The Spanking Writers

Pandora is a wonderful writer (and a truly lovely person, too). Her comments here always make us smile, and her blog entries often reveal an amazingly similar spanko DNA to our own scene ideas and fantasies.

She recently took a drawing by Brian Tarsis, first posted at The Spank Statement, as the basis for a delightful fantasy: it just had to feature as one of our summer selection from other blogs:

Pandora explains:

One of my oldest and favourite fantasies, as it happens, follows similar lines. I’m a maid in an Edwardian household; new to my role, and very nervous…

I’m learning quickly, though, and it’s not long before Sir Edgar decides to show me off to his gentleman friends. I’m instructed to serve drinks at a soiree. Sir takes me aside beforehand, telling me in a quiet voice that he thinks I have promise, that he trusts I’ll make him proud. I nod, anxious but eager to please.

But Sir Edgar’s intentions are less than honourable, and she’s bent over to be whipped:

The gentleman takes his time choosing a long cane from a selection proferred by a footman. He flexes a couple of them, whipping them through the air, before making his choice. The whole room has gathered round to watch. I don’t know what’s worse – the ones talking about me as if I was an inanimate object, or the ones laughing and joking about something else entirely, as if a young girl helplessly awaiting a thrashing she hasn’t earned were so commonplace it wasn’t worthy of notice…

Her flogging commences:

A wild cry escapes my lips as the first slicing stroke falls – whitehot, searing pain… and my struggling provokes the hands holding me down to grip my arms more firmly. The second stroke lands just as I’m beginning to regain my breath, and I let out a shriek at the force of it…

The whipping is slow and searing at first, painting my vulnerable cheeks with fierce stripes of pain. At a stroke which lands right on the crease between my buttocks and thighs, causing me to emit a particularly high-pitched yelp, I hear laughter from the gentry gathered around, and a smattering of applause. As the caning increases in force and speed, their appreciation rises to match.

This (along with so much else on Pandora’s Blog) is spanking writing of the hottest nature. Well worth a read!

Yesterday I got struck by a question that’s never occurred to me before. Who do you think abolished corporal punishment in Hogwarts, and when?

We know they used to have it. They still had it when Ron’s parents went there (Molly mentions Arthur having some lasting marks after a prank), and Filch, who isn’t that old, also remembers it. But at some point it went away.

Who abolished it – was it Dumbledore or Dippet before him? And if it was Dumbledore, did he do it as soon as he became Headmaster, or some years into the post?

I discussed this question with Mija, and she reckons that Dumbledore would have done away with CP right after getting the headship, because it wouldn’t agree with his teaching philosophy.

I’m not so sure about that: after everything we’ve learned about the man, I can see him adopting that well-known “for your own good” attitude. I suspect that he abolished CP a lot more recently, perhaps when it became less common in the Muggle world. Maybe even after Harry’s parents and young Snape went to Hogwarts. Now there’s an entertaining thought…

What do you folks think?

Oh, the images that this photo creates- from a Czech spanking blog.

We assume it’s from a prison museum somwhere – we’d love to know where. And we’d love to find a carpenter to manufacture a reproduction.

Amidst lots of photos out there of whipping blocks, it’s the holes for the ankles that really did it for us with this one! A wonderful post, guaranteed to earn a place in our “best of” series.

We spent a night recently – before setting out on our Viennese trip – in the lovely Park Plaza hotel, near County Hall in London. Great location, great suite, shame they can’t mix a decent cocktail.

My inner trainspotter (very inner!) was delighted to find our room had a marvellous view over Waterloo station: our own private train set to watch from on high through floor-to-ceiling windows.

My not-all-inner trainspotter was equally delighted. Haron and Cath were called into the station master’s office. He scolded them for being caught without tickets, pointed out all of the decent, honest folks down on the platforms below who’d doubtless paid their fares.

Stripped, the girls were made to bend forward with their hands on the windows. Told to watch the station as they took their punishment. Six strokes each with the cane followed, with much squealing (especially, it must be said, from Haron).

And then I took up my trusty Lochgelly: “The caning was for the return journey to Waterloo, on which you were caught. Yet you can’t have had tickets for the outward journey either.” Six each with the tawse followed. Much squealing again. From them both, this time.

