Thursday, August 12, 2021


Hi Malpals!

So today's blog is going to be a little special! I've taken the role play I did with long-term penpal Stinky Lips, and rewritten it in the third person. I met her on r/DirtyPenPals and have referred to her often, always using my nickname for her. For this story I have changed her name to Liza. I've tried to stay as true to our original collaboration as possible, even the bits that didn't turn out as I hoped they would! All the pictures I added in later. Liza's dialogue and decisions were her own, most everything else is down to me. Not all of it, she threw in some details that I wasn't expecting. She's a very naughty girl! I was going to release the whole thing in one go, but I'm less than halfway through adapting it from dual first person to third person. It's nearly 4,000 and I wanted to post something today, so here we go.

Before we get stuck in, it's been a while and I want to catch up. Things haven't really improved at the home, but my safeguarding officer has apologised for how she came over at our first meeting, has been doing some research on me and the home, and genuinely seems to want to find a better route forward. I said that I'm placing all my faith in her as a catalyst for change, as I don't trust the home in general and certain members of staff in particular, and she seems to understand that.

One positive change is I've got them to agree to wash me in the afternoon when I've had a good chance to stretch out and for my painkillers to do their thing. The downside to this is the water is cold and it means getting cleaned with wet tissues rather than flannels. Why is there not an adequate water heater? Why doesn't the home own enough flannels for every resident to have all they need? Good questions!

Negative: My oxygen saturation levels have been low since the heatwave we had a couple of weeks ago. Way back on the 22nd of July I had a visit from Tissue Viability about my ongoing mastitis. A care home nurse was there too. The Tissue Viability nurse asked if they'd been monitoring my SATS, blood pressure and temperature seeing as they were concerned about possible infection. The nurse said they do regularly check my SATS because of my history of supraventricular tachycardia. I said this wasn't really true - if I suspected I was experiencing SVT they would take my pulse and SATS then, but it was not something they regularly did. This meeting was at about 11am.

The care home nurse continued to check my SATS throughout the day. At 7pm he came to ask me if I had spoken to a GP. I said I hadn't. He told me a GP was worried about my low SATS - around 83 - and thought I should have gone to hospital that afternoon. I didn't know what to make of this information, and figured as it was Thursday evening it was unlikely I'd be admitted on to a ward until early Friday, and then would have to probably stay the weekend. Worried about COVID, having previously picked up C. DIFF and gastroenteritis, and not feeling any symptoms, I decided not to go, assuming a doctor would let me know more information if I needed it.

It's pretty surreal to be told you missed a phone call telling you that you need emergency medical attention, if that's what happened. I stayed out of hospital because I didn't feel unhealthy enough to go in. I have more news there, but I don't want to get hung up on it right now. Next time!

So I've been feeling tired and breathless and haven't done much besides watch TV and role play with Snowball, who, as always, is aces!

The main reason I wanted to post today is because it's my birthday! My parents stopped by for a couple of hours and we played an escape-room-in-a-box style game that I got my mum for her birthday. They gave me a present wrapped up with a chain around it and a different puzzle game I need to solve to find the combination to the lock! They also got me the perfect greeting card showing old school go karts going around a track, only when you open it there's a kart that's bumped into a bale of hay and the corner has fallen off. The text inside is about is even when you hit a bump in the road you have a laugh about it and keep going. I don't know how long they spent looking for it but it fits me perfectly!

My brother and his fiancee sent me a difficult looking movie quiz - No multiple choice, no chance of whoever gets closest, it looks like questions such as "Who directed Cabin Fever?" and "Who played the bell ringer in Rocky?" and "In the Harry Potter movies what does the Hogwarts motto 'draco dormiens nunquam titillandus' translate to?" Definitely see my brother getting ready on the next Zoom call when we play that! They also got me an Amazon voucher and a teensy tiny LEGO set of Captain America, a motorcycle and a Hydra agent.

The best gift I've been able to open came from one of my aunts. I have a large extended family that I don't really speak to, but I got sent a handful of cards via my parents which is nice, because who really cares about their nephew turning 34? However, my one aunt's been self isolating due to COVID contact, so she made a card out of some blue paper and an old greeting card, and enclosed two postcards of old timey streets in Bristol as well as a packet of sunflower seeds, ready for planting next February!

I should note that although 34 is a pretty nothing year - the start of my mid-thirties, I suppose? - I do remember as a kid assuming I'd die by 33, because it didn't make sense for me to live longer than Jesus. Well, I've had a couple of close calls, but they haven't shuffled me off this mortal coil just yet! I'm not saying I'm better than Jesus, just better at not having people nail me to shit. Do what you like with that information.

Well, on to the main attraction! I took a picture from Julie Sploogie's BDSMLR that doesn't look like me or the reference picture I was given but suits the mood nicely! Enjoy!


For the sake of clarity I've decided to change the bar owner's name to Earl. It was Tankerton/Tanks during the roleplay, but I don't want my good name besmirched with this filth! Lawks!

I'm going to be honest: some parts of this I enjoyed very much, some of this was me trying to find if Liza had a limit when it came to humiliation and degradation. If she has, I couldn't find it! If this were a porn video I would certainly skip certain scenes! Others I would enjoy very much.

I don't have her permission to do this, so I've changed her moniker, which I'm assuming was fake anyway. Similarly, I changed the reference photo she used, because although it was taken from an NSFW reddit account, the model she used only posts photos of herself fully clothed, and I assume would be horrified to have her image associated with this filth!

Her original prompt has been taken down, but it went something like this:

Hey everyone,

I’m Liza, and I'm looking to do a very nasty and humiliating RP.

I want to get dominated and humiliated by the nastiest men. I have a huge fetish for men’s musk and alphas making me do humiliating nasty things. Bullying, tough, humiliating dares, degrading the loser of a bet etc. Even if what I’m doing is nasty, the humiliation still turns me on, so my dom would use that to their advantage.

I'd like to start a scenario where I am in serious debt and will do anything to earn some cash, letting men humiliate and degrade me. They would pay me to do disgusting stuff, maybe the loser of a bet would have to fuck me, stuff like that. Sort of like Jackass but the joke is always on me, as the sub slut.

I think that's all the warning you need! I answered her prompt in character, so I may as well incorporate that into the story. And awaaaay we go!


