The Spanking Writers

The Guardian wrote yesterday about an Australian psychologist who is on trial for indecent assault. Oh, my, what has he done? Well, he was treating this girl, and -

…he had resorted to drastic treatment because gentle methods were not working.

He said he thought role-playing a dominant/submissive relationship would help build a more trusting relationship so he made her wear a dog collar and call him master, and he cracked a whip in treatment sessions.

I understand, there’s some disagreement on the facts, such as, whether the whip was cracking at her bottom, or just randomly flying around the room.

Just a few days ago Natty told someone in the Punishment Book comments that spanking isn’t therapy, and if they needed counselling, a professional would be better suited to do that – but if this is the sort of thing you can expect to experience in the shrink’s office… I dunno. Maybe heading down to the nearest BDSM gathering would be as much help. At least, there you don’t have to pay by the hour.
The best part of the article: the guy is pleading not guilty.

He said such treatment was allowed by the country’s largest professional association for psychologists, the Australian Psychological Society. “It is right within the ethical guidelines.”

That may well be. But if there’s a chance a girl will run from the shrink’s couch straight to the police station, maybe she’s not a suitable candidate for this sort of treatment.

I can’t imagine he wrestled her into the collar, so the must have been some form of consent, but shouldn’t a psychologist be able to tell the difference between the “I’m doing this because I think it’s a good idea” consent, and “I’ll go along with it until I can get away from here, OMG, help!” consent.

They have interesting guidelines for shrinks in Oz, don’t they?

Edith Durham was a pioneering travel writer, and her account of her journey through High Albania – documented in 1909 – is quite fascinating. All those descriptions of villages, interesting sites, the cuisine, churches, discussions with the locals, local culture… Actually, I skipped straight to chapter seven.

Blood feuds, they said, were almost all the fault of women. Women were very wicked (here the Padre agreed).

Sometimes they were very disobedient, and you had to beat them a great deal. A man must order his wife three times before he may beat her, and then if, for example, she still refuses to go and fetch water, what can he do but beat her? I suggested that, perhaps, she was tired and the water-barrel was heavy. “Oh no,” was the reply, “they are quite used to it.” Also, if a man tells his wife not to answer him, and she does, he must beat her, or she would go on talking. Of course, only a woman’s father or husband may beat her.

They told her a cautionary tale, that tops might want to note should they ever need an excuse to discipline their partners:

Near Ipek there has been a feud for thirty years about a woman who refused to marry the man to whom her parents had betrothed her. Peace was only made two years ago, and blood-gelt paid after twenty-two men had been shot. All because she was disobedient. That is why women should be beaten.

Yikes…!

To Tate Modern, the art gallery on the south bank of the Thames built within the former Bankside power station. The cavernous internal space has been filled with a collection of near-vertical slides, catapulting visitors – who should presumably be concentrating on the Picassos – from the upper floors to ground-level at great speed.

I imagined a group of girls out for the day in London, queuing for their turns – in the highest of spirits, excepting one off their number, for whom the realisation had dawned that the previous evening’s thrashing would make the impending trip down an excruciating experience.

And then I became more practical in my pervy thinking. The Tate issues timed tickets for the steepest descent. There’s a budget hotel within a few minutes’ walk. Booking both in advance, and timing the exercise carefully, one could therefore despatch a freshly-striped behind down a slide within minutes of the girl’s bare-bottomed caning. Best of all, the look on her face would be plainly visible for all to see via the webcams at the foot of the slides…

The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them.

This Week’s Picks
Arrogant Penis (http://www.sex-kitten.net)
“When I start to relax, adrift in the warm comfy seas of a powerful orgasm, my body slackening (and lord knows how my face looks), aware of nothing but how fabulous this is and ready to ride the waves into slumber, he doesn’t stop.”

Bewitch Me! (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)
“I’m big enough to pin you down while I move my hands up and down the sides of your body, feeling its contours beneath the black fabrics you so favor.”

Unicorn Sighting, Part II (http://loladavid.wordpress.com)
“There was one man in the very front of the theatre who didn’t give a damn who heard him moan as he came.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
The High Definition Porn Problem (http://sugarbank.com)

Editor’s Choice
The Two-Client Day (http://thismuse.blogspot.com)

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

Twelve of the very best. Let’s pick a couple out:

The furthest to the left. That’s taped up. It broke. When I was using it as a fly swat. Seemed a shame to throw it away, though.

Counting from the left: number four (the darkish one, before the lighter canes). My favourite, and several girls’ least favourite. Quite heavy, but still incredibly whippy. However, there’s a certain extra frisson for Haron, dressed in school uniform for a scene, knowing that this one was formerly the property of a school.

