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,

✌

OH, GOOD, MY SAFEGUARDING OFFICER IS A JOKE!

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!

✌

A CARE HOME THAT CARES?

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!

BETTER THAN CUMMING

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!