.
How long will this blog continue? I have no idea.