The Spanking Writers

Here’s an interesting memoir from a man who served as a Regimental Boy soldier of the Royal Corps of Signals in the 1950s, from the age of 15. He seems awfully fond of abbreviations, which I’ve deciphered where possible, but I may well be wrong on what some of them mean.

All Boy soldiers were of course subject to Military Law and Queens Regulations (QRs.) The punishments were the same as for a “Man Soldier” i.e., Detention, CB (jankers/defaulters) with one additional type of punishment too which was administered only to Boy Soldiers. This was the dreaded”strokes” – a bamboo cane used to strike you across the buttocks.  You always paraded for OC’s Orders in Denims. If strokes were to be administered it was the duty of the S[quadron]S[ergeant]M[ajor] to carry out the punishment in front of the OC. You were bent over a table/chair, fully dressed. It was always the common practice on those occasions to wear underneath your dress the issued u/s BD`s (un-serviceable Battle Dress) just in case you got the strokes (extra padding) They were the garments that were 1157 issue and had to be worn underneath our Denims to assist in keeping us warm in winter. If the strokes were to be given on C[ommanding]O[fficer]`s Orders then they were carried out by the R[egimental]S[ergeant]M[ajor] but you wore PT Kit. You were marched out after the CO had stated your punishment, wearing Best SD, straight into the RSM’s office. If strokes were to be administered you changed into PT kit, Best Boots and grey socks (turned over at the top of the boot) and then marched back in again for the punishment. (some sore places for a while)

He doesn’t go into details as to what would happen if one were discovered wearing extra padding. Maybe it was considered a done thing, protect yourself if you can, though I doubt that just a little…

“Hi. Might you be able to send an iron and ironing board up to my room?”

It didn’t seem an unreasonable request for me to make at the posh resort in which we’ve been staying on holiday out in Cyprus. But clearly I was expecting far too much:

“No, sir. We don’t let people have irons in the rooms. Policy: health and safety.”

The lady on the other end of the line directed me to an ironing room, four floors up at the far end of the hotel. I explained that I could, honestly, be trusted with an iron – having avoided burning down any of the chain’s hotels in the hundreds of nights I’d spent with them in recent years. She reluctantly agreed to speak to her manager.

A few moments, she called me back:

“Hi. It’s Daniella from reception. I can send up an iron and ironing board after all.” She sounded a little embarrassed as she continued: “But my manager’s told me to phone you to tell you that you have to be responsible with it.”

Me? Responsible? “It’s OK,” I reassured her, as she giggled. “I won’t brand my wife with it. That’s not my thing.”

–

The following morning, I woke particularly early and decided to head down to the pool. I had the place to myself for half an hour – and I always enjoy a good paddle. As I swam, I reflected on the events that had no doubt transpired there just a few hours before.

Very late the previous night: a group of lasses from the hotel staff had found themselves walking past the pool – in which they were forbidden to swim – their duties finished for the day, the guests all safely despatched back to their rooms.

What could be more natural than a quick skinny-dip? They stripped, swam, giggled. Only they’d bargained without the CCTV cameras. The security guard and duty manager soon appeared at the side of the pool, and ordered them out. As the girls stood there – dripping, naked, covering themselves – the manager informed them that such blatant misconduct would be bound to lead to their dismissal when they were brought before the General Manager the following morning.

When they protested, pleaded, he relented and sent the security man to fetch the cane from his office. And the staff were lined up, touching their toes, on the edge of the pool, each given ten stripes and sent on their way in disgrace.

In my dream I was a girl preparing to go to boarding school for the first time. Mother took me to a specialist uniform shop, where all the essentials, from socks to hair ribbons, could be bought, plus a trunk to store all of this.

A kindly shop assistant helped me choose a skirt in a correct length. My mother said: “I thought, the rule is that the skirt should reach the floor when she kneels.”

“Never mind that,” said the shop assistant. “The main thing is for the skirt to cover enough when she is touching her toes for the cane. The first-formers are allowed to keep their skirts down; well, just make sure it reaches far enough down. Would you like to try, dear?”

And so I tried on endless skirts, bending over with my back to the mirror, considering the view I would present from the back. In my chest, there ran a secret, naughty thrill: I was a big girl, going to a big school where they used the cane.

I just love getting emails like this a couple of weeks back, from Lazarina:

I very much enjoy your blog, and not having one of my own, I wonder if readers would be interested to know that larger Tesco ‘extra’ stores are now selling riding crops for £5? My boyfriend and I were in the ‘outdoor sports’ section looking at rucksacks, but were quickly diverted by this kinky bargain!

Needless to say, I headed right over to our local branch, and was delighted to find that they came both in standard and “heavy duty” varieties (of which the former, being stingy, is actually the more effective):

They were found in the outdoor sports department, it being a shade too early for their “Back to school” range (which presumably would be more canes and plimsolls anyway, with locally-sourced tawses in their Scottish stores). Perhaps they’re testing the market prior to the introduction of their new “Household discipline” department?

We nonchalantly left our crops in the midst of our other shopping for the check-out lady to scan, sure that she wouldn’t suspect a thing. And only then did I realise that my Tesco loyalty card is on my keyring, which just happens to be attached to a mini cat-o’-nine-tails.

Still, it could have been worse – Lazarina opted to buy hers at the ever-so-discreet self-service checkout, only to find that the display mounted high above the scanner “broadcasts one’s purchases to all and sundry in a large, easily-detectable font”!

Walking around London, we were amused by this shop window:

They’re renaming the Internet… into what, exactly?

And finally… We hope you’ve enjoyed our choices over the past week of our favourite entries from other blogs. We’ve saved perhaps the best of a great bunch to last.

