Research finds that spanking children as punishment is a bad, bad practice

New international research by Michigan University used data collected by UNICEF in 62 countries—representing nearly one-third of the world’s countries—and demonstrated that caregivers’ reports of spanking were related to lower social development among 215,885 3- and 4-year-old children.

This map shows only the countries where hitting children has been banned.


They found that children who had been physically disciplined within the last month were:

  • less likely to get on well with other children
  • more likely to hit, kick or bite others and
  • more likely to get distracted easily

A child’s social development suffered in both cases in which he or she was spanked or during times when a sibling had been spanked, the study showed.

Garrett Pace, the study’s lead author and a doctoral student of social work and sociology, said, “It appears that in this sample … spanking may do more harm than good.” Apparently he already has a doctorate in understatement. 

Pace also noted that “reductions in corporal punishment might do a great deal to reduce the burden of children’s mental health and improve child development outcomes globally.”

He called for more effort to create policies that discourage spanking internationally, noting that 54 countries have now banned hitting children. 


(Spanking consenting adults, of course, is a whole different thing. But the thing is, in other contexts we know that you should never inflict sexually charged practices on scared, non-consenting children.)

Wicked Wednesday: Cry if I want her to

Jennifer comes to understand that resistance, even of the most minor, private kind, is futile. Will and Maddie rule her mind as much as her body.

It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.

Masturbation Monday: What is submission for?

Emily had just confirmed that I was in a position that I could order her to stop smoking. And she’d obey. Sort of. As best she could. Until I made it so, through perseverance and discipline. I decided to accept that gift. “Yes. You quit smoking, for good, on Monday. After you’ve had the third instalment.”

Smoke spurted. “Instalment!”

“Well, you know.”

“All right. I’ll try. No, of course I’ll stop. If you help me.” She saw my face. “Not just by caning me, you bastard. I mean, I’ll need you to help. In other ways. But all right.”

This was more, and easier, than I’d expected. I said, naively, “Good. That’s settled.”

Emily stubbed out her cig and turned to me. I hated tobacco, but it was never the only thing she tasted of. Just then, she tasted of milk and sweat. She said, “Yeah… this is good.” I almost patted her welted and super-sensitive bum. I remembered to stroke the small of her back instead.

“We’ll be all right. Well then. Brush your teeth and come back to bed.” And Emma obeyed. I pretended to be nonchalant. I was jubilant.   

 We slept through the morning, and greeted each other across the pillows in the early afternoon. Emily had slept on her stomach. I kissed her, and inspected the damage. The stripes were bright and her skin was flushed red, even where the cane hadn’t touched, but there was no swelling. Her body was impressively efficient at repairing itself. I kissed each rounded hillock, which drew a sigh rather than a yelp, another sign of healing. I gave Emily a progress report, took a photo of her ass and showed it to her, and got up to make lunch. 

Emily said, from the bed, “Shouldn’t I do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“Well, make lunch. Things. Now that I do what I’m told, shouldn’t I make lunch?” 

“Well, you can do the vacuuming. So long as you’re naked. And dusting, I completely hate dusting. But I’ll watch you dust. I’ll get you a feather duster.” 

“Will you test the surfaces with a white glove? And beat me if the glove gets dirty?” 

“Okay, a feather duster and white gloves. And I’ll definitely beat you. One moment.” 

In the kitchen I put rolls in the oven and made omelettes. It was a gesture, to show that certain things would go on as before. We’d shared chores and making meals, and we still would. I reflected, pouring out orange juice, that I could make Emma do all the housework.

I could sit on a couch and have her do all the work while I wore me a wifebeater singlet and shouted at the sports game. But getting out of housework still seemed a petty use of something as grand as Emily’s submission. It’d be a quick way to have her fall out of love with me. Anyway, I didn’t watch sports.

Running a Munch for Preverts

I organise a munch for perverts in my mountains. It’s just for people to meet and chat.

I got a message after yesterday’s Munch, the sender asking me if it was a great party and if I’d got any sex. Which suggests that if he ever does get to one off my munches, or anyone else’s, he’s in for mild disappointment.

I guess he was thinking a munch is something like
<– this.

Anyway, it came to about eight hours work. A couple of hours to tidy the space and provide food and wine.

Then I chatted with two guys who turned up more or less on time. They left after a couple of hours, and I went and did other things.

A woman turned up about three hours after start time, so I was back in host mode. We chatted very pleasantly for 90 minutes or so, and I could say with complete sincerity that it was nice to meet her. Then she left. 

I thought I was done, but another woman turned up shortly after the first one had gone. And she was nice too, and we chatted away very happily. 

But five people came to that munch, counting me, but there were never more than three people in the room at a time. So in the end I was performing hostly duties for about seven hours. Which is not a whinge, though I do wish everyone had come a little closer to the advertised time. It’s more about it having been a surprisingly tiring day. 

But, at its hottest, a munch is more like <— this…

This is just a slice of life thing. That was my day, working as a humble servant of the bdsm community.

Fortunately, (it’s probably a good thing in a dom) I am immensely patient.




Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer learns about Maddie

Two women, one younger, one older, recognise each other and their complicated but urgent desires.

It’s a hot scene, but it’s published now, and publishers don’t like things they publish to be also be available free on the internet.I’ll put up a link to where you can buy a book with this hot scene in it, shortly. 



Masturbation Monday: All care, all responsibility

We fucked after Emily’s punishment. We were making certain assurances to each other. Emily still hurt, and she needed to know and trust that I hadn’t hurt her because I despised her, and she also needed to know that I didn’t think less of her for allowing me to hurt her.

I needed her reassurance just as much, that I hadn’t done a wicked thing, that she still loved me and trusted that I loved her and was vehemently on her side. Our gentleness said that I held Emily in awe, and I thought she was braver, more honourable and desirable than I could have imagined.

Our gentleness said that Emily, somehow, still loved me. So we were comforted and reconciled.

Hours later, Emily slipped out of bed, taking care not to wake me. I hadn’t been asleep. It was after midnight. I heard the toilet flush, but she didn’t return. I listened, thinking of Emily in the house without me.

Was she unhappy? If she was unhappy, why didn’t she come to me? She must be brooding, thinking bitter thoughts. Bitter thoughts about me. I told myself this was paranoid and self-obsessed, and to relax. I lasted, sane, for about a minute. Then I got up.

I found her on the balcony, watching the motorway below our apartment. Emily usually wore a robe for her balcony appearances, but her skin was both sensitive and warm.

She drew on a cigarette, her breasts and arms resting on the balcony wall, absently gazing down at the ribbons of car headlights and the nightworld below. She hadn’t noticed my arrival.

I gazed admiringly at the welts I’d given her, which were now a darker red with some black where the last couple of strokes had crossed.

So long as Emily was pleased with this, then I could be proud of giving it. I thought those marks were utterly beautiful and headily sexy. Politics could wait. 

Emily sensed me behind her and glanced back. With no time to compose her face she looked pleased by my presence. My heart lifted. A second later she made a guilty grab at her cigarette pack, then stopped. I’d seen it. But I’d never told her to stop smoking. I’d only advised it. We spoke simultaneously. I said, “you look lovely”, which was true but boring, and Emily said, “I suppose you’ll make me stop smoking, now.” 

Ah. There are many possible reactions to those words. I’m afraid mine was to get a rush of blood to my cock. Emily had given me more power over her than I’d realised. I stepped forward.

I knew her well enough to know she’d probably like to kneel and suck my cock, at that moment. That would let her feel she was serving, she was so owned.

But I wanted out bodies to be pushed closer than that. I was going to fuck her from behind, bending over that balcony, and that was probably going to hurt her hotly welted ass. At least, in that moment, I hoped so.

Sinful Sunday: Time and a blur…

I had to fight, with this one. My girl is not here. 

So I had to use an older image, not of her. In this case the original image was very clear, and I’d rubbed oil into the woman’s skin before I caned her. That makes for shining skin and very clear lines.

But losing that clarity in the filtering process, I finished up with just the curve of her ass and the marks of the cane, reaching red-fingered across her skin. And just a hint of her cunt, offered to that brutal man with the cane. 

The blur makes for simplicity, stripping everything down to those basics.


I’m a Top Sex Blogger!

I’ve won an award! I’m a Top 100 Sex Blogger!

So you, reading this blog, obviously have good taste! Congratulations! 

Here’s my rosette!

I really want to thank Molly for this. She’s at Molly’s Daily Kiss, and she’s a fucking inspiration for the rest of us! 

And Chaturbate, for putting some money into this “runs on smell of an oily rag” community! They are here!

And this is your author, looking well pleased! No really; that’s me looking happy! 

Some of you will see me next March, at Eroticon! But whether I meet you or not, please enjoy the stuff I write. And look through the work of the other Top 100 Sex Bloggers! They are, every last one of them, pretty damn amazing!