They looked sorry for themselves, it must be said. Even sorrier when I asked, “And which of you had the idea to evade your fares this morning?” Cath, bravely, owned up: six more of the XH seared home. And then we could cuddle.

Now, there’s an interesting footnote to the scene, for I had to leave the girls in the room shortly afterwards to catch a train from the station down below. As I wandered along the platform, I noticed that the darkened glass in the windows didn’t seem quite so darkened as we’d maybe imagined. I texted Haron: “I’m on the platform. Come to the window and wave.”

Two cheerful young ladies appeared moments later: stark naked, waving enthusiastically. Clearly visible to anyone looking up. As indeed they must have been whilst being thrashed a half hour or so ealier. I am so glad to have offered such a salutary lesson in the penalties for fare dodging not only to my two girls, but to that morning’s entire customer base of South West Trains.

“Le Journal de la Fessee” provides me with good practice at maintaining my A Level French: all those years of looking up spanking-related words in my Harrap French-English dictionary finally seem to be paying off.

That said, our selection from the blog (as part of our ‘best of’ series) is an English cartoon, which really made us laugh:

Taking notes at a leather-topped desk in the library, I noticed that indentations from the pressure of the pen stayed on the leather for a while after you were finished.

I imagined watching a girl at another desk work hard all morning, scribbling away on her notepaper, hardly noticing anything around. When she finished, her work, she would sigh with relief, leaning back in her chair and checking what she’s written, while abscent-mindedly massaging her wrist. Then she wouldglance at the watch, hurriedly gather her paper and leave.

I would move to her desk, because it’s better lit, with a more comfortable chair. And only as I start laying out my own notes, would I notice the traces in the leather, the ghost of that other girl’s work.

She hasn’t been taking notes: she was writing lines: “I will always complete my assignments on time and to the best of my ability. I will always complete my assignments on time and to the best of my ability.” Hundreds of lines, judging by the time she has taken over them.

I would cross my fingers on her behalf, that she hands the lines in on time, and that they are neat enough to satisfy her tutor. I have a fair idea of what would happen if he were displeased.

It’s now traditional for us to present a summer round-up of posts that we’ve particularly enjoyed on other blogs, in the hope that it might point our readers to other as-yet-undiscovered sources of naughtiness to while away the hours.

Well, I say ‘traditional’. We did it last year, and felt like doing it again this year. So that makes it a tradition, right?

We tend to steer clear of a few things here at The Spanking Writers – including photos of girls being spanked: there are plenty of other places that you can turn to for that. But cartoons, illustrations, photos of old punishment implements – well, we just can’t resist. So that’s our theme for this year’s “best of” series, which will appear daily for the next week or so, in addition to our regular posts.

To start with: how about this – from “Au fil de Jours”:

The author of the post didn’t know the origins of the sketch: if anyone has any ideas, we’d love to know!

(Curtain opens to reveal a peaceful Sunday morning scene. ABEL is polishing his work shoes. SMUDGE and HARON are hanging around, watching.)

ABEL: There. (Puts down the tube of polish, satisfied.)
SMUDGE grabs the tube and slashes out with it, as though fencing, towards ABEL. He leans away at the last second.
ABEL: Put down that polish, young lady.
SMUDGE: But I want to put it on you!
ABEL: You can’t. It doesn’t come off.
SMUDGE: Good! (Dashes towards ABEL again, polish at the ready. He twists away again.)
ABEL: If any of that polish ends up on me, I will bend you over my knee and spank you. Hard.
SMUDGE: No!
ABEL: Oh, yes. You’ve had your warning.
SMUDGE (petulantly): That’s not fair?
ABEL: Actions. Consequences. It’s fair.
SMUDGE: But I want to put the polish on you?
ABEL: You know what will happen if you do.
SMUDGE: But I don’t want a spanking?
ABEL: Well, then leave that polish.
SMUDGE (petulantly): But I want to put it on you!
ABEL: You know what will happen then.
SMUDGE: But… I really don’t want a spanking!
ABEL: So put the polish away.
SMUDGE: Can I put just a tiny bit on you?
ABEL: No.
SMUDGE (turning to HARON): Can you put some polish on him?
HARON: He said, “If any of the polish ends up on me, you’ll get a spanking.” I think, this means you get a spanking even if it’s me who does it.
ABEL: That’s right.
SMUDGE looks tortured. Tentatively reaches out and puts a tiny spot of polish on Abel’s forearm.
HARON: (sigh.)
ABEL: (sigh).
SMUDGE: Er… heehee?
ABEL: Come here.

