JULIE'S CHRISTMAS EVE HUMILIATION

 First things first; I'm still in the shithole care home, there is a bed waiting for me in the good one, but the respiratory teams from the two different areas need to sign off on a plan of action to get me there. Should be early new year. I cannot wait!

I've had one episode of hamster heart since I last wrote. It was early morning, and happened a little before shifts changed for the staff here, which complicated things. It took a while to get a nurse to my room, and then she refused to call an ambulance, even though my pulse was at 235bpm! She told me an ambulance wouldn't come for me because they didn't come for her friend Dustin when he had a heart attack. What the fuck? My care is in the hands of a nurse who doesn't believe in ambulances!

I called an ambulance myself, and they asked if I had access to aspirin. I rang my call bell and asked a care and she told me she wasn't able to give out drugs. I told her that I understood that, but to ask the nurse if the house had access to aspirin. The carer went, came back, and told me I wasn't prescribed any. I told her that wasn't what I needed to know, and repeated the operator's question. She went off again, and came back asking to speak to the operator directly. She then said the nurse had given her a phone number that emergency services could call if there were any more questions. She then left me alone, taking my phone with me, and cancelled the fucking ambulance, unbeknownst to me!

Luckily it resolved itself quarter of an hour later, and the day staff nurse gave me my phone back, but seriously, what the fuck?! I was hoping I did have to go to hospital, and to need drugs to stabilise my heart (which has happened before) or even defibrillator (I haven't needed that before, but I came on so close, I signed off the paperwork and the anaesthesist came to measure my throat for a tube; another ten minutes and I'd have been on the table!). Fuck, I'd have happily died in the back of a hypothetical second ambulance if it meant the house would get investigated for negligence, and that fucking nurse had to explain why she turned the ambulance away from a tachycardic patient in her care.

This is the main thing I don't get with gun control, and allowing people to carry a gun around 24/7. I could never do it, because within a month I'd shoot myself in an act of passive aggression. Merry Christmas!

Anyways, between my crazy heart problems, fighting off a new round of cellulitis and my breathing issues, plus depression from finding my sentence at this place had been extended, I've been pretty shattered for the last couple of weeks. I will finish off the whole Stinky Lips thing at some point, I promise!

Anyhow, today's Christmas. I'll be spending it alone, but there's a family Zoom at some point, so that'll be nice. My parents have given me my presents; three scratch offs and these magnetic rings, which are kind of a "fidget toy," I guess? The magnets aren't particularly strong, or fun. Better luck next year, I guess!

Not great!

The other gift I've received is a box full of three random smellies and a flannel from the home. Given that I'm bedbound and need to be strip washed it's not a very sensitive or practical gift. A bottle of bubble bath is pretty much useless to me!

I've mentioned before on here that gift giving is very much a part of my love language. I don't always know how best to express how much I care for the people I love. My brother complained to my parents a couple of years ago that I was going overboard getting presents for him and his girlfriend; my theory there is I was making him look bad! I definitely give more to the few people I do give presents to than I get in return. I don't care; I love finding the perfect thing to let someone know that I see them and value them. I've bought Snowball a couple of presents she seems genuinely happy with, there is more en route, I can safely predict she will be thrilled!

I asked my friend Julie from the Strict Julie blog for an address to send her a present, but she asked me to write a story about her and publish it here instead. I don't know why I'm bothering, with any luck her face is buried deep in her friend Paula's asshole right now, and will remain their until this Epiphany! Still, I thought I'd knock something out for her, and for you reading this! Merry Christmas!

THE BALLAD OF STINKY LIPS - PART 2

 Okay, so I re-opened this smutty behemoth, and the first thing I noticed was it's big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the road to the chemist's, but that's just peanuts to this shit. If you read the first part, viewable here, then you'll have read roughly 3,000 words. That doesn't include my preamble where I tell you about my birthday, my failing health, and my life in this shitbox care home. If you read the porn element of this post too, you'll have read a further 2,000 words, give or take. If you'd spent your time instead reading George Orwell's Animal Farm, you would be one sixth of the way through it! The same is true of John Steinbeck's Of Mice And Men. Feeling pretty good about your life choices, are you?

Never fear! As a reward to you, loyal reader, I give you permission to outright lie about whether or not you've read either or both books. If anyone asks what you thought of either tome, just say "It was a little too heavy-handed for my taste," or "I get why it's important, but personally I found the message to be a little too on-the-nose." You're now effectively 55,000 words in credit - The Malfunctioner will not be beaten on value!

Today was the last Sunday of the month, so I treated myself to my monthly takeaway. I bought a pizza, and due to Papa John's crazy pricing structure, bought 2 sides and a small bottle of drink as well, because that wound up being £3 cheaper than just buying the pizza! Then they were out of all their drinks, so they said I could have a large one for free next time because they can't give partial refunds! How about just selling the food with an honest profit margin rather than trying to fool our dumb capitalist brains into thinking we're making a great financial decision just because we've ended up with a few thousand calories we didn't want? Why do all these places offer Buy One Get One Free deals and never half price 'za?