It’s a thought-provoking, touching piece that appeared last month at “The confessions of a spanked princess”. In it, Kelly explored some of the challenges of embracing a spanko lifestyle, yet reconciling that with one’s real-world identity:

I am a liar. Every single day I tell an untruth, to someone, somewhere. I hide things, I deceive, I mask the real story. I’ve been doing it all my life, and I must say, I’ve gotten quite good at it. I’m not sure if that’s something I should be proud of or not, but it is a fact. I am an excellent liar.

Every day on here, I lie about my name. I’m vague on the details of where I live, and I won’t pin down what school I go to. Hell, I won’t even show you my face.

Every day in life, I lie about my relationships. I tell people I met my ex in a Chinese restaurant, and that the reason I can’t sit is because I fell down the stairs. I tell my parents I went to Boston to see my friends from school- not a total lie, just a fib, I tell myself. But honestly, I think very little of it. The stories I create flow right off the tongue. I weave webs of deceit so thick, sometimes I can’t find my way out of them…

She continues:

Talking to fellow spankos has changed my life. Of that I am sure. The relationships spankos are able to form are so intense, that it can almost be overwhelming sometimes. I’m an intense person to begin with as well, so as you may imagine- that is not always a good thing. With spankos the intensity is even more pronounced because there are no walls, no secrets. If someone not only knows my deepest darkest secret, but shares it, what else is there to hide? I feel this rush, this need to bare my soul, as though I’ve been alone all my life…

And this marvellous reflection on some of the joy and pains of spanko life, which we imagine will resonate with many readers here, concludes:

I am a liar, a secret keeper, and I am dying to be free. But freedom would come with a price. One that I’m not willing to pay. So I will continue to live and continue to lie, just as I have for the last 20 years, and I will pray that one day I will learn to tell the truth.

I know that many of you first discovered my writing through my website, Abel’s Spanking Stories. It’s been around since January 2002; in that time it’s had well over two million hits and lots of kind comments from very many readers.

Sure, it’s woefully out of date – but we’re finally getting round to redesigning “The Spanking Writers” and will be bringing our stories over here in a few months’ time, along with lots of newer material.

I chose Geocities to host the site as, in those days, it was probably the easiest place for an enthusiastic amateur like me to set up a website. Since then, it’s been bought by Yahoo – who have now decided to close Geocities altogether from 29 October, and delete all of the hard work of the countless folks who have their websites there. No redirection to people’s new domains – just “we’re closing, we’ll delete everything, hard luck”. I’m feeling both annoyed, and quite sad.

So if you want to catch a last glimpse of Abel’s Spanking Stories before they delete Geocities, head over and download your favourites. (I’d love to know which they are by the way). And we’ll keep you posted as we develop our plans to set up our new stories pages here.

We love Emma Jane’s blog, and one of her posts from May is the next selection in our annual round-up. In it, she related the lyrics of a Dylan song, line by line, to her kink, starting with the opening line: – “She takes just like a woman”:

I am a woman, a grown-up, an adult. I have a career and responsibilities. I may fantasise about regressing to a school girl or a small child or a young teen but that’s not how I want to live my life. In a scene that I chose to partake in I love to be dominated, controlled and disciplined, but not in my real life.

I am an equal partner in life and you have to earn my trust and loyalty. I will take from friendships and relationships just like any woman would. I will give in return. I am not a dependent being.

She continues her dissection of the lyrics through the end of the chorus:

“But she breaks just like a little girl”

And sometimes you will break me. I will cry in your arms and let everything around me disappear. You will have brought me to that place that I crave so badly. I will break just like a little girl but will emerge again, just like a woman…

Powerful, intense, evocative: everything a great blog entry should be.

Here’s an interesting item: “The Loom of Youth” by Alec Waugh, a book about public school life.

From the preface we learn that it caused a scandal, and it was banned in some schools: “In self-defence the schoolmasters hit back and by mid-November the book had become the centre of violent controversy. In many schools the book was banned and several boys were caned for reading it. “

You can read it for free at the link above, but here are some nice excerpts.

The housemaster’s speech to the new boys:

“You start with clean, fresh reputations. I don’t know how long you will remain so, but you must remember that you are members of the finest house in Fernhurst…. Now we can’t all be county cricketers, we can’t all win scholarships, but we can all work to one end with an unfailing energy. You will find prefects here who will beat you if you play the ass. Well, I don’t mind ragging much and it is no disgrace to be caned for that. But it is a disgrace to be beaten for slacking either at games or work. It shows that you are an unworthy member of the House. Now I want all of you to try.”

And then the details:

He looked up for a second while thinking of a word.

“Caruthers, are you working?” Lovelace snapped out.

“Yes.”

“You liar, you were looking out of the window, weren’t you?”

“Yes, but——”

“I’ll teach you to tell lies to me. Come and see me at nine o’clock.”

Very miserably Gordon continued his work. After about a quarter of an hour:

“Caruthers, will you take six, or a hundred lines?”

Gordon thought it was not the thing to take lines:

“Six.”

“Will you have it now or afterwards?”

“Now.”

“Hunter, go and get a cane from my study.”

Trembling with fear, Gordon heard Hunter’s feet ring down the stone passage, saw him running across to the studies by the old wall. There was silence again; then the sound of feet; Hunter returned.

“Come out here, Caruthers.”

It hurt tremendously; he went back wishing he had taken the hundred lines. But the others thought it amazingly brave of him.

“Inside the mind of Gloria Brame” is a veritable treasure-trove of photographs, illustrations and perceptive comments – and one of her posts is the fifth of our annual “Best of the kinky rest” selections. Not all of the material on her blog is spanking-related, but it’s invariably hot and often very witty, as with our choice here.

“Apparently,” she comments, “some organizations never expected the Internet to screw with their acronym”: