The Spanking Writers

What a delightful pair of young ladies these two are, in this Orientalist illustration by Fernand-Anne Piestre Cormon:

I’ve been imagining the dialogue. As the master looks down at the girl at his feet, her friend pleads for him to be merciful.

“Very well,” he concedes, turning to the guard. “You may spare her life. Until this incident, she has served me well.”

But punished she must be: “Take her to the courtyard and whip her soundly. And then remove her from the palace. I suggest you take her to the slave market – there’ll be someone there looking for a well-trained girl to take as a wife, and if not, the brothelmasters will find good use for one so pretty.”

Discussing my love of the genre of girls’ school stories with some friends, I realised that some of them didn’t know about the precious reading resource that is “Virtual World of Girls”.

It’s a webite containing lots of amazing research about the genre – you can read it for hours. With the holiday week coming up, I suspect there won’t be as much posting on the blogs as usual (though rest assured, there will be a new post here on The Spanking Writers every day), so you lovers of school stories may need some entertainment. Well, there’s my recommendation.

Virtual World of Girls doesn’t really mention spanking, but I believe you can mix in your own fantasies into the world of girls’ school stories, which I’ve been cheerfully doing for as long as I’ve been reading them.

‘Tis the season for our Annual Awards, the fourth year now in which we’ve presented these to our favourites. (Click here for links back to our spanking awards winners from the previous years). So, with many congratulations to the winners. In no particular order, here goes…

Hottest Kinky Blog – Zille Defeu’s “Fetish Fantasies” wins this category, for its mix of consistently wonderful writing and photos.

Edgiest Blog – “News of the Lash” steals the prize here, for publishing the real-life spanking stories others leave out, amidst a selection of hot photos.

Most Fascinating Historical Blog Entry – we adored the history of the Markham Project, which appeared at “Voice in the Corner”. It’s in two parts: here and here.

Best New Blog “Emma Jane’s “A Painful Awakening” is a wonderful, regularly-updated exploration of the kinky lifestyle with some truly excellent posts.

Hottest Vanilla Exhibition – no contest: Waterhouse at the Royal Academy. One of those vanilla events that really isn’t.

Best Spanking Video – Lupus, the highly-respected Czech outfit, capture the prize for “A Garden Party”. Great cast, great direction, great fun.

Most-Lamented Site – the wonderful Lowewood Academy, which came to a glorious finale at the end of the last school year. (A special mention too for Jessica, for her achievements editing Lowewood – and subsequently for her own excellent blog).

Most Romantic Blog Story – this just has to go to Ludwig and Kaelah of “Rohrstock Palast”: just great to see a spanking blog bringing such lovely people together.

Leading Internet Spankologist – again, Chross’s site excelled, bringing together his original content with well-researched links to the best snippets from the spankosphere.

Perviest Rock Band – Rammstein, for the outrageous artwork on the cover of their new album combined with the utter depravity of the video for their single, “Pussy”.

Many congratulations to all of the winners!

A few nights ago I had a dream with a very complex plot, revolving around a medium-sized island close enough to England to be seen with the naked eye, and yet out of the British jurisdiction. This was where slaves were kept. If you were somehow politically undersirable – a migrant, a petty criminal, “underserving poor” – you were sent to this island to work for the rest of your life.

I was a slave too. For most of the dream, I was preoccupied with escape. I would run off to get onto a boat, get caught, get beaten; I would try to swim the channel, get caught, get beaten. Once I made it all the way to the shore, only to be immediately identified as a slave, because I cowered from figures of authority.

A lot of punishment can fit into a dream. Mostly it was done by having me tied to a wooden post, with rope looped through a metal ring at its top. I’d be whipped with a wide leather strap – on my bottom, across my back. It being a dream, the whippings didn’t hurt, but they brought me so much anguish that I thought they did.

In the end, I did escape. I flew away.

Remember: if in the company of royalty, it’s always best to be polite – as this anecdote from an 1831 book at Project Gutenberg so aptly demonstrates:

Princess Esterhazy was a great favourite of George IV. At a ball given in honour of his Majesty’s birth-day, the young ladies were each expected to kneel, and present him with a nosegay; but the princess declared, that as she was of royal blood, she would prefer death to such degradation.

The King received her graciously, notwithstanding her obstinacy; but her governess sent the child to bed immediately after dinner.

“Bon pour la digestion,” exclaimed the princess; which so enraged the governess, that she took her out of bed and whipped her soundly.