It was a little after closing at the Beefy's Bar & Grill. Earl sat at his office computer, a desktop from the late 2000's he used to keep payroll, set up work rotas, and surf local personal ads for cheap labour and loose women. He was in his early forties, short and balding, with a beer gut that stuck out the bottom of his stained wifebeater vest and hung over his grubby jeans. He found a desperate plea from a young lady who was down on her luck, so he loaded his e-mail program and sent her an invitation to work for him.

Hi Liza,

I saw your post saying you were looking to make a little easy money and weren't worried about whoring yourself out. I have a bar with a rather rough clientele just outside of city limits, and I'm always looking for desperate sluts who don't mind being degraded for a price.

I have a position that would be perfect for you, servicing my patrons in a special seat by the bar. You would be locked in the stool in a kneeling position with your head sticking out by the seat. Google "kinky barstool" for an idea of my set-up. Customers would pay me ten dollars to sit on my seat, and whilst they enjoyed a drink and maybe some of my famous hot wings you would take their sweaty cocks in your greedy whore mouth and sick them off enthusiastically. If you do well enough they might give you a tip, or a sip of their beer, or let you suck their greasy fingers after handling my wings or my bourbon glazed ribs. Of course, they might be wary with all the jizz you'd be chugging down, and might just wipe themselves clean with your pretty hair. You won't get much of a say in the matter!

The occasional broad might want you to service her, either she's naughty like that or showing off for the fellas, it don't bother me none either way. Better not bother you either; ten bucks is ten bucks, and you had better leave all my regulars happy. I need a slut who does what she's told, if you have a lot of principles then maybe look somewhere else. I don't have a complaints box or an HR department but I do have a heavy wooden paddle.

If that sounds good to you then show up ready to strip off and get started at 5, in time for happy hour. It'll be safest for you to just stay there until closing but I have a diaper I can strap on you so you don't piss all over my barroom floor. I'll keep the first 200 bucks and whatever's left over you can keep - after the first twenty guys you'll be making a pure profit! Just make sure you don't end up owing me, because you won't enjoy that.

If my customers like you then perhaps we'll find some other odd jobs for you to do around the bar, or maybe I can find something for you to do around my apartment. I'm always happy to help out a whore once she's lost all respect for herself!

Earl Botham

Owner/Manager, Beefy's Bar & Grill

Earl powered down the old machine and headed across his cluttered apartment to his unmade bed, which he crawled into after removing his jeans. He didn't think about his e-mail to Liza again for a couple of days; he answered a lot of requests for help in similar fashion and rarely heard back. The chicks that did tended to be bitches ranting about how they deserved to be treated better. The way he saw it, he wasn't the one getting them into whatever shit situation they were in, and sooner or later life turns everyone into a whore or a thief. At least he was being straight up.

He was therefore surprised three days later to find an e-mail from Liza sitting in his inbox. He opened it up and read it.

Hey earl! Sorry I’m late on this but it sounds like a perfect job for a dumb young slut like me!

It irritated Earl that she hadn't capitalised his name. Didn't this cunt want to make a good first impression? The rest of the message was very promising though - no fancy airs, no protests that this was beneath her, no negotiations. As long as this bitch wasn't too fat for the cage or a total butterface then he was sure he could make money off her desperate ass. He could probably get his own dick wet for free as well! He sat down on the metal folding chair he kept by his desk and fired off a quick reply.

Well, you certainly haven't made a great first impression with your tardiness! I hope you suck cock better than you keep time. Let me get a good look at you, if you're not pretty enough to work the bar then there's some lower paying gigs elsewhere. I know a silly young slut like you ain't gonna have a CV, but do you perchance have one of them fancy kinklists I could take a look at?

He headed over to his recliner with a bottle of beer and stuck on some wrestling. His apartment was above his bar, but there was no way he was heading all the way down there to pour himself a pint; he never cleaned the lines so the beer was foamy, metallic crap anyways. His customers didn't care, they were to drink shots and to see his girls; the cheap beer was there to help them pace themselves between shots and to keep them cool in the stuffy, sweaty, smoky dive. Earl sold bottles of beer to the clients that didn't want lager that tasted like piss, and always took a handful upstairs to put on his own fridge at the end of the shift.

It was less than an hour before a noise from his computer let him know that Liza had got back to him. He grinned; it seemed she was more eager than she first appeared! Maybe another lead had fallen through. Well, the more desperate the better...

Yes sir! (Ref pic or description do you prefer?)

Also sorry, not a fancy list

Kinks: Blowjobs, facials, Humiliation, Bondage, Stink torture( sweat,musk,farts), Being face-sat, Being a 3 hole slut, bullying, rimming, cock worship, tea-bagging, ball sucking, foot worship, body worship, ass to mouth, light pain, wrestling, pet play, spanking, facials, cum play/humiliating cumshots, drugs, body writing, public humiliation, water sports, dp/spit roasting, rule 34

Hard Limits: Blood, animals, underage, heavy pain, rape

"Jesus Fucking Christ," he thought, "it seems like I've stumbled across a winner here!" The 'sir' was a big improvement to 'earl,' already this chick was showing him more respect. And what a list of turn-ons! Still, best to let her know he wasn't some cuck pushover.

Whatever's good for you! There's definitely a lot we can work with there, and I hope you're serious about taking a spanking because I think you've earned one taking so long to get back to me!

He got another beer from the fridge, but before he could get to his recliner the e-mail notification sounded again. This time she'd written:

Guess I do deserve a big punishment huh? Lol

She'd also attached a photo of herself; a grinning brunette in her early twenties. Pigtails. Nice tits, though they could be bigger. Not chubby by any means, but not one of those skinny bitches either. Couldn't see her ass, but he bet it was good. She'd be in the cage anyway, so it didn't matter about her dumper so much for now.

He imagined her soft warm lips around his cock, and felt himself chub up a little. The message itself was a little too familiar, he bet she was one of these self-important millennial skanks that screwed around on their phone all day and thought the world owed them a living. Best he let her know what she was in for now...

Very nice! You're certainly front of house material! As for your punishment, I think I'll warm you up with a bare ass OTK hand spanking, and then you can bend over and take six licks with my paddle - one for every 12 hour chunk you left me wondering. That'll teach you to take help when it's offered and to be respectful of other people's time!

