The Spanking Writers

The clocks changed at the weekend, right, costing us an hour of sleep. Everyone knows that, surely?

Dear readers, I need your help. I stayed last night at our friend Martha’s; she set her alarm for this morning, to make sure we got into London today in good time.

At 6.33 this morning, we were discussing who would use the shower first – our ever-so-polite “after you”s reflecting the sub-text of “I don’t want to go and stand under streams of water at this ungodly hour”. And then Martha went pale, before confessing: “OMG, I forgot to change the time on the alarm clock.” See, it wasn’t 6.33 – it was 7.33, already after the time at which we should have been on the tube.

But what is a gentleman to do now? I can see three options for this evening’s little discussion:

a) a traditional six of the best, with the cane

b) sixty spanks, one for each minute’s delay to our plans

c) a sound telling-off.

When we eventually reached the tube, I decided that an element of democracy (or even merely audience participation) was called for. So, dear readers, which option do you think is appropriate? I’ll tally the votes from your comments after dinner this evening, and the majority verdict will determine the young lady’s fate.

20 Comments »

I’ve long treated psychometric tests with healthy disdain: it’s not so much that they’re inherently flawed, as that the people administering them in a work environment often don’t really seem to understand the tools that they’re using.

Now I find reason to be interested in them again. A recent post at The Headmaster’s Office blog wondered about the correlation between one’s profile in these tests and one’s tendencies in the kinky world. He and I share the same “Myers Briggs” profile (ENTJ), which made me wonder whether there was something in this. And I noticed that one of the questions in the test asks whether “You value justice higher than mercy”: kinky or wot?

So, in the interests of scientific analysis, I’m wondering – does your profile relate at all to your kinky preferences. It would be fascinating if all of the spankers here shared the same profile, and all of the spankees the opposite. The test’s here, and the most impressive site for interpreting the results, with a description of each profile type, is here – if you feel like playing, do share your results!

Hey, we could even end up nominated for this year’s Nobel Prize for Psychology for our work. (And yes, I know: that’s a very ENTJ statement).

41 Comments »

An Easter Sunday wander along an incredibly cold Eton High Street might have been expected to inspire kinky thoughts. After all, the school is synonymous with discipline and birchings.

In the event, it was so cold that we didn’t make it as far as the College itself, turning back towards the comparative comfort of Costa Coffee. As we crossed the road, I happened to glance up – and look what I found:

So, it was deemed that the local girls would benefit from a traditional Etonian-style education, was it? One imagines that the experience must have been fully authentic – the masters strict, the birchings soundly administered at the front of the class.

Further along the street, we came across the village stocks, abandoned in front of (I kid you not) a half-timbered Chinese restaurant.

And around the corner? Could it be – I so wanted to tie Haron to what we guessed to be the whipping post, but it was far, far too cold!

8 Comments »

This morning’s breakfast show on the BBC featured an interview with a guy introduced as an “etiquette consultant”.

“An etiquette consultant!” Abel cried at the TV set. “What is that? Who on earth pays him?” He turned to me: “How do you think he makes his living.”

“Well,” I said reasonably, “if the Queen were coming ’round for tea, you’d call him up to ask what to serve her.” (I do know full well that if the Queen arrived at our door, Abel would be calling her ‘Mrs Windsor’ and asking her to help lay the table.)

Anyway, it occurred to me right away that I could, in fact, think of a way an etiquette consultant could earn a living. All he would have to do, would be to buy a cane and set up shop as a personal tutor to ambitious young ladies.

Even as a not-too-ambitious young lady, I could see myself sitting demurely with my knees together, hands folded in my lap, conversing smoothly on non-controversial topics. I would be ever so well-behaved. I would know the consequences of any errors…

7 Comments »

Some moments change the way you view a particular location forever. That corner where you had that cuddle with that friend. That shop where you bumped into that famous people. That site where they held the open-air event - now long-forgotten, by all except those who shouted or danced or partied at the time.

Leicester Square was added to my list of memory bookmarks last Saturday afternoon. We were wandering towards the cinema when we heard a loud shriek, and suddenly the paths were filled with hundreds of pillow-wielding combatants, filling the air with feathers.

Between my giggles, I (not surprisingly) adopted a spanko spin on events. Girls in the centre of the fight, caught on CCTV. Police studying the grainy images, cross-checking names. Copies of photographs being posted with stern letters to respectable homes in leafy suburbs. Fathers summoning daughters into their studies; skirts being lifted, belts being removed; parental disapproval being made plain, in return for the authorities’ agreement not to press charges for such a blatant breach of public order.

