The Spanking Writers

A thought-provoking advertisement at Schiphol Airport, where we changed planes last week en route to our holiday…

You leave a fortune and an irresponsible daughter.

Let’s talk about your future.

So, I’ll pose a quiz question. Was this:

a) an advertisement for a bank, hoping to get its greedy paws on your money

or

b) an advertisement for a disciplinarian, hoping to get his greedy paws on your daughter?

Sadly, the correct answer was (a) – Dutch bank ING – but the latter option seems so much more appealing. And, after all, if you could instil some responsibility into your daughter, you might not need to employ a team of bankers to cream off their commissions from your hard-earned wealth.

(The option of hanging around for a while, so that you don’t have to ‘leave’ your fortune to anyone but can continue to enjoy it yourself, was presumably – and rather morbidly – not on the bankers’ agenda).

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The other week we ate in a cafe that had this grand gold-and-crimson décor: plenty of candles, mirrors all around.

The ceiling was also mirrored. I had the pleasure of observing the top of Abel’s head (not something I see often, due to a substantial difference in height), or, if I threw my head right back, I could see -

- hang on. I could see down my cleavage.

Nearly falling off the chair, I threw a furtive glance around. Nobody else was gazing at the skies. I subtly pulled the neck of my shirt up a bit, and checked the ceiling mirror again to check the effect.

The was when I noticed that a girl at the next table, who was currently leaning over to chat to her friend, was showing a great view down the back of her jeans. I could see a lick of colour of her thong, and pale, smooth skin of her cheeks all the way down to the crest of her bottom.

I’m sad to report that she showed no traces of having been spanked. Because if she had, the marks would have been plainly visible in the ceiling mirror.

Perhaps, that’s exactly why it had been installed. Perhaps, a regular customer had sponsored the lavish décor on two conditions: that the room had a mirrored ceiling, and that a convenient seat be reserved for him, for whenever he felt like checking the behaviour of the local girls who came for their coffee and cake.

Next time we go, I’m wearing a long, high-neck top.

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We don’t allow advertising here on The Spanking Writers, but we thought we’d make an exception today by promoting the wonderful Asli Crafts, at unit G.23 in Kuala Lumpur’s Central Market.

We discovered our new favourite store whilst coming downstairs from the school uniform shop (sadly, too complicated and scary to be a source of useful accessories). There in front of us was what looked like a standard touristy stall – but with a large bucket full of lengths of rattan, of varying thickness, in the doorway. Inside, moreover, were further such containers, in which the rods – a hundred or more - had been cut neatly, one end folded to make an elegant handle.

We worked our way through the selection, picking out the prime pieces, and took them across to the counter. The young lady totted up our purchase – 21 Malaysian Ringgit, or about £3 / $6, for four beautifully made canes. (That’s comparable value even to the implements I bought in Singapore’s hardware stores).

We’d noticed her looking strangely at us as we’d been browsing her stock, and she did look extremely surprised: “What are you going to use them for?”

I thought quickly, understanding that sometimes honesty isn’t always quite the best policy: “We have a shop at home, and the hooks on the end will be great for lifting down bags from the highest shelves.”

“Oh,” she replied, looking astonished. “Here they’re used to punish naughty pupils at school.” With a rueful look, she added: “Our schools are very strict.”

I thought I’d press home the advantage of my obvious innocence in all matters relating to corporal punishment. “Only at school, or do parents use them too?”

“Mainly at school.” She continued: “These days they only punish them when they are very, very bad. They used to punish you for anything, like making too much noise.”

With a friendly smile: “You must have been glad to leave school, then.”

“Very glad.”

We thanked her for her assistance – she’d wrapped the canes extremely neatly for us – and set off on our way, walking around the corner with entirely straight faces until we were out of eye- and ear-shot, and could collapse in a fit of laughter.

Combined with the serving spoon made from sea coconut wood (very, very dense) that we’d purchased earlier in the day, it seems to have been a most successful shopping trip all round. And I’m told by Haron that sleeping on one’s front isn’t that uncomfortable, really…

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The satirical magazine Private Eye usually reprints funny news stories from around the world, and we in turn couldn’t leave this one unnoticed.

Guards in a German prison were flummoxed by the disappearance of one Steffi Krause; she had long threatened to escape, but their jail was the most secure in Hanover. They thought.

At first we thought she must still be somewhere in the prison, and began searching for her. But she wasn’t here, and gradually we realised what must have happened.

A fellow inmate called Karin Schafer was due for release yesterday, and the suitcase she left with was unusually heavy - so heavy that a warden had to help her lift it onto the bus. Steffi Krause is quite small, and it’s obvious now that she must have been hiding inside the suitcase. Police are still looking for both teenagers.

After having a good laugh, we started wondering about the logistics of punishments the two girls would face when returned to prison. Obviously, there’s a thrashing in store for each of them. But would they be punished at the same time, or in sequence?

I think, they would have to be punished one after the other, because escaping from prison and smuggling somebody out of prison are different crimes.

But which crime is the more serious? Which girl would get a harder lashing with the thick prison strap? Or would they get the same number of strokes?
Ah, the dilemma.

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I start work early, upstairs in my office. It’s 9.30 a.m., one morning last week, and Haron’s woken, kissed me good morning, then gone downstairs. I arrive in the living room, to find her typing at her computer.

“And what sort of service is this, young lady?” I enquire, in my best fake upper-class-I-demand-to-be-obeyed accent. “You know full well that a girl is to serve breakfast before 9 each morning on a silver tray.”

She immediately stands, and curtsies. “I am so sorry, sir. Please don’t beat me…”

(Actually, I didn’t. I was far too hungry!)