After that, me, Hector from the kitchen and Hank the bar back have a game we like to play with new birds - think of it as a kind of initiation. The game is called Leaky Submarine, and how it works is we take your clothes off and plug up any holes we might find. Once that's done I'll strap you in your diaper and put you in my stool, ready for my early bird customers. It's payday at the lumber mill today so I'm expecting a packed house full of rough men with bulging wallets. I'll see you at 5 if you're serious about making some scratch.


She wrote back once more, and Earl couldn't help but laugh at her naivete.

Yes sir! I’m happy I made front of the house!

Also leaky submarine sounds like a fun game! Does my mouth get plugged too? I’m sure I’ll learn more when I play the game.

What a clueless bitch! She was going to be fun.

Earl opened his bar up at lunchtime, and it was pretty quiet for the most part. At half past four he was sitting by himself at a table enjoying a bottled brew. An eager young lady bounded up to him, sent his way by Hank at the bar. She introduced herself as Liza and wasted no time at all bending over Earl's lap, flipping up her school girl skirt and exposing her ass in a thong to him.

Earl was impressed by this girl's audacity, and pleased to see her toned buttocks were just as nice as he was hoping they would be. He was sure his regulars would enjoy gawping at them and pawing at them as well. Still, no point letting this young broad go getting a big head just yet.

"Figures a slut like you would be wearing slut underwear," he said, pulling the thong taut in a big wedgie. He unhooked the knife from his belt and cut it through the stretched fabric in one rough motion, exposing what little of her rear it was hiding. Then he went to town on Liza's naked ass, slapping it relentlessly, first one cheek, then the other, then right across the middle, the pattern repeating over and over as her bottom got redder and redder.

At first Liza tried to take the pain in stride, but eventually she felt the stinging intensify across her buttocks. It hurt too bad, and she yelped out loud as Earl continued his assault on her smooth derrière.

"Oh my God, it stings so bad!" she thought, her pussy getting moist as Earl slapped harder still. She let out a tiny whimper that mixed with a guttural moan.

Earl grinned. "Ooh, you little slut!" he teased. "Someone likes it when Daddy punishes their little bottom!"

With two far fingers he explored her damp pussy, and was rewarded with a full body shiver. He applied a little more pressure, and pushed his thumb against her asshole, taking care not to go inside her yet. He held his grip for a few seconds, enjoying feeling her squirm with pleasure, but decided it wouldn't do to start off their relationship in such a manner, and he abruptly pushed her off his lap.

He stood up, leaving her on the floor, and instructed her to crawl back across the room.

Liza did as she was told, sore red bottom exposed, looking over her shoulder at her new employer and licking her lips.

"Very nice," Earl thought, before saying aloud "Place your hands on my bar and stick out your backside for me."

Whimpering with pain and pleasure, she stood up, feeling the effect of his handiwork on her booty. She put her hands on the bar and bent over for him, desperate to be seen as a good girl.

Earl gave her red bottom a few affectionate pats, and nudged the instep of her left foot with the tip of his boot in order to widen her stance. As she waited nervously He could see her pussy shimmer, practically dripping with anticipation. He then took his old, wooden frat style paddle from Hank, and wordlessly rained down six hard blows on her tender young bum.

 Liza yelped loudly at each swat that thudded against her already sore ass, her screaming echoing throughout the building for Earl's other employees to appreciate as Liza stood with her legs spread wide, shaking on the spot and breathing deeply. 

Earl spun her around so he could address her directly. "Well, you took that fairly well, despite your caterwauling! Let's get you in the kitchen for your initiation. The way Leaky Submarine works is: You lie down on the island prep station in the centre of the kitchen. You're the submarine, and me, Hank and Hector are three sailors that have to plug up any holes we find, to stop you from sinking. I'm sure you're used to accommodating seamen!" He grinned at his own dumb joke.

Holding her sore butt, Liza sniffle and tried to compose herself. She followed Earl to the greasy, poorly lit back room, listening as he filled her in on the rules of the game

“Oh, that sounds fun! Do you always play games before work?” Liza asked, stripping out of her remaining clothes once they had entered the grotty kitchen.

Earl was taken aback. Was this girl really as big a slut as she was making out? Was she putting on a show for him, or did she have some wiring crossed inside her fucking head? Still, he answered her question, dumb as it seemed to him. "Only with new hires, on special occasions, and birthdays. This is a bar for hard drinking, rough and ready types, not Chuck E fucking Cheese. Hector and Hank here are going to sort it out between them as to who gets to stick it in your cunt and who has to cram it in your turd-cutter. I'm going to work your mouth, I wanna make sure you have some idea what you're doing before I put you in my barstool and let you loose on my customers. Have a bottle of beer, it's important to stay hydrated."

“Yes sir, I guess that makes sense,” Liza said, taking the beer and sipping from the bottle, not liking the taste.

“At least I get to play this time to accommodate all these seamen!” she giggled, winking at Hector and Hank, as they argued over who gets to fuck her in the pussy. "I hope the smaller dick one gets my ass," she thought, "I’m still tight. "

Earl passed Liza's unfinished beer to Hector, who bent her over the kitchen countertop and poured a little into her asshole. He pushed a finger into her rosebud, withdrew it, and pushed the neck of the cold beer bottle into her winking hole. He moved it in and out, and the men all laughed as she howled and squirmed. After moving it in all directions and pulling it in and out a little Hector pulled the bottle out quickly and roughly, causing Liza to stand up straight and rub her tender back passage. The men all laughed at her expense, and Hector gaves Liza back her half-full beer.

Holding her ass, her cheeks still bright red, Liza whimpered even as the three men found furthe merriment in her discomfort. Her asshole hurt from being stretched for the bottle, and beer dribbled down the base of her crack.

Earl grinned at her, luxuriating in her humiliation. "Finish your drink, and we'll start the game!" he instructed, leering at her.

Her cheeks flushed red as she took the cold bottle that was just in her ass, raising it to her mouth and gulping the nasty beer down. Having to taste her own asshole as she drank the beer, she made a grossed out face and finished the beer as quickly as possible.

"Atta girl," Earl laughed, "you came here to play! Well, hope up on the table, Stinky Lips, and we'll kick off the show!"

