The Spanking Writers

So, Chancellor Gordon Brown has announced his spending and taxation plans in the coming year. As he gave his set-piece Budget speech in the House of Commons, I cast my mind back to tales of the famous budget of 1904.

The then-Chancellor Herbert Smithers arrived at the despatch box drunk, waving a bottle of single malt at hecklers on the opposition benches. Removing his clothes during the early stages of his speech, but protected by ancient conventions that forbid members of parliament to interupt the Budget, Smithers proceeded to berate his own Prime Minister, Alouisious Fotherington-Smythe, for ‘overseeing a collapse in moral standards that threatens the very future of our society’.

Most of his controverisal measures - such as the trebling of tax for men with beards - were repealed within minutes, as the government invoked ancient rights under the terms of the Treaty of Salisbury of 1763.

Yet his annoucement of substantial additional aid for the farmers of South-East Asia went through unchallenged, allowing the emerging rattan industry to expand significantly, and leading directly to the rapid growth of the cane as the preferred instrument of discipline in Engand’s public schools.

Indeed, to this day, misbehaving girls at one leading establishment find themselves on the receiving end of “six on the bare with a senior Smithers”, the great man’s name still intimatey associated with the products of the industry that he spawned.

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More of my snapshots of our toy collection. (Actually, we need a toy chest in which to store these). (Actually, we need a bigger house in which to store a toy chest!).

Fourth in from the left: my number one implement, an authentic John J. Dick “XH” tawse. Picked up in an antique shop in Scotland, for an outrageous amount of money, and worth every penny. I know a good few young ladies who would happily accidentally lose this one for me. Actually scary to think that this was used for real and on the hands, hard.

Third in from the right - the lightest-coloured one in the photo. A lovely implement made by The London Tanner. Ian is highly recommended - he makes lovely stuff, and is a pleasure to deal with. (He also made the right-hand strap, which is fantastic, albeit very heavy).
Top and bottom - both authentic school tawses purchased via eBay. Vicious little things, but somewhat antiquated, so make fewer outings these days than they would have done when they were keeping Scotland’s finest under control.

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The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.

This Week’s Picks
Roué (http://www.easilyaroused.co.uk)
“Her sighs of contentment build as my touch does its work.”

Wrong Number (http://radicalvixen.com/blog)
“They said clients were trying to call me and getting this restaurant instead.”

Ride to the Cabin (http://eroticawriter.blogspot.com)
“As he pulled into a dark lane that led into a grove of trees, I reached over to stroke him.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Loveland (http://sugarbank.com)

Editor’s Choice
Your hair (http://erotischism.blogspot.com)

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

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Trust the weekend papers to provide us with spanking-related material for days and days to come. On Saturday, for instance, were were informed by a review of African Queen: The Real Life of the Hottentot Venus that -

Britain was a nation obsessed by buttocks, bums, arses, posteriors, derrières, and every possible metaphor, joke, or pun that could be squeezed from this fundamental cultural obsession.

‘Fundamentally obsessed’ sounds so much more refined than ‘bottom fetishist’. I shall use it to refer to my spanker friends from now on.

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An Observer columnist reminisces:

“Many of those who taught me at school had returned to teaching after the war. They had the habit of command, a love of classics and a handy supply of canes in the cupboard.”

But how did the canes get there? I picture an entire procurement department in the Ministry of Education. There’d be the forecasters, making careful calculations of the number of rods required for the whole country, based on estimates of the number of punishments in the coming school year, and the durability of the typical cane.

The most senior buyers would take a more strategic view: calling in samples of new products. Having them tested. Checking the results.

The supply chain experts would co-ordinate the whole process: working with rattan growers, appointing master craftsmen to manufacture the canes, arranging for shipment to each school just in time for the new academic year.

Did the masters in each school then select their own canes, from a large stock in the staff common room? Did the eve of the new term see them taking practice swishes with the new stock, seeking out the ones that offered the perfect weight, balance and length? Did the more senior staff get first choice?

Perhaps the teachers called into the Headmaster’s secretary for supplies? (”I’ll take an extra senior cane, please, Miss Crowther. I think this year’s sixth-form will be an especially tricky bunch.”) Or was one of the prefects responsible for distributing fresh stocks to each cupboard, and replenishing supplies at regular intervals?

Maybe the staff procured their own? Picture the late summer call into their gentlemen’s outfitter: “A new mortar board and gown for the coming academic year, Dr. Jenkins? But of course. And anything from the rattan department while you’re here? Did last year’s selection perform as you woud have hoped?”

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Controversy rages in Westchester County, New York, about the antics of three girls who promised their Principal that they wouldn’t quote explicit lines from the play “Vagina Monologues” at the High School’s open mike night. He’d made the request because there’d be younger students in the audience.

Guess what? The young ladies concerned went right ahead and recited the offending lines, and were suspended for a day.

A freedom of speech issue, or a case of gross disobedience? The local school Superintendent believed the former, overturning the punishments after the case featured on NBC’s Today show. At least one blog favoured the latter option:

Those kids didn’t need their suspension overturned, what they needed was a paddle, or a bar of soap.

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A preview of the agony aunt column in the Times on Wednesday: big letters over the top of the front page:

“You did wrong. You know it. Now you’re being punished.”

Oh yes, give those correspondents a good scolding.

(The article itself is a normal relationship train wreck, but mmm, the quote…)

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I am becoming ever-more convinced that my interest in spanking is inherited from my father, who’s forever alluding subtly to my favourite topic.

Last time we stayed with my parents, we browsed the bookcase in the bedroom that we were using and discovered a battered copy of Juanita Carberry’s autobiography. For those of you not in the know, it describes her childhood in the “Happy Valley” area of Kenya, and is littered with descriptions of whippings from her father and her governess (his mistress). My father’s well-worn copy fell open conveniently at the appropriate pages, which made for some very nice bedtime reading, whispered into Haron’s ear.

The following evening, I happened to mention an autobiography I’d bought, by a poet I know him to like. In return, he generously offered to lend me John Mortimer’s biography: “It’s very good.” Any of you who’ve read the reviews of the author and barrister’s life story will know that it attracted a certain amount of prurient comment as a result of his predilection for spanking, and being spanked. One incident reported a visitor asking Mortimer’s young secretary why she seemed flushed, for her to respond, “Well, how would you feel if you had just been spanked?”

Interesting, too, that a google search on “mortimer spank” turns up a reference to the movie “Young Adam”. This apparently:

“contains an incendiary mix of sex and violence unprecedented in British cinema history. In one scene, (Ewan) McGregor beats co-star Emily Mortimer on the bottom and then has sex.… Mackenzie said McGregor did actually spank Mortimer, daughter of writer John Mortimer. They all went into the whole sexual side very much with their eyes open and as fine actors, and we’ve got some good stuff. They weren’t spanking very hard.”

Yet more proof of genetic influences over our kink interest?

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The well-spoken gentleman was having as little joy as I connecting to the internet on the train. We swapped technical suggestions: none worked.

He wandered through to the next carriage, returning a few moments later: “No luck,” he said. Then, with a broad grin, he continued: “There’s a chap further down browsing hard-core porn of the most obscene nature, but he swears it’s on his hard disk.”

I giggled; he returned to his seat; the train continued for another hour.

The gentleman passed me again, laden with luggage, as we approached his station. He glanced from afar at my laptop, watching me type. He shook his head in mock outrage. “Disgusting!” he joked.

Had he been able to see the screen, I wonder if he’d have blushed. There are those who would concur with his opinion, had they realised that two girls had already been flogged in the story I’d been writing, and that a third was about to hear the court’s sentence…

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I have suddenly become a fan of English playwright John Galsworthy.

Not of his whole oeuvre, you understand. Just of his play “A Family Man”, set in the fictional town of Breconridge, and starring Mr & Mrs Builder. Early in Act Two, they’re discussing their daughters:

BUILDER. When you think of how she’s been brought up. You would have thought that religion alone—

MRS BUILDER. The girls haven’t wanted to go to church for years. They’ve always said they didn’t see why they should go to keep up your position. I don’t know if you remember that you once caned them for running off on a Sunday morning.

BUILDER. Well?

MRS BUILDER. They’ve never had any religion since.

BUILDER. H’m!

Mmmm: “Corporal punishment causes atheism.” (Sounds like an essay topic: “Discuss”).

Perhaps I should write a prequel with the relevant scene: just the thing for a nice school play. Oh how the ‘method’ actresses would suffer for their art…

Interesingly, Galsworthy won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1932. Now, far be it from me to be immodest, but your hosts here think that we write far better spanking scenes than he did, on the evidence presented here. If anyone felt minded to nominate us, I think you have to send nominations to Sweden…

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