The Spanking Writers

When I was 10 years old I fell in love with “The Three Musketeers” by Dumas-père. I knew the book by heart – quite literally; I could begin quoting it from any spot, and go on for pages. Even now I could tell you the names of all main actors in every musketeer movie I’ve seen.

There were certain bits of the book that never made it into any screen version. Some of these bits I happened to re-read even more often than usual. When I went to find them for this blog, I found that I could still remember them in Russian pretty much verbatim.

These extracts concern the relationships between the musketeers and their servants.

[Athos] had, then, in order not to disturb his habits, accustomed Grimaud to obey him upon a simple gesture or upon a simple movement of his lips. He never spoke to him, except under the most extraordinary occasions.

Sometimes, Grimaud, who feared his master as he did fire, while entertaining a strong attachment to his person and a great veneration for his talents, believed he perfectly understood what he wanted, flew to execute the order received, and did precisely the contrary. Athos then shrugged his shoulders, and, without putting himself in a passion, thrashed Grimaud. On these days he spoke a little.

I believe, the girls who fancied Athos when I was a kid are now Snape fans.

But wait, this is not all. D’Artagnan also had a servant:

Planchet, d’Artagnan’s valet [when he hadn't been paid for a while] commenced complaints which Athos thought nauseous, Porthos indecent, and Aramis ridiculous. Athos counseled d’Artagnan to dismiss the fellow; Porthos was of opinion that he should give him a good thrashing first; and Aramis contended that a master should never attend to anything but the civilities paid to him.

“This is serious,” [said] the three friends; “it is a family affair. It is with valets as with wives, they must be placed at once upon the footing in which you wish them to remain. Reflect upon it.”

D’Artagnan did reflect, and resolved to thrash Planchet provisionally; which he did with the conscientiousness that d’Artagnan carried into everything. After having well beaten him, he forbade him to leave his service without his permission. [...]

This manner of acting roused much respect for d’Artagnan’s policy among the Musketeers. Planchet was equally seized with admiration, and said no more about going away.

I’m not saying Dumas-père was kinky, or anything, but he certainly provided me with a great deal of spanking porn when I didn’t have any other source of it.

A surprising entry in a restaurant guide, which recommended a London eatery intriguingly called “S&M Cafe”.

Shame it merely serves “Sausages & Mash”. One must wonder whether the owners have certain interests, though… If they’re reading this, how about a free lunch?!

Of course, if you’re after the real thing in terms of friendly, safe, welcoming, reputable pervy places to eat in London, the only place to go is the absolutely fabulous Coffee, Cake and Kink near Covent Garden. All three elements of the title are catered for admirably. (Haron and I have one of their fabulous black and white photos – of a chained, naked girl – framed on our bedroom wall).

Any wealthy business angels out there? How about a chain of kinky cafes worldwide: a Spanko Starbucks, if you like? (Send me the money: I’ll set them up for you for a very reasonable percentage. I make a mean cappuccino, bake pretty well, and the kink can be taken for granted).

A nice, but painful episode from Angus McVicar’s memoir “Heather in My Ears (More Confessions of a Minister’s Son)” (in addition to the one I posted before).

On page 19, Angus, his brother Archie and another few lads have cornered a boy from their village. This boy Alec has a weak heart and isn’t allowed to do all the masculine stuff. So all the other lads try him for cowardice in a makeshift sheriff’s court, and sentence him to a hanging. But fate interferes:

A voice, hard with authority, came from the coal-shed below.

“What are you boys doing stuck up there on a lovely afternoon like this?”

When no satisfactory answer was forthcoming, my father ordered us to come down.

To his credit, Alec remained silent. But Archie, the honest one, soon blurted out the truth. I felt like a hick sheriff in the presence of an enraged Lord Chancellor.

…Archie and I, having been told how fortunate we were not to be in jail for murder, were led to the piano-stool in the drawing-room. Obedient to a sharp order, we bent across it. Then the door was closed to the muffled sounds of distress and a hair-brush was employed with explosive violence.