“Stinky lips! How rude! “ Liza giggled as I hopped up on the table, seeing Hector and Hank pull their big cocks out as she did so.

"I think that nickname's going to stick," he leered, "I thought you'd at least make a token objection. Seems like you'll do just about anything! Let me know when the boys have found their rhythm, and then you can wrap your stinky lips around my nice hard cock!"


Well, that seems as good a place as any to wrap up today! I hope it didn't seem too disjointed, turns out editing is not a lot of fun!

✌   🎉 🎁

Wednesday, July 21, 2021


A man goes to visit a psychiatrist, and after a little while the psychiatrist decided to give him a Rorschach test; showing the patient a series of ink blots and asking what he sees in each of them. The patient looks at the first one. "That's a woman on her knees, blowing two guys." He looks at the second. "That's two couples, each having sex in the wheelbarrow position." He looks at the third. "That's five guys in a daisy chain, jerking each other off."

The psychiatrist puts the cards down. "It's obvious to me," he says, " that you have something of a dirty mind."

The patient frowns. "I've got a dirty mind? Come on, doc, you're the one with a drawer full of dirty pictures!"

I was reminded of this little joke when chatting with my friend Julie, of the newly rechristened Strict Julie Spanked! blog. I value our friendship a lot, but we met through unusual circumstances (I commented on her blog with some of the things I would do with her if she were my sub, she told me how gushy her little pussy was getting thinking about it) and our relationship goes through unusual cycles. Specifically, if I go too long without trying to make her knickers fizz then she'll try and provoke me, a little like an infant testing the patience of her caregiver, seeing if they'll carry on allowing the naughty behaviour or if they'll take the child over their knee for a spanking. Once Julie's been put back in her place we're firm friends for a couple of months.

I noticed a couple of these little provocations recently, though maybe I'm reading too much into it? Well, tough luck if I am, Ms Delmar, as you're getting a healthy dose of humiliation regardless!

I should preface this by saying that way back in March Julie posted a story I had written for her on her site, and made a big show explaining exactly how theatrically she had masturbated to it behind her husband's back. I posted my own blog stating that this bragging about cumming to my writing behind David's back seemed sketchy, and if she was going to use me as a secret source of real world pleasure then she should balance the scales with some real world punishment too. Only fair, right?

I knew I was flying close to the Sun, I have no real authority over Julie, and the obvious moral thing would be to confess to her husband exactly what she'd been up to and let him handle it. Still, at this point everyone was acting on the assumption that David doesn't ever read Julie's blog, and it was certainly fun pretending to take her in hand in his absence.

Well, at first she was gung ho to prove that she could take the punishment I'd prescribed for her, but I wasn't surprised when it never actually happened, and eventually she acted as if no deal had been made. Well, no harm, no foul, I never reached out to Julie expecting to have any physical influence over her or to find out about her personal life. The fact she'd decided to cum reading my stuff was amazing all by itself. However, I was a little irked by this little exchange we recently had in the comment section of her blog:

Me: I've just noticed you called me your god friend! I wonder what Dr Freud would say about that! You are absolutely **not** allowed to correct it! ✌

Her: Ohhhhh!

Maybe it's like a God Father. You must now see, as my God Friend, to my moral upbringing.

Me: I think I tried that a couple of times, to minimal results! You realised I have no real power over you, and missed out on a lot of fun! 😜✌

The job sounds like hard work, you're a good person with a big heart but, to paraphrase your post, you're a stubborn little fuck when you want to be! Never dull, though!

Her: "Stubborn" is my super power 😊

Okay, so maybe she had forgotten about our little arrangement in the heat following some ill-thought-out comments she made on an earlier post, and then paid the price for! When I reminded her of my attempt to "see to her moral upbringing" and how dismally I'd failed she brushed it off. Fine. But then she had the audacity to post a blog entry named "Cornertime Pics" that was breathtakingly audacious.

Skipping back to our exchange in March: Julie had read my blog and written a nice lengthy e-mail, starting by suggesting we were "virtual fuck buddies!" She then followed it with this one-liner, dripping in disrespect:

Oh, and I'm supposed to ask you about a punishment?

Well, with that attitude I decided to skip over any thoughts of leniency - reading up on her most recent punishment it doesn't seem to have sunk in that taking her punishments with decorum may earn her a little clemency! I wrote back as follows:

I think you deserve a little punishment, yes.

I think the next time you know your husband is going to be away for a while you should send me a quick email to let me know your punishment is starting. You should spend forty minutes in time-out with your nose against the wall and your arms by your side, one of your dildoes in each hand. Your bare bottom should be on display for the empty room. You can set an alarm for forty minutes to let you know when you're done, and you can spend that time thinking about how bad a spanking you need to administer yourself, now we know you are capable of doing so. You know your limits and what a proper punishment feels like, so you can judge this for yourself.

One you've come out of the corner and given yourself a quick spanking you can e-mail me to let me know you're done and I can give you a couple of quick questions about your punishment so I can gauge how contrite I think you are. I have a notifier set up so I always know when I'm getting e-mails, and I can prioritise your punishment over whatever else I might have going on so David doesn't have to find out, since you kept your pleasure-making a secret from him too.

I think this is firm but fair, and well within your limits. I was obviously playing it up a bit on my blog, but I do feel a little bit uneasy knowing you went to such great lengths to try and impress me, and this will let me know that you genuinely care about my feelings rather than just using me as an excuse to indulge your exhibitionist streak.

I'm aware you have your safewords, and there's nothing to stop you from telling me to fuck off and get over myself, but I have a feeling you'll rise to my challenge.

Let me know if this is acceptable to you, and I'll get to work on that story I thought up as a reward.

What Julie didn't know at the time, and will only find out when reading this, was that I was intending to ask her if she was still horny upon completion of her punishment, and would have told her to rub one out if she was. I'm all heart, that's my problem! As embarrassing as corner time is for her, I thought it would be even worse doing it for nobody's benefit, dildo in each hand, bottom pointed at nobody in particular! I was glad to see she was taking me more seriously when she wrote back:

FORTY FUCKING MINUTES???? Are you FUCKING insanse???? I don't think I've ever really done more than 10 minutes of timeout (I might have exaggerated a bit for my blog...).

yes sir... it might take a while until I have that much alone time again, what with COVID and all still on. But i will do it (forty FUCKING minutes...)