And then on the morning of our departure on holiday, as she emerged from the shower an hour before the cab arrived to take her to the airport. She found me sitting on the bed: a disciplinary, bare-bottomed spanking was administered to her warm, freshly-washed backside. A *hard* disciplinary spanking, at that, to make sure she behaves while we’re away.

Half way through, it occurs to me to wonder whether the bedroom window is closed behind the drawn blinds, or whether we’re entertaining (or worrying) the neighbours. “It is,” she promised. And I started to wonder about other girls who might swear that it was not, to end their spanking. And about the consequences for them should their gentleman happen to check, some minutes later, and find that it had indeed been closed all along.

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Our reader and commentator Hermione wrote to us about a newspaper article with this title.

The article is about a nasty court case, so I won’t link to it, but the reporter writes as though he has a hidden spanking agenda. Here’s what Hermione noticed:

The aforementioned butts are cigarette butts the reporter counted on the ground in the outdoor smoking area, to pass the time while waiting for the verdict. And the stripes were all that could be seen on the video monitors providing the news media with a view of the action in the courtroom.

Other words of that sort within the story were, in order:

rump
admonished
brow-beaten
flummoxed
beaten
stress
victim
holding cells
knitting needles (no sorry, that’s just silly)

LOL Yeah, spank me with that knitting needle!

Grim topic notwithstanding, I thought this was as fine a startle as one can hope to find in a mainstream paper. Thanks, Hermione!

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The Guardian on Tuesday featured a front-page headline reading:

“All school pupils to get a behaviour mentor.”

Are they looking for volunteers, I wondered?

Along similar lines, I wandered past a group of cute students from our local University last weekend. I wondered how many of the freshers now reaching the end of their first term might admit, deep-down, that they were struggling to apply the necessary self-discipline to their studies, and might relish (and simultaneously dread) some form of supportive mentoring when they return in the new year…

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We had been looking forward to our holiday in Malaysia for a long, long time. The last few days before departure seemed particularly long. You know how you wait for Friday night to come? It was like that, only more tortuous.

To quench our longing for warmth and sandy beaches, Abel and I kept paging through the sites of the hotels we would be staying in. Planning wistfully what we could do when we’re there.* Resort hotels try their best at putting on all sorts of entertainment: jungle walks, diving, visits to crocodile farms** and barbeque nights follow each other in a never-ending succession.

“And on Tuesday nights -” said Abel in a bright infomercial voice “is when our spanking club meets.”

Yes, yes! That’s one thing they website and brochures are missing. “Come along to the blue lounge for our Spanking Extravaganza, where hands clap and bottom cheeks jiggle. Bring your own rattan or borrow ours.”

Maybe not. Oh, well. We’ll just have to organise the meeting of the hotel’s spanking club with what resources we have. In our bedroom.

—————-
* Swimming, reading and writing is about the whole of it, really.
** I do NOT think so.

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You know, my wooden ruler exercise last week seemed to have just the right effect. Later that morning, a conversation between the two cutest participants in the event drifted across the room to my ears:

T: “My father used to make my sister and me go out to the yard and cut a switch from the poplar tree in the yard if we misbehaved.”

E: “My mother used to use the wooden spoon.”

T: “We quickly found out not to cut the thinner branches: they hurt far more. Although the worst thing of all wasn’t the whipping – it was the anticipation and that walk across the yard.”

E: “Oh, the wooden spoon hurt. I can still hear the sound of that kitchen drawer opening…”

As you might imagine, I found it quite tough to keep my concentration during the next part of the session!

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Right, time for our second Annual Awards, recognising the highlights of our spanko world.

Best spanking implement provider. An easy one, this. Back in the summer, we purchased a selection of implements from Spankinc. They really are quite superb: beautifully made, fabulous to use and very effective indeed. Given the size of our implement collection, it takes a lot to impress us, and we were duly impressed.

Best spanking blog. Joint winners here. The Lowewood Academy blog, with daily posts on school life, regularly contains great writing. (Note: we may be biased, as we contribute to Lowewood!). And the wonderful Little Red Schoolhouse is always a delight to read.

Best bookstore. We adore Barter Books, the huge bookstore in Alnwick. It regularly proves to be a treasure-trove of books providing kinky inspiration. (Hey, should we be telling you this? If you all dash to the education section, please leave something behind for us).

Best spanking book. We’ve recently discovered the wonderful Curious Pleasures: A Gentleman’s Collection of Beastliness by the “Rev’d Dr Erasmus St Jude Croom DD”. Perhaps the most convincing category winner of all: we’ll doubtless post a few snippets here when we get time, but in the meantime, do get on and buy it for Christmas for friends!

Best spanking scene we’ve played. Our Easter birching scene, so wonderfully recounted by our dear friend Martha.

Best spanking event. We were fortunate to be invited back to Lord Fawcett’s weekend House Party, which took place last month. Wearing regency costumes, staying in character all weekend, surrounded by dear friends, wonderfully organised. A privilege to attend – and, as with our 2006 awards, undeniably our ‘event of the year’.

Best kinky place. No contest: London’s wonderful Coffee, Cake and Kink. Our favourite haunt for meeting like-minded friends. And, it seems, friends we’d previously thought to be vanilla…

We hope you like our selection – and congratulations to the winners!

Meanwhile, we’re heading off on holiday, visiting Malaysia to celebrate Abel’s fortieth birthday. We’ve lined up a pile of posts, and hope to be online pretty regularly to write more – but we’re not sure quite what we’ll have by way of web access.

In the meantime, do excuse any slight delays in responding to or moderating comments!

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