"Commemoration of Ottoman Massacre"

There it was, the headline bottom right of page 37 in the Independent on Sunday.

It was Sunday afternoon and I was in a strangely quiet post-volcanic UK Ryanair airport. On my right, lilemmajane was deep in work papers and, on my left, my Bandree, head buried in a book. Nothing for it but to stretch my legs and go look for a Sunday paper.

24 hours earlier, we had all been admiring Eliane's new house and, in particular, her new furniture. For a girl who has only a passing acquaintance with the Lowewood pupils, and their teachers, B fitted in a little too well.

Quite early on, Abel overheard B encouraging the others to join in with her in a slightly disrespectful song about someone called Mabel. Perhaps it was all an innocent misunderstanding, as she claimed, but he was having none of it. She was summoned to stand behind the back of the sofa, facing the assembled company, and this is where she started to squirm. Her upper cheeks became suffused to a lovely blushing scarlet as she attempted to explain her predicament to her chastiser.

Still protesting that she had intended to run upstairs and decide which of her pretty underthings to wear before the party started "in earnest", Abel took her firmly by the wrist, bent her face down to the sofa cushions and hiked up her skirt. I wasn't counting, but it didn't take long before my pretty lady had four matching crimson cheeks to show everyone. Some may even have been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her jewellery, but everyone was too polite to say anything.

Later, after the excellent Singapore Slings and other diversions, I had the opportunity to lead my B to Eliane's library and examine the new furniture piece, the brown leather covered Ottoman, only a couple of days old. On testing, it was a perfect height for a kneeling penitent girl and a doubled strap wielding punisher. We tried out Eliane's lovely new rubberwood paddle too. I can't decide between it and her short little, uber accurate, rectangular strap, both of them were a joy to use.

Whilst this was going on, we were joined by S. At the conclusion of B's spanking, I invited S to try out the new toys, which she was only too happy to do. She chose to lie flat on the Ottoman with her legs straight out behind her. The height was still just right for easily aimed swings of all three tormentors.

So how did the Independent on Sunday, within a few short hours, pick up on the Story of the Ottoman massacre at the epicentre of the UK spanking scene?


post script:-

Returning the next morning to compare hangovers and decide on a lunch venue, B was caught out knickerless again, initially by a cane wielding Emma Jane. Now once is unfortunate, but twice, careless, so she got no sympathy from anyone. Her bleating that she didn't think there'd be any spanking the next morning displayed an incomprehensible lack of foresight or understanding of her fellow party-goers.

So yes, a lovely time was had by all.

Thank you everyone for a great weekend.