Ha ha ha! Looks like I'd scored a direct hit! They say when punishing a bratty child with a time out you should give them one minute per year old they are... Seems it works for forty year old troublemakers just as well as five year old ones! Well, like I said, I'm a big softie, so we had the following exchange:

You certainly have exaggerated a bit for your blog, I thought I was letting you off a little easy! You can yellow out a little if you're going to be a big baby about it, but then I'll be expecting a very severe self-spanking, including with the Muskoka paddle you used to pleasure yourself with; and I'm sure that your husband will notice your sore little bottom if that happens. Plus, though I won't share the specifics of your punishment, I'll have to let my readers know that my first punishment was too much for you, and that I had to let you plea down, and I know you don't like people seeing you tap out...

I'll let you decide, but I'm delighted you're taking this seriously.

A big virtual hug for my favourite sub,


Respectfully, but Fuck you, Sir. I'm doing the full 40!

That's my girl! Let's call it forty-one, though, to discourage you from swearing at me.

Phew! Was expecting to have to wash my mouth out with soap for that. 1 minute extra  only. Got off easy!

And that's basically where we left it. I sent her monthly "reminders" that she got less and less interested in. When I warned her I was thinking of spilling the beans about the whole sordid affair and letting my faithful Functionistas know what a big 'fraidy-cat wimp she turned out to be then she wrote me the following:I

I guess my reluctance is more that I feel being put in the corner is a prerogative reserved for my husband, as punishment. Somehow, for me, more intimate than being fucked for fun, you know?

Maybe if you take this angle, explaining my reluctance, it would be ok to give me a well-deserved tease.

Very convenient that she's found a moral philosophy that allows her to be "fucked for fun" and to diddle herself stupid with no comeuppance, elaborately and without her husband's knowledge, but to shy away from making it right! Consider that me administering a "well-deserved tease," and know that I hope she has enjoyed this trip down memory lane.

But why share this now? Well, like I said, not only has she suggested I take a firmer hand in her moral upbringing, but her Cornertime Pics post was ridiculous! In it she had reposted 48 pictures uploaded to another blog, seemingly without any formal consent from those photographed (you'd have thought she'd be more careful after her run in with Miss Chris!) Under each picture she'd written a caption explaining a feeling the picture evoked in her or the larger scene she imagined playing out. She specifically asked readers to pick out their favourites and comment saying why, so I did. I also clarified that one model was not holding something between her thighs as suggested:

33, 25 & 47... You can imagine 47 with her laptop or tablet letting her blog readers know how naughty she's been!

Nothing between 32's thighs, the care instructions are hanging off the back of her panties, has this tripped you up? Don't tell me you cut the care tickets off your garments, I'll have to think of a fitting punishment for you, on behalf of your local dry cleaner!

Laughing at the timings you've prescribed for these poor girls, knowing they would probably break you!

I was more than a little surprised by her response:

25 looks like a British girl. 33 and 47 are being humiliated just like you like them to be. And I'll defer to your expertise on 32, that's a big tag!

Oh I know re the timings. Especially the poor teen I had in the corner all day long.

Let me be perfectly clear as to what had just happened: This bitch had found a site that posts nothing but pictures of adult women experiencing corner time, signed up to it, stolen nearly fifty pictures, uploaded them all to her blog, captioned each and every one, and now she has the nerve to kink-shame me?! Aren't they all being humiliated? Isn't that why your pussy got all tingly staring at them, imagining what could be happening behind the scenes? Sorry doc, but you're the one with the dirty pictures!

I knew this aggression could not stand, and that I would have to embarrass her appropriately once I was in the right mindset. I think I've probably done a good job. Feel free to give her some (harmless, good-natured) razzing in the comments!

And it's absolutely the manufacturer's care label. Maybe they just run smaller in Canada!


Tuesday, July 20, 2021


 Hi Malpals,

So I know the last post was me complaining about the lady from safeguarding who came to visit me. Today I received a copy of a report summarising the level of care the home provides for me. I was not consulted about the report, or even aware of it. Some of it I feel painted me in a poor light: you get the impression reading it that I am a glutton, and that I would be living a full, active life if only I could stop constantly stuffing my face with fatty foods! Weirdly, though, the report also contains a bunch of outright lies about the help I'm receiving and my ability to express myself and make decisions for my future.

I'm going to let you read the e-mail I sent to adult social care, because it reflects what a terrible job the home have done representing me. I sent a blind copy to my parents, and I think that this report, combined with the fact that three members of staff have caught COVID this week, have finally convinced them that anywhere would be better than here.

Dear ****

Today I received a copy of my review, ref ****. I was not informed this review would be carried out and was not given a chance to object to any of it. A lot of the information held within is not true, so I thought it best to clear up a few things:
  • The care home do not provide 3 or 4 staff to help with a body wash.
  • They do not provide 2 staff members to help with toileting needs.
  • I do not need help maintaining family and other relationships.
  • I do not need help with memory, awareness, planning and decision making.
  • The home does not offer help with behaviour or mood affecting myself or others.
  • I do not receive visits from the Community Nursing Team to monitor my skin.
  • The home cannot claim I am continuing to put on weight as they have never weighed me or taken physical measurements of waistline, circumference of upper arms, etc.
  • I was not able to contribute towards the review via phone, or any other method, as I was completely unaware of it.
  • I do not feel upset discussing my care and support needs.
  • I did not consent for the nurse to discuss these matters away from me.
  • My family do not visit me daily, mainly due to them living two hours away, but also in part because the home allows a maximum of two guests to visit during a week, booking in advance and visiting once, simultaneously.
  • The physiotherapy team did not require me to drop down in weight to 180kg before helping me. There is no maximum weight at which they will stop helping those who need it.
  • I have not been discharged from working with a psychologist and a psychiatrist because I refused to accept help.
  • I have not been in my current placement since 2016, and was in fact relatively healthy, living independently and holding down a full time job as a dry cleaner at this time.
There are other aspects of this report I disagree with - for example, I feel I would benefit greatly from assistance from the mental health team, and that my financial situation needs addressing as a priority due to **** Care Home's inability to fill out and return some standard paperwork in a reasonably timely manner - but the information that I have laid out above is fact.