What else... Ooh, I saw Last Night In Soho, and while it won't have the rewatchability of Edgar Wright's other movies, it looked great and had some great performances, and despite a couple of creepy images it was about as scary as Doctor Who at its scariest, and less gory than the goriest episodes of Buffy, or the new Chucky TV series. I did love this shout out to my corner of the world and the town my parents call home:

It's an old gag, but it lands well here! As far as I know it's legal to share clips of movies if you comment on them like this, but I'd love a cease and desist, so e-mail me for my address if you're a fancy Hollywood lawyer and want to send me one. The ball's in your court!

WHAT HAS MADE ME HAPPY RECENTLY?

 I realise the last couple of posts have been kind of a downer, and so I wanted to share some things that picked me up during my long absence. Truth be told, I was intending on writing this yesterday, but ended up in a dead sleep for virtually the whole day (they woke me up for meals, I would wake up when my bladder needed emptying, otherwise I slept from 11pm Tuesday to 4.30am Thursday with little else to show for it. My sleep schedule here is erratic; sometimes I stay up all night with a catnap in the afternoon the following day; after too many of those the Sandman takes me off for an extended stay. Luckily, today happens to be Thanksgiving, so that was kind of fortuitous! Yay!

The main thing that motivated me and was the inspiration for picking this blog up again was a self-help book, that had a ton of good common sense advice with examples rooted in world history. It's called the Bible, motherfuckers, and you'll wish you'd read it too when Satan is jizzing hornets up your stretched out asshole with his veiny, three-headed cock.

WARNING: May cause dilation of the pupils, discoloration of the cheeks, mental illness including strong belief in fictional beings and irrational distrust of scientific fact.

Nah, not really! Can you imagine?! I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't really read much more than the regular blogs. And some very text heavy games, if that counts. Because I'm wearing a mask most of the time and lying pretty flat, it's hard to read a regular book or comic. Gaming is better if I've been repositioned on my bed correctly, but the warm embrace of television is there on tap twenty-four hours a day. Maybe that would be a good place to start off my recent recommendations with.

TV Shows

Getaway Driver: This eight part gameshow, hosted by Michelle Rodriguez and streaming on Discovery+, is such simple genius I imagine it was conceived of years ago and technology has only just made it possible, with drones and go-pro cameras making it possible to follow high speed action for little cost. The premise is simple: three drivers take their own cars to a 40 acre compound, and Michelle Rodriguez gives them each $2,000. If they can make it to one of two unmarked exits before being stopped by two expert drivers then they get to keep the cash. If their hot rod gets fucked, well, better luck next time! The two that do best then do it all again at night, with some roads closed off, three experts, and one exit. The fastest to make it out gets $5,000 and the chance to race again the next night, if they want to. It's high risk, low reward, but the racers are generally likeable characters in it for the bragging rights as much as the cheddar. If you don't give a fuck about swearing then I'd have thought it would be great family viewing over the holidays; who doesn't like car chases?

3%: I should probably preface this by saying I like pretty much any scripted TV show or film where players are trying to figure out how to beat a game! And by extension but with varied results how to break out of prison, pull off a con or a heist, cheat on a test etc. I really liked the Sony Escape Room movies the first time I saw them, and enjoy the Saw franchise way more than I should (and the spin-off, Spiral, with Chris Rock and Samuel L Jackson was a delight - a Saw movie with great actors effortlessly giving great over-the-top performances? Yes please!). I started watching Squid Game the day it came out,enjoyed it, but couldn't believe how it caught on!

In one of several "Shows to watch if you liked Squid Game" articles I read about a Brazillian show called 3% that fits that genre perfectly. Fortunately it's on Netflix. A story told over four seasons, it was set in a future where a city was on the verge of collapse as there wasn't enough resources to go around. A Process was established that anyone who turns 20 can apply for, and only the top 3% pass. These Elite people travel by submarine to The Offshore, which is a futuristic sci-fi paradise, with cures to disease, no money, advanced tech, plenty of food etc. The rest go back to The Inland, which is basically a slum. We start by following Process 105 in the first season, but just about every episode has a different game or challenge, whether it's part of the Process or an Inland gang initiation or whatever. Also, big ethical questions are raised, which are also my jam.

GAMBLING WITH MY HEALTH... AND HITTING THE JACKPOT!

 I wrote yesterday that in the downtime since my last post in August "I've basically been doing worse, physically and mentally." The word "basically" really does soften the blow there, doesn't it? Jesus Christ, what an understatement!

Since I last checked in to tell you about my health I've suffered three episodes of Hamster Heart (SVT), mini pulmonary embolisms, right side heart failure, sub-COPS level SAT readings, and weeping leg ulcers. I only found out about this today, other than the bouts of Hamster Heart, which are pretty hard to miss, the home had documented that they'd recognised the symptoms but not told me! Not that I could have done anything about it. Apparently I also go cyanose when I roll on to my side. I've graduated from a CPAP to a BIPAP (if you're reading this Vanessa, you called it!) and am also on 2 litres of oxygen for 16 hours a day.

