Tag: spanking

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“Thanks For The Spanks” Art and Fiction by FunkyMonster

In the quiet town of Willowbrook, a peculiar tradition thrived behind the white picket fences and within the walls of the Turner family’s grand, ancestral home. Every year, as the autumn leaves painted the town in fiery hues, the extended family gathered for a Thanksgiving feast like no other. The patriarch, George Turner, a man whose stern demeanor was as constant as the tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway, had instilled in his sons a very specific way of expressing their gratitude. It was a tradition that had been passed down through generations, a bizarre yet cherished ritual that was as much a part of their holiday as the roast turkey and pumpkin pie.

The house buzzed with excitement as the extended family began to arrive. The aroma of roasting meats and baking bread filled the air, mingling with the laughter of children playing outside. The women of the family, dressed in their Sunday best, bustled about the kitchen, preparing the sumptuous feast that was the centerpiece of their celebration. The men, in their crisp shirts and tailored slacks, congregated in the living room, sharing stories and sipping on sweet apple cider, their faces alight with the warmth of camaraderie and anticipation of the evening’s peculiar entertainment.

The youngest son, Timmy, though 15, was already well-versed in the peculiar tradition. He watched his uncles with a mix of awe and trepidation, knowing that one day, he too would stand in their place. The older boys and men, their faces a spectrum of ages from teenage to middle-aged, chuckled and whispered among themselves, sharing memories of past Thanksgiving spankings. The atmosphere was light, yet charged with a palpable tension that only grew as the dinner plates were cleared and the desserts set out.

George, his eyes twinkling with both mischief and affection, called the sons to the center of the room. “Gentlemen,” he announced, “It’s time for our annual show of thanks.” The women and children gathered around, curious and excited, as the sons lined up before their fathers. The room fell silent, save for the crackling fireplace and the occasional giggle from a young cousin. The fathers, each one sterner than the last, took their places behind their boys, their large hands resting on the small of their backs.

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Reality Check – Illustrated Fiction bt Kinky Callum

Reality Check!

The room was dim, its corners swallowed by shadows that seemed to pulse with the faint hum of distant city traffic. A single lamp cast a sickly yellow glow over a cluttered desk, where half-empty bottles and crumpled papers lay scattered. The air was thick with smoke, curling lazily from the tip of a cigarette held between the fingers of a man half-hidden in the darkness. His face was barely discernible, features obscured by the haze and the deliberate angle of his body, but his presence was undeniable—coiled, watchful, dangerous.

On the screen before him, the flickering light from the monitor outlined the stern face of a bald man, muscles taut beneath his shirt, his jaw set in a hard line. He sat with a rigid posture, his eyes cold and unreadable, as if he had seen far too much to be impressed by anything anymore. The faint sound of a clock ticking somewhere in the room only served to heighten the tension between them.

The shadowy figure exhaled, the smoke drifting across his face as he tapped a few keys, sending a link through the encrypted channel. “Watch this,” he murmured, his voice thin and raspy, almost a growl.

The bald man glanced at his screen, his thick fingers moving with surprising speed as he opened the link. The video began to play—a montage of an influencer and Lust Island reality tv star named @AdamFitCoach, a young Englishman in his early twenties, his energy palpable through the screen. He was the picture of youthful arrogance, all lean abs and pecs, cocky grins. His deep Essex accent filled the room as he guided his audience through a series of exercises: squats, jumping jacks, weightlifting. His commentary was playful, teasing, with an undercurrent of self-assuredness that bordered on arrogance.

Adam was dressed in his usual outfit—snug gym shorts that clung to his muscular thighs and an oversized, meaty ass that seemed almost exaggerated beneath the fabric. His black spandex top stretched across his chest and arms, showcasing his lean physique, while blue football socks completed the look, a nod to his past as a semi-pro footballer. He moved with a fluid confidence, every gesture meant to flaunt, to entice.

The bald man watched the video in silence, his expression hardening with each passing second. When the video finally ended, he grunted, a deep, guttural sound that spoke of disapproval—or perhaps something else entirely. “He’s famous,” the bald man said, his Eastern European accent thick, each word deliberate. “Tall. Strong. It will cost extra.”

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The Humiliation of Redman Dane (Chapter 6)

The Humiliation of Redman Dane

Chapter 6

It was now five days after the regrettable incident in the

small market town of Rogues Bottom, and the embarrassing and painful performance in the Court house. However, to Redman’s mind his life had become a living Hell. The humiliation of what had been done to him was beyond endurance.

He, Redman Dane, son of the gentry, and the handsomest and most eligible young bachelor in the four counties, had been stripped naked, paraded through town, and mocked before being locked overnight in the most exposing pillory yet devised by man. Then he had been dragged before the court, denied the chance to mount a defence, spanked like a child, in public, convicted like some lowly felon, and then sentenced to the most ignoble and mortifying of punishments, to be spanked, sans-britches, every day for a month.

What had been done to him was beyond tolerable, but he had to tolerate it, the alternative risked the permanent loss of his wealthy Aunt Amelia’s affections, and with it the inheritance he hoped to receive upon her death. Trapped by his own greed, Redman had no means of escaping his punishment, made all the more agonizing by his own arrogance and pride.

Each painful smack to his bared buttocks was an excruciating blow to his inflated ego.