It is probably worth mentioning I find the nurse who provided information for the report, Sue ****, to be borderline negligent. I went into hospital last December and the paramedics that dealt with her during handover described her as 'obstructive.' I went into hospital again this year because she told me an ear infection I had was getting better when in fact it had been getting worse. She has been lackadaisical treating episodes of supraventricular tachycardia I have suffered in the home, which is one reason safeguarding concerns have been raised on my behalf.

Thanks for your time,

Tankerton Latch

So that's me embracing my inner Karen! Tomorrow I have an unrelated group chat with the care home manager, my housing officer, my occupational therapist and someone from Adult Social Care. This report has only served to get me extra riled up!

What a useless bunch of tossers! Peace,

Sunday, July 18, 2021


Hi Malpals,

I tend to be pretty laid back. I'll usually go with the flow, to the point where it's to my own detriment. I ended up in this dive because I agreed to move out of my temporary flat before all my concerns were met, I last went to hospital because I let the nurse here convince me my infections weren't as bad as I knew they were. I put up with a lot of shit, I think mainly because of my relationship with my brother growing up. He was a bully, and worked away at my self esteem, and when he stopped getting a rise out of me he started arguing with my mother. It takes a lot to put my needle in the red. But when it gets there, watch out!

In the Kill Bill movies there's a sound that plays when Uma Thurman's Bride character first encounters a member of the Deadly Viper Assassin Squad, post-coma. The camera focuses on her eyes, and an alarm sounds, followed by a quick six-note escalation. When it plays, we know The Bride is consumed by her anger, she'll leave it all on the floor as she goes after her target. She'll give all she's got, because these people will take it all from her. You can hear the sound here:

I've had moments where I've felt that way, as I'm sure we all have. And I'm sure I can't hear that sound in the moment, but I associate it so closely with that feeling of all consuming anger that I subconsciously add it when replaying these moments in my head.

The last time I felt it was whilst I was living in hospital after being kicked out of sheltered accommodation for being too much of a medical risk. Obviously I wasn't in the greatest headspace anyway, and then one afternoon I received a phone call from a telemarketer. I can't remember what the guy was pitching - pretty sure it was cheaper gas, though it might have been loft insulation - I can't remember what exactly it was, but it was definitely something you'd need to have a fucking house for. I said something like "You're barking up the wrong tree here, mate, I'm homeless and in hospital."

"You should move in with me, then," the cunt on the other end said.

I felt my face freeze mid-smile and my temperature drop. "What was that?"

"You should move in with me," the odious little shit repeated.

Well, I can't remember exactly what I said. I know I didn't swear or give a reason for the prick to take the moral high ground and hang up. I remember channelling my inner Victor Meldrew, first berating the poor bastard, then demanding to speak to his supervisor and asking what sort of outfit she was running, employing callous little sociopaths, asking if they were given any training or instruction or whether they were free to harass and insult whomever they liked... I was properly livid!

I had some of the same sense of anger on Friday when I met Danielle, my safeguarding officer. I was feeling pretty rough anyway, she hadn't let me know in advance she was coming, and I got the feeling she just wanted to get my paperwork off her desk rather than actually helping. Remember at primary school, when kids would argue, some grown ups would let both kids have their say and work out what was fair, whilst others would just make the kids shake hands and promise to behave? That was very much the vibe I was getting off this woman.

She started off asking what my goals were. I told her I wanted to leave this place. "Where to?" she asked. I told her I didn't know. I told her I wanted to be able to get out of bed and into a wheelchair. "Do you know what that will actually take?" she said. I told her I didn't. She said losing weight would help. I told her I've cut out sugary drinks, replaced crisps with healthy snacks, kept a food diary, consulted with a dietician and the kitchen staff, and that for nine months all I've had is earache about losing weight but that nobody is actually weighing me. She asked if I'd considered food substitutions. "For example," she said, "I really love ice cream." I told her I haven't had ice cream since moving in here. "Okay, but what I do is, instead of having Ben & Jerry's, which is 2000 calories, I'll have Halo Tops, which are 300 calories." I reiterated that I'd quit sugary drinks for water and potato chips for healthier equivalents. "The thing about healthy alternatives is that they do still contain calories; you can't eat them all day." I told her I had a snack between dinner ending at 5pm and breakfast starting at 8.30am. She then went on about the takeaway I had last week, saying that "one cheat meal can undo a week's good work." How about one in nine months, after they'd forgot to make me dinner? This woman was not winning me over!

At this point she decided to let me know why she was here to see me. Two separate safeguarding concerns have been raised, one by my occupational therapist about the home's failure to reposition me, and one by adult social care about their mistreatment of my hamster heart episodes. I guess her thoughts on dieting are an added bonus for her fat ass clients, whether they want it or not? Lucky me!

Well, she said, it's good news! The home have put their hands up, admitted they've done wrong, and are going to be better from here on out. I guess that makes up for shirking their duties for the past nine months? Am I supposed to be reassured now? To take them on their word that it'll be smooth sailing from here on?

"So, have they been repositioning you?" she asked.

"They started to, on Tuesday, knowing that safeguarding concerns had been made, and they bollocksed it up."

"How did they bollocks it up?"

"They repositioned me the wrong way, undoing the work the occupational therapist has been doing trying to straighten me out. I wrote to the occupational therapist on Tuesday when they did it and she sent one sheet of instructions to the care home manager on Wednesday morning. I've seen it, and I've told them not to move me until they've read her instructions so they know they're doing it right. One side of A4."

"Okay, well I know they've been trying to reach her. Is there anything else worrying you? The staff here say you're quite down.

"Yeah, my finances. My PIP payment was stopped in February, and because the home took so long filling out the paperwork to get my benefits reinstated I've dipped into my overdraft for the first time since becoming honeless, which is one thing I never wanted to happen."

"Ooh, I'm with you there, I don't believe in going in to debt." Well, 80% of the UK are, so maybe there's a colleague that can explain how fucking awful it can be? Maybe teach you some basic empathy as well? Unbelievable. "Well, I don't deal with the financial side of things, but I'll make a note to pass your details on to my colleague who does."

