The Spanking Writers

Uniforms. Some work for me; some don’t. School, yes. Military, quite often. Shop assistant, sometimes (I nearly fainted at the sight of the staff in the deli section of the main department store in Hiroshima, when I was visiting Japan last year. Swooned, perhaps, rather than fainted). Airline, rarely. Nurses, certainly not.

Hotel maids: oh yes! I stay in the hotel I used this past weekend fairly regularly, and they’ve been going through a period of improvements: the elevators, the restaurant, a new Club Lounge, better bathrobes in the rooms. Latest on the list for upgrade: the maids.

Gone are the old, surly, grumpy matrons. In their place – a sign of the political times, perhaps – a cadre of the cutest Polish lasses one could ever dream of meeting. Or spanking. Not that I would possibly ever think about spanking them, as they smile cheerfully to me in the corridor. Honestly. Nor about what an old-fashioned hotel manager might do to them if their work fell short in some inspection. That would be most inappropriate.

It reminds me of a post I once read about a spanko who used to leave a copy of Janus or some such spanking magazine on the desk every time he stayed in a hotel. His hope: that the room would be cleaned by someone who might be interested. I’ve never been so bold – and would never dare say anything to the cute maids here either. Which is a shame, as I’m sure there must be at least one of their number who shares our kink: it’s just the thought of harassing the more innocent ones that puts me off!