The Spanking Writers

A week or so back, a new twist to a much-loved old fantasy came to mind: the one concerning a young nobleman and his favourite maid – where the boundaries of the master-servant relationship strain in the context of an always-chaste, yet ever-so-close rapport.

This particular lass had been guilty of the utmost carelessness, having set fire to an expensive tapestry in his lordship’s room. Fortunately, the flames had been put out before the building itself caught light – but the tapestry itself was still ruined. Yet he – seeing how mortified she was by her mistake, how tearful, how repentant, and simply wanting to hug her and tell her that everything was fine – was prepared to let the matter go without further discussion.

However, word reached the nobleman’s father, a Duke no less, of the disaster that had nearly taken place. The older gentleman’s carriage soon arrived at his son’s door; a debate ensued; agreement was reached, the maid was summoned.

The matter could not go unpunished, the duke would inform her, no matter how impeccable her previous service. The butler had been ordered to send one of his men to the woods, to cut the switches that would be bound into the birch. Once that was done, his son would punish her. Because of her past good conduct, her birching would take place in private, and would only comprise twenty strokes across her bare bottom rather than the fifty the duke had initially requested. But he would personally inspect her after she’d been whipped and, should he feel that she had been chastised too lightly by his son, he would personally administer the additional thirty with the utmost severity…

Clearly, the younger gentleman would have no choice but to inflict the twenty strokes as hard as he could, despite his feelings for the girl, to save her from further punishment. And then, later, once his father had inspected her, he’d be able to give her a much-needed hugs.

Only – and rarely for me – the same scenario popped into my mind for a second time as I slept a couple of nights later. Only on this occasion, the Duke demonstrated a particularly cruel streak – determining that, despite the evident effectiveness of the maid’s initial flogging, she did indeed deserve more.

The butler was despatched for a fresh birch, and asked to tie the girl over a table. Her additional, agonising thirty duly followed – as, then, did comfort for her behind his young lordship’s bedroom door, which remained firmly locked so he could take care of her until the following morning…

Here’s hoping your spanking dreams come true in 2010…

Although I love the holidays (particularly, giving presents and seeing my friends), one of my core needs is a routine in life – which the holidays cruelly disrupt. I may be having fun, but at the same time I begin fantasising about getting up before dawn, having supervised showers, swallowing toast in a still-dark room, and sitting down to work at my school desk, with the schedule for the day all marked up. There’s a quick spanking every time I transgress, and a no-nonsense caning at the end of the day for any offences big enough to merit it.

This fantasy is extremely difficult to cater for in reality, because, just as it needs commitment from the “pupil”, it also demands complete attention from the “teacher”. Unfortunately, Abel has to focus on his own work; there’s no way for him to turn into an oppressor of schoolgirls without neglecting his own life in the process.

All the same, the need for routine may just win, and I may get my uniform out in the first day, and oppress myself. I’m sure Abel can provide the spanking, if necessary.

Most of the end-of-year reviews of 2009 have been filled with doom and gloom. Vanilla-me can see why: the recession’s hit my business as hard as anyone else’s. But spanko-me has had a quite wonderful time!

Although our “Real-Life Spanking” category brings back memories of so many great scenes, I particularly cherish the accounts that the friends concerned have written about our encounters. So here, then, are just a few of the memories of my spanking year – as seen through others’ eyes…

Rayne was caned for the very first time; Emma Jane earned her first real caning and – later in the year – was flogged in the workhouse by myself and HH.

Miss Grey – Graham – visited the approved school, whilst Lady Francesca Aubrey – Eliane – encountered His Majesty’s Chief Punishment Officer during a wonderful Regency-era house party.

Grace Ayers – Scarlett – was sentenced to a trip to the Punishment Centre. Poor Charlotte (Kami) was thoroughly abused. Meanwhile schoolgirls Eliane and Emma Jane found themselves together in their housemaster’s study to be caned.

And as the year drew to a close, Candy and Cherry (Emma Jane again, this time with Catherine) were interrogated in a severe, dark scene.

So, here’s to friendship; to a rather wonderful kinky year just ending; and to a new year (decade, indeed) of spanking fun just about to start.