She then started to give me her deeply patronising wrap up speech - bare in mind this was my first time meeting this bitch, as far as I know she knows nothing about me or what I've been through already.

"Well, the good news is you're still very young, you've got a lot of opportunity to turn it all around. It will take a lot of graft, and it will hurt, and you will cry. Hey, but at least if you've got yourself into a pickle with your money then you won't be spending it on things like takeaways!"

Aaand there goes my inner alarm. Awee-orr! Awee-orr! Duhn duhn duhn duhn da-duhnnn!

 "The fuck did you just say...?"

"I haven't got into a pickle, the home spent so long filling out a simple form that it put me into debt. Because they don't care."

 "Well, we don't know how long these things take-"

 "Yes we do. Because the same form was sent to the hospital, and they sent it back within a week. All they had to do was write down how long I've been here and how much care I've been receiving, and it took them three and a half months. And now I have no money to my name, but I'm still paying these people once a month as if I had."

At this point I think she left, I can't remember her saying anything else, certainly nothing of value. I basically slept through the following 48 hours, that white hot anger took a lot out of me. I realised writing this I'm still angry about it! I was going to write a couple of things about Strict Julie's cornertime post, maybe revealing a couple of things in the process! But I realise I'm definitely in the wrong frame of mind, and am likely to cause myself trouble there!

God damn! Peace! Fuck!

Tuesday, July 13, 2021


Yesterday I had a visit with someone from Adult Social Care, the first I've had since moving to this shithole nine months ago. She's going to raise a safeguarding concern in the county that's funding my stay due to their terrible handling of my hamster heart episodes. My occupational therapist is raising one about the lack of repositioning, so hopefully they'll get me out of here soon!

The Adult Social Care lady also set up an online meeting between me, the care home manger, my housing officer, my occupational therapist, and herself, in order to discuss some complaints I've raised (the hamster heart treatment, the repositioning, the lack of Wi-Fi, the absence of a blood pressure cuff).

On a completely unrelated note (!) today was the first time in nine months the care home followed my care plan, hoisting me in the air to change my and repositioning me every two hours. They're using an old pregnancy pillow instead of the fancy decubitus the OT asked them to buy, and J can certainly feel the difference, but it's better than nothing! 
They even remade my breakfast sandwich because they used white bread instead of brown (The brown bread's all right, the white is over-processed, tasteless, bleached shit) and told me to let them know if I needed any other changes to my meals! I've been repositioned four times today, which is great because the previous one was literally three or four weeks ago (I remember it was a Sunday, I just don't remember which.

Of course, nothing in this place ever goes quite right. They started with the cushion under my right side for two hours to straighten me out, which was fine, and then left me on my back unsupported for two hours to ensure there are no pressure sores, which is also fine. They then put the pillow under my left side, so I was tipped over more to the right than usual. I couldn't even look at my laptop screen in this position - I'm holding my Amazon tablet dead in front of me as I type this and it's literally at an angle of 45°. All my weight is on my neck and the top half of my right arm. My right ear is touching the bedsheet. I told them that I need to be laid straight, but Ruth the head carer was adamant this is how repositioning works - with you on your right side, then your back, then your left side, then your back, and so on and so forth!

I appreciate that is probably how it works with most people, but with my spondylitis the last thing I need is to be spending a quarter of my time pushed further over to the right than I naturally am anyway. I've e-mailed my occupational therapist and hope common sense will prevail. Annoyingly, the day shift went home without removing the pillow and setting me flat, and the night staff carer didn't want to take the pillow out on her owm, so I pulled it out myself after being extra off kilter for three hours. I'm sure the OT is going to go ape shit!

Friday, July 9, 2021


Good morrow, my poor neglected Malpals, you're all looking fine! Please forgive me for my absence! I haven't been doing great the last few weeks. But I write to you today in a state of happiness far greater than any post-orgasmic afterglow!

It seems I was taken off my antibiotics too early, as my mastitis never went away, and has now flared up again. I'm seeing a physiotherapist twice a week, though he is not nearly as hands on as the one I had coming five times a week whilst I was living on my own. I agreed to move here because my carers at the time told me this was a dedicated rehabilitation facility, and that I could be receiving physio all day, every day if I wanted it! Eight months without help later and I have a lot less strength and movement. Never mind, at least I'm on the road to success again!

I've also had two episodes of hamster heart since I last checked in! Regular readers will know that's my jokey name for supraventricular tachycardia, a condition that causes my heart to beat at around 265bpm. You'd think it would be awesome, like when Fry drinks 300 cups of coffee in Futurama and time seems to slow down for him, or when Neo dodges bullets in The Matrix. What actually happens is your blood moves through your lungs too quickly to take on oxygen, and you die if the issue doesn't resolve itself. Fortunately both times I was able to sort it through tilting my bed (I'm bedridden and living in a care home, if this is your first time reading this!) but on multiple occasions it's needed treatment in hospital, with pretty serious drugs. It can (and nearly did!) require defibrilation. Well, of the two times I had it only once did my so-called "carers" ring the emergency bell for the nurse, though I asked for it both times.

The first time it happened I told the carer, in front of the nurse, that it's a serious condition and I need her to ring the emergency bell if I ask her to. I expected the nurse to have my back. Instead the carer told me that she has to use her own judgement before ringing the bell, and would only ever ring it if a patient was out cold. I told this to another nurse and she said I should have reported the carer; I said another nurse had witnessed the whole thing and hadn't said anything. The head carer submitted a report to the manager for me before, and nothing was ever said about it. Why waste my time? Surely telling two nurses is reporting it? My patience with this place has basically eroded at this point.

The second time the carer did ring the emergency bell, after I insisted, and the nurse left me unattended for five minutes whilst he went to look for an oximeter. A room in this place starts at over £400 a week, shooting up to near £600 depending on the level of care you need. They should really go fuck themselves.

All of which is to say, I haven't been feeling awesome, nothing much good has happened, and so I haven't felt like blogging. Well, that all changed today, because PIZZA!!!

I haven't bought pizza since moving in, but I have bought this awesome hat!

Thursday, June 10, 2021


 Hello Malpals! Recently Julie of Strict Julie Spanks wrote a post touching on some of her daddy issues, and Lion of the Male Chastity Journal posted his thoughts on mommy/daddy issues on his own blog. As today is my mum's birthday I thought I could share a little of my own thoughts on the topic.