“What if Alec dies from shock?” said my father, at the end.

We shivered. We felt like dying ourselves.

“From now on you will be kind to him. In this world it is the duty of the strong to protect the weak. Tonight you will pray for him.”

We prayed for him all right, with a fervour inspired not only by the pain in our bottoms but also by the sudden realisation of our guilt.

…But one thing niggled in my mind. In Archie’s, too, I think. My father was strong and we, in comparison, were weak. Why did he never think of protecting us?

It was a long time before we understood that the experience of hard discipline can be the best protection of all from “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”.

Thought I’d share the link to a really excellent long story by Shon Richards, that readers of this blog might enjoy.

The protagonist is starting work in a library. The opening exchange with her new employer sent shivers down my spine:

“Are you Ms. Currie?” he asked.

“Yes Sir. Please call me Claire.”

He frowned. “Ms. Currie, you shall address me as Mr. Dillon. I shall address you as Ms. Currie. A certain level of professionalism is essential in a good working relationship. Wouldn’t you agree?”

How hot is that?!

I’m not sure what Dr. Seuss was thinking when he drew this…

In fact, I’m not sure I want to know what he was thinking.

P.S. I will thank my husband not to make the obvious pun!

An entertaining discovery in the Legislative Council of Western Australia’s proceedings for 13 August 2003.

Under the heading “CONVICTED OFFENDERS, CORPORAL PUNISHMENT”, the Honourable Frank Hough proposed: “That the Government take such action to empower the courts with the discretion to impose corporal punishment on convicted offenders in certain circumstances.”

Mr. Hough was a spokesman for Agriculture; presumably he was supporting the local birch and rattan farmers. The gentleman holds some robust views, to put it mildly: “People say that corporal punishment is barbaric. That is rubbish. Anyone who says that corporal punishment is barbaric is a pansy.”

“We must start being tough. We cannot go on with this airy-fairy punishment we hand out. The offenders do not even get a tap on the bottom. They get work orders, for which they do not even turn up half the time, or small fines. The deterrent for the little boy or girl who touches the hot stove is the memory that it hurt. I am suggesting that if the big man and the big girl do something to us, and they get the cane or the birch, they remember it…. The birch is both painful and humiliating.”

“The effect of applying the birch to offenders is to modify behaviour in two ways: to deter some people from offending and others from reoffending. Birching offenders may be seen as retributive because, first, offenders have consciously broken the law and deserve the punishment; and, secondly, the punishment should be at least equal to the amount of harm done to the victim. I do not see a problem with giving perpetrators the same amount of pain as their victims received.”

He then went on to list a long line of birchable offences. ‘Mistreatment of animals’ was included. Note to self: must stroke all stray dogs nicely if I’m ever in the area.
 
An interesting discourse on other countries followed, with a detailed discussion of the Singaporean approach. “Other countries that have considered, used in the past, or presently use judicial corporal punishment include Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Brunei, Egypt, Iran, Libya, Malaysia, Nigeria, Pakistan, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Somalia, Sudan, Uganda, the United Arab Emirates, Yemen, Zambia and Zimbabwe…. In Turkey, corporal punishment is used in schools and other institutions. Furthermore, paddling is an accepted form of corporal punishment in schools in Lebanon.” (Plenty of potential for further kinky research from that little list, methinks).

His views were supported by Hon John Fischer:

“The principle of reintroducing the birch should be taken one step further by ensuring that parents of juveniles attended the flogging. I believe that this would bring home to those parents the message that they are responsible for their children. The embarrassment caused would be an effective deterrent for both parties from future appearances.”

Why not go the whole hog and whip the parents too, while you’re about it, I wondered?

Wow. Amazing to think that politicians would propose this sort of motion as recently as 2003. Quite remarkable.

Last night on the chat-show The Kumars at No. 42 they had an interview with Gordon Ramsay, the incredibly bad-mouthed celebrity chef. Meera Syal (as always, suitably nutty in her role as Granny Kumar) told him:

You’re a grown man, but you’re also like a naughty little boy. I’d love to put you over my knee… but it needs replacing.

Now, there’s a problem that’s easy to solve. Why not tawse him instead?

We visited wonderful New Lanark recently, a World Heritage site near Glasgow. At the start of the nineteenth century, enlightened mill owner Robert Owen’s pioneering initiatives here included the world’s first nursery school, and the first shop run on co-operative principles.

Haron and I could hardly keep up with the number of kinky ideas sparked by the fabulous restored mill buildings. Our fantasies were totally inauthentic – Owen opposed corporal punishment, and was a hugely beneficial employer. That didn’t stop us wondering what might have been.

We visited Owen’s house, where he lived with his wife Caroline and her three younger sisters, who joined them after their father’s death. As we stood in his study, in front of the mill owner’s imposing desk, we imagined the three trembling newcomers being called in to see him, glancing nervously at the cane on his wall:

“I know from Caroline that your father was a good man, and a strict one at that. Now that you are in my care, I want you to understand that I will be taking on all of his responsibilities. New Lanark is built on the principles of hard work and honesty, and the behaviour of my own family must be exemplary. I do not wish to see any of you in here again, for you will only visit me in my study if your behaviour has fallen short of those high standards to which we must adhere. And should you give me occasion, then I shall have no hesitation in whipping you, and whipping you hard. Do I make myself clear?”

Thence to an audio-visual display, told through the eyes of a young mill worker. We imagined a bright girl being told by her father that it was time to leave school and start earning money. She argued, not wanting to leave the comfort and safety of the classroom, and was duly bent over and flogged with his doubled-up belt.

Another of our make-believe girls reported to the mill manager for her first day at work – only to be told that her school records showed her to be ill-behaved, and that she could not start until the schoolmaster reported an improvement. Her father, too, thrashed her severely.

Hygiene was deemed hugely important at New Lanark. We imagined a girl arriving for the morning shift, dischevelled. Being taken to the supervisor’s quarters. Being made to strip; being washed; being whipped, being sent on her way back to the mill.

And this was New Lanark. What of Old Lanark, presumably down the road, where the owners were less enlightened: the dark, satanic type of mill that inspired Owen to his good works?

Do visit, if you are ever anywhere near. On a vanilla level, it’s a truly moving and inspiring experience. For sparking kinky dreams, there are few places to rival it. Haron would have been spanked vigorously that evening, were it not for the fact that we stayed in Gretna Green, and other fantasies inevitably took over.

That picture up there is a Holbein. More specifically, it’s Holbein’s illustration to “In Praise of Folly” by Erasmus of Rotterdam. (Don’t bother to look up the text, unless you’re philosophically inclined: this spanking illustration is entirely without context.)

Wow: “The King of England…has abdicated in favour of his brother, now known as Andy One. Sickened by years of corrupt and incompetent Presidents, the United States has petitioned Andy One to resume sovereignty over America. In England, the government of Christian Coalition Socialists has been ousted in a coup d’etat. The survivors have gone underground, led by High John the Conqueror. Chief of the Flagellants, a squad of paramilitary sadomasochists.”

With a back-cover blurb like that, I just had to buy Jim Younger’s newly-published first novel, High John the Conqueror. It’s not unduly kinky  (and I can’t decide whether it’s a brilliantly original book that will win every literary award going – or simply very, very, very weird). But there were at least a couple of moments that made me wonder whether the author was ‘one of us’….

There’s the description, for example, of the actors playing the ‘Flagellant Faction’ in a play:

“Their scourges weren’t the real thing but strands of twine threaded through corks. Playfully they tossed each other with light strokes. Most of the genuine flails were now in the hands of collectors of Commune memorabilia. Last I heard they were fetching serious money.”

(Anyone checked the price of tawses on eBay lately?!).

And then…

“Your father was incandescent with anger. He took the cat-’o-ninety to Jude and flogged her mercilessly – with her consent, she says, although I would call it uninformed consent…”

…presumably as opposed to informedconsent (.co.uk, the excellent  fetish site). Fascinating book all round, really  :-)