“Bon pour la circulation,” said the princess; and the next day the governess resigned.

Ever since our move to a bigger house in April, we’ve made a point to keep our spanking implements both tidy and accessible. There are the umbrella stands full of canes, there’s a school trunk stuffed with smaller toys, plus a random box or folder here and there.

I was hauling all these nice things out to receieve a kinky friend the other day, and it felt to me like, from a housekeeping point of view, maybe there’s too much stuff here. The trunk definitely doesn’t close as easily as it should. Still, I thought, we can just about manage with the tidy and accessible thing, as long as we remember to put things away.

Then I went under the bed to retrieve my phone charger – and there, staring at me, was a splintery wine crate full of implements. Which I had no idea was there. So it turns out, we have even more than I thought we did, when I thought we maybe had too many.

I’m scared of opening the closet. I’m scared of looking into the wardrobes. You can bet I’m scared of going down into the cellar.

There might be forgotten spanking toys there.

Waiting.

Vengeful.

A cute young thing, clad only in a pair of silken pyjama shorts, bounced happily into my dreams the other night: a student at the local art institute, it transpired, as more details coloured themselves in.

Cut to a scene at dinner: her, me and a gentleman friend. The meal ended, I retired to the bedroom, leaving her behind with the comment that, “She’s yours to do with as you please.” Some time later, she crawled in next to me in bed, crying, bearing the marks of a whipping; he’d used her in other ways, too. We cuddled, and feel asleep in each other’s arms.

Cut to another dinner, with the same friend. She made a comment out of turn: I told her to go upstairs. (The ritual, it seems, was well-practised: she would fetch the cane from my study, then stand facing the wall outside the punishment room until I arrived). Her protests met with a hard slap across the face, and her dismissal from the room.

I followed her some time later, having left her for some time so she could reflect on what had happened and contemplate what was to come. “Since when has it been up to you to decide whether or not you deserve punishment?” I asked. Tears followed as she apologised for her insolence and presumption, and I doubled the number of strokes that she was due.

We were driving around listening to the BBC radio, and an item came up about shop owners using “alternative measures” to confront petty thieves.

“Rather than call the police…” the journalist began.

“They spank them!” Abel and I finished in unison.

Well, no. Actually, they send in debt collectors instead. Which, legally, is pretty dubious. Suggesting a consensual spanking instead would be a much cleaner solution, we feel. If we’re discussing alternative methods, and everything.

Abel called me from the kitchen in his “I’m about to smack you” voice. When I arrived, I saw that he was grinning from ear to ear, and also that he was hiding something behind his back.

“Bend over,” he said, very pleased with himself. “Hands on your knees.”

I obeyed.

Something invisible swung up and cracked down, leaving quite intense, not unpleasant sting.

“Ow?” I asked.

Another two strokes, in quick succession. This time I yelped with more conviction.

“Very good,” said Abel. “You can stand up. Do you like my new implement?”

And he produced from behind his back the single least romantic kitchen pervertible my bottom has ever encountered.

Any guesses what it was?

Don’t bother trying, I’ll tell you.

It was an empty tube from a roll of baking foil.

!!!

Some things make excellent spanking implements, but must, nevertheless, never ever be used as such. Ever.

I’ve had a frustrating time recently browsing self-catering sites on the web, trying to find buildings that would be suitable for reformatory weekends*. The criteria? Large, well away from the road and other houses, well sound-proofed, relatively easy to get to – and affordable. Mmm. Not sure all of those go together.

It’s particular depressing as I have a very clear picture in mind of a scene. I’m supervising a group of girls who are sitting behind tables, working diligently at some mundane task designed to pass the day and break their spirit. (Sewing church kneelers, perhaps?).

But one girl stands before me, head bowed. “That, young lady, was completely unacceptable.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will be birched. In front of the other girls.

“Please, sir. No…”

“Be silent.” I point to one of the other girls. “You: go to the porter and ask him for a birch. And you two – fetch the table from over there and place it in the centre of the room, just here.”

And then I turn back to the miscreant, and issue her instructions: “Whilst you, young lady, can take off your clothes and go and stand in the corner, facing the wall with your hands on your head, until I’m ready to deal with you…”

–

* Somewhat to my amusement, I found one property that described itself as suitable for “grandparents of families holidaying in the larger apartments who can enjoy their own space unmolested.” How thoughtful of them to protect their female guests from grandpapa’s wandering hands…