Amelia Dane, of course, was fully aware of her nephew’s flawed nature, she understood that public humiliation would add an extra layer of discomfort to his well deserved corporal punishment. Since the long ago days of her youth and beauty, lady Dane had relished causing physical or emotional suffering to handsome young men, and old age had not diminished the pleasure that secret vice gave her.

It amused the lady to ensure that her miscreant, but very handsome, nephew’s discomfort was acute as possible. To this end, she had taken to instructing the trusty and strong armed Ruth Gallagher to administer Redman’s, court ordered, punishment whenever guests were present to observe the entertainment.

Therefore, it was becoming a routine that, shortly after a coach arrived, a guest was welcomed in and had taken their seat, Redman would be ordered to strip naked and place himself across Miss Galagher’s lap, to receive his punishment, as the rather startled guests, and delighted servants looked on.

It was only his overwhelming desire to get his hands on Lady Dane’s fortune, and the fear of the noose which prevented Redman from taking a musket from the cabinet and shooting both women dead.

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Redman was in his room sulking, and moodily contemplating the ignominy he would be facing over the following weeks, when he had a sudden flash of inspiration. If he couldn’t remove himself from the firing line without risking being disinherited, maybe the answer would be to remove the weapon.

If the Gallagher harridan became injured or unwell, and therefore unable to perform her role in the procedure, then it would have to be suspended, and it would not be his fault.

However, how could Gallagher’s exit from the fray be achieved, a sudden illness would be hard to pull off, the woman was as robust as an oxen and renowned for never having a day’s sickness, so there would have to be an unfortunate accident, but what sort of accident?

Redman poured himself a glass of his favourite Madeira wine and began to plot,

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Well before dawn, while the great house was still silent and bot even the boot boy or the scullery maid yet risen, Redman crept silently down the stairs, carrying beneath his arms a pair of old roller-skates belonging to one of his younger brothers, who was currently away at school.

He carefully placed the roller-skates at a turning place on the stairs, where they were less likely to be seen, and high enough for a fall to cause a nasty injury, but unlikely to result in death, although such an outcome would not be unwelcome.

He had chosen the skates, as that way, his brother would be held responsible, or a lowly maid would be blamed, for failing to tidy away the trip hazard.

Now all that remained was for the prey to fall into the trap. He knew Ruth Gallagher would be the first down those stairs in the morning. His step-mother’s rooms were in the East wing of the house, Lady Dane never rose before ten, and the servants would use the back stairs when taking up her breakfast tray.

The trap set, Redman cheerfully returned to his own room for an hour of sleepless anticipation, blissfully unaware that his every move has been secretly observed.

Later, once the house was stirring, he took up a position in the hall, where he had the pleasure of watching the target, his one time nanny and governess, descend the stairs, trip on the first of the roller-skates, tumble forward and land with a loud thud and a cry of pain, at the bottom of the stairs.

Redman fought to suppress an urge to laugh, before hurrying forward to offer his assistance and as much false concern as he could muster.

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Red Hot Deal – by Kinky Callum

RED HOT DEAL

Greg was in his late thirties, living a relatively comfortable life in his large, somewhat lonely Essex home. A software developer by day, he spent most of his evenings indulging in quiet hobbies, the solitude only occasionally broken by the company of friends. But things had changed recently when Jade, a 20-year-old beautician, had come into his life.

Jade was pretty in a conventional way, with blonde hair and a flawless complexion. She was polite and pleasant enough, but dull—her conversations revolving around work, reality TV, and her obsession with her boyfriend, Jack. After a falling out with her parents, she needed a place to stay, and Greg, always eager for extra income and perhaps some company, had offered to rent out his spare room.

But Jade was not the real attraction. It was Jack, her 21-year-old Scouser boyfriend, who had taken up more than just physical space in Greg’s house. Handsome, cocky, and oozing a raw, laddish charm, Jack had an air about him that made him almost irresistible to Greg. He was the embodiment of the type of man Greg could only fantasize about—gym-tanned, muscular, with thighs that could make anyone weak in the knees. And those tight boxer briefs he seemed so fond of? They didn’t help Greg’s sanity.

Jack was everything Jade wasn’t—bold, brash, and utterly self-assured. On weekends, when Jade was working, Jack had no qualms about lounging around the house in just his boxers and socks, often spreading out on the living room couch as he played Call of Duty, legs wide apart, giving Greg a front-row seat to the show he didn’t dare admit he was watching. Greg could barely stand it when Jack would casually call him “mate,” a term that seemed to bring both warmth and distance. And that wink Jack often threw his way as he strutted by, heading for the fridge or bathroom? It sent shivers down Greg’s spine.

One fateful Sunday morning, Jack woke up groggy from the night before, still dressed in nothing but a pair of tight purple boxer briefs and white socks. Admiring himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but smirk at his own reflection. “No wonder the birds and that gay landlord of mine can’t keep their eyes off me,” he thought, twisting to get a good look at his round, muscular buttocks. For a laugh, he jumped up and down, watching the jiggle in the mirror.

Bored and feeling a little mischievous, Jack decided to have a snoop around the house while Jade was still at work. He wandered from room to room, his curiosity leading him to the one place he had yet to explore—Greg’s bedroom. Greg was out on his usual Sunday morning jog, so Jack felt emboldened as he pushed open the door.

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