A later check revealed that it’d been part of World Pillow Fight Day. So there’d have been paddlings in Seattle, strappings in Sydney, and whatever they do for discipline in Shanghai. I’m just surprised that the Lowewood girls were so slow on the uptake as to miss the opportunity to join in in the dorms…

1 Comment »

In my dream I was living in London, alone in a poky flat, not knowing a soul. I heard an announcement on the news: girls who were starting their first job in London, and had nobody to turn to for advice, could apply to join a “mentor programme”. There would be a tutorial group meeting every week, in which girls assigned to a particular mentor would share their accomplishments and bear a penalty for any misdeeds. Penalties would include corporal punishment.

Even in this surreal dream, I was a spanko. Although I didn’t particularly want to be answerable to a random mentor, this appeared to me like a great place to get spanked safely and innocently, without venturing into the scary kinky underworld.

When I arrived for the first meeting, I got chatting to other people in my group, and lots of them shared in embarrassed whispers that they were there for the same reason. Not mentoring, but spanking was the main thing that had attracted them.

Unfortunately, the dream never did get to any action, but I woke up very happy to be part of that scary underworld that I had tried so hard to avoid in my sleep.

8 Comments »

The poor girl from my recent reformatory school dream came back to revisit me a few nights later. Sad to say, her plight had become still worse. After a caning for being caught awake in contravention of school rules, and another by the Headmaster for failing to return directly to her dorm, she would inevitably lie in bed in tears of abject misery.

Another girl would be moved to comfort her: she’d steal across the dorm, hold her friend tight. Only the Headmaster had continued his patrol, and would appear in the doorway.

Caught out of bed, the consequences would be inevitable: “To my study. Now.” His demeanour gave away that the caning that would follow would be especially painful.

“And as for you…” The already-punished girl would be told of his amazement that her previous thrashings that evening hadn’t cured her of her desire to misbehave. “You’ll report to the punishment wing tomorrow morning, after breakfast.”

The punishment wing, where the naughtiest girls were kept for three days at a time: where a dozen strokes were administered at eight in the morning and again at eight in the evening, each day.

Fortunately, one of the masters would take pity on the girl. He couldn’t cancel her detention in the punishment wing, but he could sneak in to give her the occasional furtive, comforting hug. And on her release a few weeks later, he could take her on as a housemaid in his own house, where cuddles and reassurance could be more readily forthcoming. The dream turned deliciously rude at this point, so I’d better stop there…

6 Comments »

At Easter much attention is given in the spanking community to the Czech tradition of whipping girls for good luck. Well, in neighbouring Slovakia they have an even better idea:

Easter Monday is associated with boys pouring water over girls in Slovakia, and in Western Slovakia the tradition also includes the boys whipping the girls with thin willow branches. The tradition was that if the girls wanted to be beautiful, healthy and full of life, they must not try and avoid the water soaking or the whippings.

The Easter whips were made, and still are today, from freshly cut willow branches. It was believed that by whipping the girls with the freshly made whip, all the fertility and life powers from the willow tree would be transferred into the girl. Meanwhile, the water that was sprinkled on the girls was supposed to bring health and beauty.

Somebody must have figured out that a whipping hurts much more on wet skin.

Frankly, the tradition of giving out bags of chocolate holds much more appeal to me.

 (Thanks for the link, Sarah!)

6 Comments »

The girl at the next table at lunch in Oxford on Good Friday had stepped straight from one of my stories. Clearly a good girl: chunky hand-knitted cardigan, hemp Oxfam bag, the vegetarian option (of course). Pretty, in an understated way. She smoothed out the map of the university’s colleges, discussing the afternoon’s itinerary with proud parents: I might apply there next year, or there, or there…

Her mobile bleeped; she read the text; her father reached out his hand and took the phone from her. He read the message, smiled.

But what if he’d read a different message, from her closest friend at boarding school:

My Dad got ltr from hdmstr about caning. Intercept yr post!

She’d blush, remembering ruefully back to the final night of term earlier in the week and their painful trip to the Headmaster’s study. “Girls in the Lower Sixth should, quite frankly, know better, and I intend to make an example of you. Now, which of you would like to go first?”

44 Comments »

We were driving along the other day, when we saw a white van inscribed with a logo of a company. The logo said: “Anker”.

What do you think Abel said:

a) That’s not how you spell ‘anchor’,

or

b) Look, the sign’s missing a ‘W’!

And this man is trying to pretend he’s a dignified, responsible schoolmaster. Yeah, right.

11 Comments »