To borrow another famous understatement: I told you I was ill.

Bested only by Leslie Nielsen's "Let 'er rip.

 A few weeks ago I was visited by the mental health team. As I wrote back in March, I had a meeting with them in February and they came up with a bunch of ideas of how to help me in the room, but then sent me a letter saying: "As your current issues with your mental health are based very much on your situation, we are unable to provide any support until you have made steps towards changing your situation. We feel that at this time your needs are most appropriately met by weight management services and we would encourage you to work with them towards discharge from [your care home] and getting back into your own property. At this point if you are still struggling with your mental health, you can be re-referred back into mental health services."

As I wrote in March, this was a soul-crushing denial of help, a cruel Catch-22. It was like a lifeguard refusing to help a drowning man until he demonstrated strong swimming skills. One of the women I saw in February came back again last month, and told me in the room that I seemed a lot more depressed. She wasn't wrong.

Not only had the mental health team passed the buck, but weight management services have not met me either. Every specialist or GP I've met here has come to the home unannounced; they know I'm not going anywhere and that they will need to liaise with staff before meeting me anyway, so I'm always the last to know. Well, round about September my social worker told me that they'd written letters to me but I'd never got back to them. I explained I'd never received them and gave her permission to give them my e-mail so they could get in touch directly. A month later she asked why I hadn't written them back, and I told her I hadn't had any e-mails either, (not even in my spam!). I asked her to tell them to CC her so I would definitely get them, and that was the last I heard of it.

AMERICA IS A CUM-STAINED HOTEL ROOM...

 ...and Corona is a black light. Not my words, but a tweet from Megan Abram from March 10th, 2020 (well, almost, I inverted it). That beautifully vivid metaphor stuck with me for the next year, as the cracks in society began to appear, and we realised how undervalued and underrepresented certain members of our society are. The idealist in me was hoping that shelf stackers, bus drivers, cashiers, and trash men would be recognised as indispensable members of our community, and be treated as such. I thought at the very least they would make things better for nurses and carers, as the whole country banded together once a week to applaud for them. It wasn't to be the case. The world's billionaires got richer whilst the rest of us thought over the thin end of the wedge.

Readers from outside the UK may not be familiar with Captain Tom Moore, the retired army officer who, in April 2020, decided to walk a hundred lengths of his garden as he approached his hundredth birthday, hoping to raise £1,000 for NHS Charities Together. He raised nearly £33 million (£39m after rebates), and became the Guinness World Record Holder for greatest amount raised for an individual charity walk. He received 1.5 million donations, 150,000 birthday cards, and a knighthood. He contributed to a number one charity single, received the Sports Personality of the Year award, and the Pride of Britain award. A film about him is being produced, and he has been commemorated in postmarks, New Year's fireworks, and flyovers, and has had his name given to everything from trains and boats to police dogs and horses. My grandad wrote to Piers Morgan suggesting the army stop using the word "captain" and use the word "captom" instead.

A motion to increase nurse's salaries was voted down in the Houses of Parliament shortly after, whilst COVID-19 was hitting us hardest. Maybe if we'd shouted for pay rises rather than clapping, maybe if instead of sending birthday cards people had sent letters to their MPs, maybe if we questioned why it took a pensioner exhausting himself for money to be allocated to support key workers, we could have made a real difference.

Captain Sir Tom Moore died a hero shortly before his 101st birthday, having caught the coronavirus while being treated for pneumonia, and Piers Morgan never wrote back to my grandfather.

 "Tomorrow Will Be A Good Day." Sorry Tom, but that's not always true.

Things weren't much better in hospitals across the pond that April. Hospital workers were making surgical gowns out of garbage bags and posting photos of how their faces were bruised from wearing the same pair of protective goggles all day. Refrigerated trucks were being used to store dead bodies. Things were looking grim.

I was still using Twitter at the time, and on April 11th posted a tweet complimenting a host of a podcast I listen to, saying that he does a great job of looking out for the fans and making sure they always get good value for money when they put out merch, paid bonus episodes, and the like. Another listener responded thus:

 "He has given us more than a bang for our buck. I said before he gave us a nuclear missile for our buck. I make Hand Grenades for a living so I am an expert in BANG"

I tentatively replied, fearing I knew the answer: "Have to ask... Are you an essential worker?" He wrote me back:

"Yes. I make products that support Law Enforcement. I have been working a lot of OT lately"

THE BALLAD OF STINKY LIPS - PART 1

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!

Dark!

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 came 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 in 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.

Earl.

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 she 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!

✌   🎉 🎁

STRICT JULIE WELCHES!

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...).

Ooooooooohhhhh.

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,

Tanks.

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!

Peace!

✌

DON'T MAKE ME TALK TO YOUR MANAGER!

 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,

✌