First, an update on my health situation. I haven't gained or lost any body parts since my last post. The parts I have remained more or less the same size, save for one vital organ; I was feeling very horny after sleeping for the best part of five days! I've heard the orgasm referred to as "la petite mort," or "little death." The term generally refers to the brief feeling of euphoria and weakening of consciousness that we experience after cumming. I've also heard of the phrase being linked with the shame you can feel after achieving orgasm. I used to feel that, sometimes, in my late teens and early twenties (as I've said before, I was a very late starter!). Professional downer Arthur Schopenhauer said "directly after copulation the devil's laughter is heard." It's probably worth noting that the syphilitic misery-guts was shagging a 19 year old dancer when he was in his mid-thirties, so your mileage may vary!

Arthur Schopenhauer, notable grouch and creator of the Hedgehog's Dilemma

For me it has a different connotation; sometimes I orgasm and it's fine, if a little anto-climactic, for want of a better term. Other times it will feel like all the oxygen has left my lungs and I'm left gasping for breath. I sometimes put on my CPAP machine before tossing one off; other times I find myself scrambling for it afterwards. It's concerning, but not enough to stop me from jacking it. I may be smart in some ways, but I still let my stupid animal brain do a lot of the driving. I've definitely had a couple of the latter type of climax early this week, but sometimes you just have to crank one out, you know?

Monday, June 7, 2021


This guy! 👍👍

I've been having an ingrown toenail treated every week since November. One of the few advantages of being here rather than the flat is that a podiatrist visits once a week. This is great - pre-COVID I was paying for a chiropodist to come cut my toenails every so often, but COVID put a stop to that! When I first moved in my nails hadn't been cut in about a year. The toenail on the big toe of my right foot has been ingrown at least since then. My toenail on my left foot basically fell off in hospital in early 2019, when I was still just about moving around.

Warning: These are not my feet! They are Mistress T's. Photos of my disgusting feet ahead!

I knew the podiatrists were planning on removing it rather than visiting me every week to look at it and dress it. I didn't know it would be today! I wasn't too worried, though I had to sign paperwork acknowledging I could go into anaphylactic shock and die. Mainly the worst part was spending twenty minutes listening to the two guys talking about their golf handicaps whilst waiting for the local anaesthetic to kick in!

I haven't mentioned the toenail before because it honestly never occurred to me, so low down is it on my list of concerns. In fact, since coming from hospital three weeks ago, I've had a doctor talk with me about:

  • Blood in my urine.
  • A weird skin thing on my back that keeps bleeding; I've been told the NHS views it as cosmetic and won't treat it as it's not in a place that'll stop me getting work. It'll cost £560 to get it removed. I don't care about it and wouldn't have known about it if I wasn't told about it.
  • Low blood pressure, diagnosed at the hospital but not chased up because this shitty, shitty care home doesn't have a blood pressure monitor. They're £20.
  • A weird skin thing on my chest that feels like a blister with a ball bearing inside. A nurse here swabbed the discharge and sent it off, but I haven't heard back  yet.
  • Serious fatigue. I slept all day and night Thursday, Saturday and Sunday. I fell asleep a few times today. I'm tired right now. I don't know why!
It's the tiredness that's bugging me the most. My CPAP machine for my sleep apnoea was like unlocking a cheat code that allowed me to sleep for half the time, wake up feeling refreshed, and stay alert all day. The difference was incredible! Now that I've had my beard shaved and my hair cut it's working better than ever; I should be full of beans! But I guess I'm still fighting my infections.

I'm aware that I've been letting this blog slide. I had a pretty good streak going of keeping it updated at least every other day. I updated it from hospital. It's easier to record positive events, and I worry about crossing the line from being sardonic and self deprecating and making light of my misfortunes, to just straight up complaining and whinging and generally being a bummer. Most of all I want to write something really sexy, or at least sexual; something very unwholesome. It's hard to write sexy when you feel gross.

Last Monday my mother took a photo of my legs and e-mailed them to me! I didn't want to see them, she just did it without asking. I tend to keep my mind busy with other things. Well, I had to look at them, and now you do to!

Worse photos ahead!

The box on my bed is a present for my mum, more on that on Thursday. My right leg looks mostly normal, just a little red! The skin on the left has been awful for about eight years; since the first time I got cellulitis and developed golf-ball sized blisters! The swelling really isn't as bad as it has been, and is mostly at the back of the leg. I'll be up on these gams in no time, all being well! I'm glad she did take the photos, because it inspired me to take a look at some older ones, and I was amazed at the difference. More on that laater!

The tubigrip gathered ineffectually around the centre of my right foot is supposed to keep the dressing on my right toe in place. God knows how many carers would have seen it like that and ignored it! I really try to give this place a fair shake, and refrain from cynical hostility. I don't think anyone on the staff here is bad, but there's a lot of people who are jaded and they're all overworked. The woman who's been in the room next to me for the past couple of weeks won't ring the call bell; she'll just shout for help over and over again. Sometimes the staff shout at her. I get it; it must be difficult helping some our biddy get dressed or help some old duffer to the toilet whilst this woman's screaming for you. I admire her lung power! Obviously the concern is if she does fall nobody will come running.

I sent my housing officer an email a couple of weeks ago outlining four major concerns I've had since getting back from hospital. I mentioned that I've been paying for four carers but only ever had one or two, that my hamster heart (SVT) episodes weren't treated as emergencies, that the home doesn't have equipment as basic as a blood pressure cuff, and that I'm having to pay for Wi-Fi because the home manager hasn't got the passwords to the networks they provide. He agreed these were serious issues and that he would pass the complaints on to the council. So that's good news too.

I decided to post an old photo my mum took of my legs for comparison. This photo was taken in 2017. I was working six days a week on these getaway sticks! The lymphoedema nurse didn't understand how I was staying upright on them all day! There were no chairs in my dry cleaners; I would walk about five blocks and down a flight of steps to a bench to have lunch. They would balloon up even more (as would my abdomen and penis!) the Christmas of the following year.

You are under no obligation to read any further! The next photos are included only for the morbidly curious and for comparison against my current, relatively healthy legs. Thanks for making it this far, there is no shame in stopping here!

Posts People Like!