Today Abel finds out the answer to life, the Universe and everything (by turning 42). I’m sure he’ll tell us what it is eventually!

To celebrate his birthday, we’re introducing the new design here on The Spanking Writers. As we haven’t changed the look of the site since it launched in early 2006, it was due an overhaul. So here we are.

You’ll also notice that down on the sidebar we’ve introduced a link to “A taste of The Spanking Writers” – a free ebook with a small selection of our posts, so that folks new to the blog have an easy way to get acquainted with us.

Happy birthday, Abel!

(I’m sure a birthday spanking is also going to happen at some point today. He’s unlikely to forget, is he?)

On Christmas morning I woke up to find this letter in front of me:

“Oh dear,” said Abel. “A girl who’s been naughty would have to be spanked by her guardians before she can have her presents!”

Guardians, plural – because we had HH staying with us for Christmas. He seemed to share Abel’s opinion about what happens to girls snitched on by Santa’s elves.

Downstairs, facing the two of them, I politely enquired whether my two “guardians” were a gay married couple. They didn’t appreciate the question. Abel told me that my spanking – up to now a simple formality – had just escalated to a punishment for insolence.

I never could keep my mouth shut, I thought ruefully, as I leaned over Abel’s lap for the first portion of my Christmas discipline. In fairness, he didn’t spank me attrociously hard – just pretty firmly, hard enough to raise a warm glow. When I started to wriggle in discomfort, he sent me on to HH, who, getting a good grip across my midriff, delivered a much stingier spanking that had me yelping and kicking in protest.

“And now, to deal with your rude remark,” said Abel, picking up a tawse out of a pile of recent implement purchases. “I think, two strokes on behalf of each of us would be appropriate.”

Oh my goodness, did that thing hurt! I danced about between the strokes, and didn’t take it in anything like a dignified manner. I guess, I don’t really do dignity when it hurts that much.

However, all the time I could see a mound of presents waiting for me under the tree, so there was something to cheer me up through the worst of the ordeal.

Who knew Santa’s elves were into spanking?

I’ve been reading Emma Jane’s wonderful posts (here and here) describing the intense scene that she, HH and I played last the weekend. She was Eliza – a workhouse girl, stripped and positioned over the punishment horse, for a caning and strapping that was as intense as could be. I’ve been wondering since what would have happened to Eliza afterwards…

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A few days later, a visitor had called at the workhouse. A former schoolmaster, now retired, he lived alone and needed a maid to help around the house. Did the workhouse have a girl he could take on?

Eliza’s whipping had given the Master cause for concern about her future conduct: would she become more rebellious, having been so soundly flogged? So he had her fetched to his study, with orders to be on her best behaviour, and presented to the gentleman – who liked her, and agreed to take her in return for a most generous donation to the workhouse’s coffers. He returned to collect her the following morning, finding the girl freshly scrubbed and in a clean dress – and quite, quite delighted to escape with him to her new home.

There, she proved keen to impress. Shy at first – scared of him, even, though he knew not why – she worked diligently, seemingly relieved and grateful to be away from workhouse life. Yet when he asked her about her time there, tears came quickly to her eyes, and he backed off from his questioning.

Maids in those days, as she well knew, were far from unused to punishments for even minor misdemeanours. The cane was commonplace, yet this gentleman merely encouraged and offered advice when things weren’t done to his satisfaction. Until, that is, young Eliza dropped and broke a decanter full of port – having been particularly told to be careful with it just moments before.

She trembled like a leaf as she stood before him, terrified of what was to come. And, indeed, he confirmed her worst fears: “You leave me with no choice but to punish you, Eliza.”
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Merry Christmas! Hope all of you out there have a lovely day. In case you have time amidst the festive fun, here’s a new story as our little Christmas present to all of our readers. Hope you like it: comments very welcome, as always!

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Meeting the Headmaster

The girl, neat in her new uniform, shifts nervously from foot to foot as the Headmaster behind his desk flicks through the pages of the manila file. She knows what he’ll find inside – the records from her former school showing not only her successes (good grades, academic prizes, starring roles on the stage and the lacrosse field), but also her failures. Those forms, completed meticulously each time by her then housemaster, after she’d stood and straightened her skirt, once he’d put away the plimsoll. Those sheets of shame.

