The Spanking Writers

Apparently, a particular internet provider’s help forum has become flooded with spam, to the point where you can -

click on an innocent link to learn how to fix your [brand name] phone and you’re more likely to come across “Mel Gibson spanking” or “Katie Holmes touching her boobs”.

Mel Gibson spanking? Eww! Ewwwwww! That’s so wrong!

Makes you realise why spam is bad, doesn’t it? It puts images in your mind that you just can’t unimagine. *shudders*

A big vote of thanks to Atlanta radio station DaveFM for the free paddles they were handing out to the crowds at the marvellous Virginia-Highland Summerfest last Saturday.

I’m sure they’d claim that the implements were intended to be used as fans to cool passers-by in the hot Atlanta weather, but we knew better… and a very effective device for a warm-up spanking they proved to be, too.

My friend’s suggestion that the ‘FM’ designation meant that she should be the one using the new paddle on me was emphatically rejected.

A couple of days ago Kris Worsci posted that Rhabdophobia was -

fear of being severely punished or beaten by a rod, or of being severely criticized. This phobia also refers to a fear of magic, or more specifically the fear of the magic wand.

Rhabdophilia is, then, the love of being beaten by a rod, as well as the love of magic.

I knew it! I knew that my obsession with Harry Potter (and magicians in general) was just another side of my spanking kink!

I’m feeling rather smug, having contrived to sneak in a spanking reference to a conference presentation for work last week.

I wonder how many of the 400+ people who heard me encourage them to take care of their teams but not to “spare the rod” when needed were intrigued by the reference? I’ve been browsing other spanking blogs, looking for entries under ‘startles’, but haven’t found any references – yet! I’m rather hoping that a similarly-dropped hint in next year’s conference presentation might lead to any other perverts in the room introducing themselves to me!

Whilst driving around looking for a couple of props prior to the presentation, I noticed a large sign: “Educational Supplies”. This being a Southern state, I pictured an entire aisle full of paddles of different sizes and thickness. “Something on the larger, heavier side, sir? Would that be with holes or without?” Sadly I had colleagues with me, so was unable to stop to explore.

You may be slightly weary of us going on and on and on about the kinky content of Doctor Who. However, when I’m not working, that’s the sort of thing I read online these days, and I can’t help running into all sorts of spanking references.*

From an interview with John Barrowman (SPOILERS for the end of Series 3 of Doctor Who and Series 2 of Torchwood):

Q.: [Discussing the differences in acting opposite Christopher Eccleston and David Tennant]

You got to kiss [Eccleston], though. Do you get to kiss David in the new series?

A.: Well, if I told you that I would be breaking protocol wouldn’t I? Russell would probably slap my wrist – or my ass!

Oh, yes, please! I’ll have the spoiler, and then I’ll have the footage of the spanking the beautiful, beautiful John Barrowman gets from his producer. Who is not as beautiful, but looks like he would give a good spanking.

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* I’ll try to blog about something less geeky next time, because, really.

I’m in the middle of a few days post-conference break in Atlanta. What a lovely city: I’ve been extremely pleasantly surprised. A kinky friend joined me here for the weekend.

Our hotel room is up on the 63rd floor, with panoramic floor to ceiling windows. One does have to wield the cane with slightly more purpose to make a girl concentrate and avoid her being able to distract herself with the views below. I do hope that passengers in passing planes are not in the habit of surveying the city with binoculars…

PS I must apologise to the cleaning staff for the pair of handprints left on your nice, clean windows. You can rest assured that the culprit was soundly thrashed.

It’s a fact little explored in writing, but Abel and I can spend weeks without playing. My spanking mojo comes and goes, as does my ability to withstand pain.

Sometimes I just want to be cuddled and told I’m a good girl, you know?* Sometimes the vanilla feeling lasts for quite a while. It can get quite annoying.
How unfair is it that right now, while Abel is away, I just can’t stop thinking about spanking, and needing somebody to spank me right this minute?

Thank heaven for accommodating friends, who’ll play with me if I ask them to.
Mostly I just hope that this extraordinary spanking thirst doesn’t go away before Abel comes back. Seriously, that would suck.
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* Even when I’m not a good girl.

An interesting work-related conversation with a friend in a pub the other night. We were talking about organising various events; I raised the topic of the impact of recent regulations.

Only I didn’t call the new law by its correct title – ‘The Disability Discrimination Act’.

Oh no.

Completely unintentionally, I commented on ‘The Disciplinary Discrimination Act’.

Fortunately, said friend is ‘one of us’, although the folks on the next table looked a little surprised.

A month ago Abel, while watching Grand National, backed the winning horse – just because its name was Silver Birch. He immediately decided that the winnings gained thanks to being kinky have to be disposed of in a kinky fashion, and invested the whole lot into new implements.

He didn’t tell me what he was buying. He just smirked. And snorted. And cackled. And told me to wait and see.
Well, as my luck would have it, the implements have arrived now that he’s away for a couple of weeks, so now I have to wait even longer.
Good job the mysterious elongated package has a customs form stuck on it. This should tell me exactly what it is. It says… Hang on, it says…
“Six wooden sculptures.”

Right. That was helpful…

Ever been to Hampton Court Palace? It’s one of my favourite places, a palpable sense of history surrounding one’s every step. I was there recently, and hope the young lady in authentic Tudor dress realised quite how much inspiration she provided.

The attendant in Henry VIII’s great hall explained how the décor was designed to intimidate visitors and inspire fear and loyalty. Each tapestry, it seems, is made with so much gold and silver that it weighs a ton; each cost the equivalent of a warship.

In the kitchens, there’s a wonderful model of the palace as a royal banquet takes place. My mind wandered, as it’s oft to do. The king was presiding over the feast; he was in a less than festive mood, having been kept waiting as the more tardy guests arrived. Indeed, there were still two seats empty as the meal began.

Two immaculately-dressed young women – beautiful, head-turning – arrived in the hall, curtsying and heading for their seats. “Come forward,” His Majesty bellowed. “What do you mean by turning up late and keeping me waiting?”

They apologised, profusely: they’d got lost in the gardens, they’d lost track of time, they were so sorry…

“And what do your excuses matter to me? I do not expect to be kept waiting. By any of my subjects.” The King turned to the girls’ father. “I hope that you will punish them for such insolence and disrespect, Baron?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“And I’m sure that you will wish to demonstrate your loyalty to your King, by dealing with the matter with the severity it deserves, Baron?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then I shall ask the courtiers to set up the flogging block in my private chambers,” glancing across at his own daughters, “where the princesses are punished if they misbehave. I shall come and watch after lunch, to show how seriously you treat such disrespectful behaviour to your monarch.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.”

“You are a good and noble man.” The King turned to the other diners, all listening intently. “A true test of a gentleman’s loyalty, passed with honour. Girls: sit down: you’ve kept us waiting quite long enough. Now, on with our feast….”