Curtain closes.

I’m in a dilemma.

See, the Imperial Library in Vienna is one of those fine, atmospheric rooms which really ought to have given rise to a spanking at some point in its distinguished history. But I can’t decide on why this might have been.

Would a girl working for a bookseller have tried to sneak out some precious volume, and been caught in the act? Might she have been more cunning, taking in his somewhat inferior copy of a particular book and trying to swap it for the library’s more valuable copy?

Might some distinguished member of the court have sent his young assistant across to fetch some tome that he required for his work – only for her to drop the priceless volume, causing irreperable damage?

Could one of the Archduchesses have finally been tracked down to a dark corner of the library, where she’d be curled up reading some favourite passage – ending hours of searching by the Imperial Guards, her father terrified that his daughter (who’d misbehaved and been sent to her room) had been kidnapped by some enemy of the state.

And would the punishment have taken place in the library itself, or behind the heavy oak door adjoining its entrance, home to the collection’s Director?

Here’s another short story – this time school-based – that I posted a couple of days ago in this year’s contest at the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup. It just squeezes in inside the 500-word limit for the category concerned, with one word to spare!

–

ZERO TOLERANCE

It finished as it had started, with best friends cuddling in their shared study bedroom. Only it ended in tears, having begun with such glee.

Castleton was strict. Many argued that that was its strength, the discipline leading the girls to behave so impeccably, to attain such excellence in the classroom and on the games field.

If a new girl dared to hope that the crook-handled cane hanging next to the blackboard in each classroom was merely for show, her first taste of its biting cut would certainly correct her misapprehension. Not that the masters chastised indiscriminately: only particularly poor behaviour would find a girl called to the front, to hold out her hands as the rattan scored its mark. But few were the fortunate pupils who escaped unpunished.

“So let’s break the canes,” Emily had proposed, in that ill-placed moment of bravado.

“You’re not serious? Surely?”

But she had been, and so Alice had joined her – the unlikely rebels darting between classrooms, under cover of darkness, hearts pounding. The rods snapped suprisingly easily, the fragments left under their scrawled chalk message: “Revolution!”

The Headmaster had been furious at that morning’s assembly. Those responsible would be caught and soundly punished: would the misguided ‘revolutionaries’ care to own up? They hadn’t, and had listened aghast as he’d announced his plan. The canes had already been replaced, and would be used to punish any infringements of school rules, any shortfall in standards, until the culprits had come forward.

A late assignment, a test mark deemed too low? Standing up too late as a master entered the room? A tie tied too loosely, shoes scuffed not shining? Whatever the reason, zero tolerance was the new mantra: even girls who’d escaped punishment in the past found their trembling hands tasting the cane for the first time that morning.

They’d had to own up, of course. Knocked at the Headmaster’s office; been told by his secretary that he was busy. Nervously left a message acknowledging their guilt. Returned to their classes, to wait the inevitable – and to dread what it might actually be.

The walk to the front of the hall, during the special assembly at the end of the school day – watched in knowing sympathy by their compatriots – had been the longest of their lives, and yet far too short.

They’d climbed the stairs, listened as he passed sentence. Twelve strokes each on the bare – not that their light summer dresses would have offered much protection. Alice, to the right of the stage, touching her toes for the Headmaster. Emily to the left, as the Deputy Head picked up his cane.

Twelve strokes. Delivered slowly, in unison, canes raised high, the audience biting their lips as the rods descended, striped, as the girls struggled to hold their position, to count (quietly, tearfully).

And then they were walking back to their places in the crowd, the Headmaster’s final admonishments ringing in the punished girls’ ears as the pain seared across their backsides.