She wants to protest before her new Headmaster jumps to the wrong conclusions. “I do try to be good, I promise. And I’ve not been in trouble for nearly a year. Please don’t think badly of me.” But instead, she waits, the butterflies rioting inside her tummy.

He places the file carefully on the desk, and peers over his spectacles. “So, young lady: a fresh start, here in our sixth form…”

He looks at her, as if expecting a reply. “Yes, sir. I want to do well. I’ll do everything I can. I promise.”

He pauses, weighing her up – this slight, pretty lass, shaking like a leaf. “And we shall do everything we can to help, of course. We’re very proud of our high standards, Miss Conroy; I think they’ll be just what you need. Academic… and disciplinary.”

She stares at the carpet. She mumbles an embarrassed “Yes, sir”, to this man who now knows such shameful secrets from her past.

“Have no doubt, on the latter front, that we stand for no nonsense. Strict, but fair.”

“Yes, sir.” She knows of his reputation already, of course; the other girls in the dorm regaled her with their stories last night, once they’d heard of her impending appointment. Loved, they said, but feared too. Feared more than loved. Nightmares had followed.

He stands, walks around his desk, and puts a friendly arm around her shoulders as if in support and solidarity. “Then we understand each other, it seems. If you need help, my door is always open – as indeed is your Housemaster’s. Now: go and make me proud of you during your time with us, Miss Conroy.”

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Forget the Christmas story – the “Sufi Message of Hazrat Inayat Khan” is just my sort of religious text. A collection of his lectures from 1918-1920, it contains the following rather lovely story:

Once a slave-girl, making the bed of a Badishah, felt a wish to experience how it would feel to rest in this royal bed. The great heat of the sun, the breeze coming through the windows in this regal bedroom, the flowers and perfumes sprinkled on the ground, the beautiful fragrance of the incense burning, made her so comfortable that she fell asleep as soon as she leaned against a cushion on this bed. She fell as fast asleep as if she were in the embrace of death.

But presently the king and queen came, and they were astonished at the boldness and impudence of this slave-girl. The Badishah woke her with a stroke of a whip, and one or two more strokes followed after, in order to free the queen from all suspicions. The slave-girl got up in terror, and cried aloud, but it all ended in a smile. Her smile created more curiosity in the minds of the king and queen than her fault had done.

They asked what made her smile. She said, ‘I smiled at the thought that the comfort and joy of this bed gave me an inclination to experience its pleasure for a moment, the penalty of which is given me as these blows, and I wonder, as you have experienced the pleasure of this comfortable bed all your life, what penalty you will have to pay for this to God, the King of all kings.’

On one level, the parable could be read as a warning to those who live over-indulged lives. But I’ll go with the alternative interpretation: that a girl should always fall into bed given the opportunity, especially if she think that a whipping might result.

The Times last week had a curious quote about working conditions on the airline crews:

And what other job subjects its staff to the “touch toes test”, whereby the cabin services director checks to see if naked buttocks can be seen under the skirt – the VPL is the enemy of the well turned-out air hostess, so some of them simply ditch their underwear.

Presumably, if buttocks can indeed be seen, a few quick licks of the belt can be included as well – to discourage such flaunting in the future.

Flying will never be the same again

Right, we thought it was about time that we all swapped holiday gifts. So here’s the plan…

We know that many of our readers have their own blogs – yet we also know that not all of you are aware of each other’s lovely sites. Given that there can surely be no better gift than that of spanking, here’s what we’d like you all to do… if you have a spanking-related blog (or site) containing original material, please leave a comment below with its title, the URL and (if you like) a brief description.

We’d love it if you could all take part – the bashful amongst you who have pages that aren’t yet as widely known as they could be; any lurkers who may not have stepped into the limelight thus far; and those of you who already get lots of hits (for, who knows, there may be fellow readers here who’ve not come across your site thus far).

And then, of course, we can all spend as much time as possible looking at each other’s sites over the holiday season!

Thank you for joining in!