The next in (fifth from the left). A junior cane – light, whippy, and remarkably effective. One of the first canes I owned. *Very* nice!

The right-hand cane – the straight one. I love this – it’s just the right length, it’s perfectly balanced, it’s heavy enough to make a girl howl. Lovely.

Across the top of the photo. A Singapore cane. No, this doesn’t get used very often, or very hard. But it’s interesting, to say the least.

Any votes on which I should use the next time I cane Haron? (No, *not* the Singapore one!).

It’s a common feature with the spanko people I know, that as soon as we get our hands on a dictionary, or a translating tool, or any container of knowledge, we look up spanking in it straight away. I do it without thinking, sometimes even before I look for whatever it was I picked up the dictionary to look for in the first place.

Unsurprisingly, when Abel showed me Google Translating Tool, I immediately made it talk to me about spanking.

What I did was type in a phrase, translate it from English into French, from French into German, and from German back into English. What I got was the following:

If I brought house a bad school report, my uncle made the being located in the corner for me and thinks of my behavior. After the fact that he mean took skirt put up, downward my knee trousers, and fessée hard over its knee gave me. My reason was real endolori for the remainder of the daily.

The original phrase? Why, nothing too sophisticated:

When I brought home a bad school report, my Uncle made me stand in the corner and think about my behaviour. After that he raised my skirt, took down my panties, and gave me a hard spanking over his knee. My bottom was really sore for the rest of the day.

Alright, I thought, maybe a whole paragraph is too much to ask; let me try something simple and to the point. Through the same simple process (English => French => German => English) I got this:

Do not ask very honoured gentleman the stick; I promise, I it yet will not make!

Five points to Gryffindor to the first person who figures out what this said before little translation elves had their ways with my prose!

It’s “dress down day” today in the office I’m working in at the moment. Suits shed; the catwalk begins.

As a service to our readers, I’ve been studying the latest fashions all morning. Carefully. I’m now an expert on the especially tight jeans that seem to be in vogue for the young ladies of the office. I’m copyrighting a term for the style: “Paddleable Chic”.

Needless to say, I’d like to extend the dress-down concept to encompass an occasional “undress, young lady” day. Sadly I’m not confident of support for the proposition from Human Resources.

The Times greately amused us with this picture, which illustrated an article about a tiny flat in London sold for a crazy ammount of money.*

Don’t worry, though: nice people in The Times don’t approve of the swinging of real actual cats:

* The piece was headed “No room to swing a cat (or a cue) in the 12ftx6ft flat for sale at 170,000 pounds”. The cue reference is to the fact that the whole place is as big as a billiards table. I assume, there’s no space to swing a cane, either. That just won’t do.

I’ve been sorting out our collection of implements, which had started spilling out alarmingly across the floor on my study at home. So off-putting to be disciplining a girl and to say “just pick a cane up from the pile on the floor”, rather than being able to turn to a carefully-sorted collection…

So, sort it I did. And whilst sorting it, I decided to photograph it. I thought some of you might be interested: a few out of sympathy for Haron’s backside, and rather more with rather meaner motives.

I’ll post the photos over the next few weeks:

• 12 canes
• 11 tawses or straps
• 12 whips and belts (plus one other item that crept in for wont of a better home)
• 8 paddles
• 10 crops
• 14 miscellaneous household items purchased specifically for illicit purposes

That makes 67 implements. And that excludes anything we own that wasn’t purchased explicitly as a spanking toy but that gets abused (such as hairbrushes), or anything that we’ve made (such as locally-cut birches), or (of course) hands.

Now, I wouldn’t want any of the implements to feel neglected. Let’s say they should each be used at least thrice a year. That works out at about four punishments for Haron per week.

Seems reasonable to me.

Anyway, more to follow in due course! Who knows, I might even let readers vote as to which implement they’d like me to use from each set, and get Haron to write about the results…

I dreamt last night about a girls’ reformatory, based in an old Georgian building. Six of the girls had been caught committing some heinous offence and were gathered together.

Six officers appeared. Three took the first girl, three the second, and the other girls were left locked in the room.

Each offender was taken to a separate punishment room. Three warders proved quite sufficient to subdue and strip her, tying her over the whipping frame – and leaving her to wait until they’d returned to take all of the others and tie them in turn in the other cells.

Each officer was then allocated a girl to punish. He returned to her cell, leaving the door open so that each girl might hear her neighbours’ cries. The sentence of a severe birching was announced. And administered. Hard. Very hard.

Afterwards, the officer untied the girl (no longer struggling) and returned her to the main room. The governor checked each offender, ensuring that she had been punished thoroughly. Each officer then selected a girl – not the one he’d just punished – and led her to her cell to be ‘comforted’