The Spanking Writers

At about four this morning I was awakened by the sound of loud cane strokes coming from my study. Now Haron’s back home for a week, no-one else is here to keep me company, and I was pretty sure that the cat hadn’t pulled a kinky girl during her nightly rambles through the neighbours’ gardens and dragged her back in through the open window to play a scene. Cue mild panic.

I stumbled out of bed, opened the study door – and found a spanking video playing.  Now I’d watched the start of said movie yesterday evening on my ever-so-clever new touch screen PC, before swapping to the much-less exciting Prime Ministerial debate. And, being rather tired, I’d forgotten to turn off the PC before collapsing in bed.  But that it had brought itself to life and starting playing? Weird, I thought, assuming that there’d been some bizarre technical glitch. I stopped the video, and headed back to sleep.

A few minutes later… yet more whackings and cries. I went to investigate more closely. And there, fluttering around in front of the PC, was a small insect. I’d describe it as a mosquito, but that’d be flattering it. Said flying thing was bouncing along my screen, perhaps attracted by the light and heat, and every time it brushed against the surface the computer was following its instructions. One of which seems to have been, by colliding with the open Real Player window, to play the spanking video…

Interesting, I reflected as I dozed back off – the PC switched safely off – to contemplate others who may have unexpectedly overheard thrashings of girls unknown over the years. The prison guard, disturbed by a whipping in a cell along the corridor. The schoolmaster, teaching a lesson to echoes of cane strokes from the adjacent classroom. The gentleman hearing the butler administering the carpet beater to a penitent maid, or said butler hearing said gentleman spanking one of his daughters in the drawing room.  So I’d hereby like to thank said “not quite a mozzie” for providing such lovely inspiration.

A few days ago I was part of a discussion among friends about how hard it is to learn to cane accurately, and how much practice you should put in before indulging your fantasies of caning a real human. Cushions are normally recruited to provide a practice surface. Some people also chalk the cane, and try to land the strokes on a particular spot.

Then it occurred to me: we need a Wii Caning programme! Cushions are all very well, but if somebody were to write the necessary software, we could have something that would evaluate accuracy, strength and angle of your stroke, and give you marks out of ten. After all, a cushion can’t object if your tip is wrapping, or if you go too hard or too soft, but a clever piece of software could. You could learn so much from having something like that available to learn at home. Those of us who switch could then be punished for not getting a good enough caning score. So it would be a double win for everyone, you see.

If I could write software, I’d get started tomorrow. Maybe somebody who reads the blog has the necessary skills?

In the meantime, you could read the tips for newbie caners that Abel wrote a while ago, and get out those cushions.

Abel has read somewhere about somebody’s parents putting switches in the freezer before giving a whipping, and how this made the pain particularly awful. Never one to pass up any kinky experimentation, he stuck a few birch twigs in the freezer and crossed his fingers.

Some hours later he invited me to lie face-down on the bed to test the theory of frozen switches. (“Quick, quick! Before they defrost!”) Getting into the spirit of scientific enquiry, I bared my bottom and gritted my teeth.

And what a spectacular failure this experiment has been! Not only were the icicle switches no more painful than usual, I could swear they were more bearable. Normally I find switching very trying, and can hardly ever take more than six or so cuts, but here the sting was quite mild and – dare I confess – pleasant. I encouraged Abel to continue the whipping past the experimental stage, which he did with some force, and although by the end I was quite striped and sore, this wasn’t an ordeal for me, but rather a piquant exercise.

So maybe I’m wrong to call the experiment a failure, after all. I did rather enjoy its results. But the conclusion is the same: putting switches in the freezer doesn’t make them any more fearsome.

And thank goodness for that. Switches are pretty evil without any artificial enhancement.

Abel mourns the political career that he can never have because of living openly in the spanking scene, but then he satisfies his political urges by reading all sorts of kinkiness into the election manifestos of the UK parties.

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We wandered into our local branch of Past Times last weekend, curious to see what items the store was offering that might evoke nostalgic feelings for British traditions from days gone by. A traditional white cotton nightshirt just had to be bought – perfect for a scene in which a girl is sent to bed early, or called into her guardian’s study late at night for a discussion regarding her behaviour.

And then there was this:

Why, I wondered aloud, were they selling fairies in bondage? The poor little thing looked quite distraught, with her ankles and wrists bound tight. Imprisoned, perhaps – a whipping sure to follow. It was only then that we realised that the chains were actually designed to hang up the piece, and that the apparently ultra-kinky item was in fact entirely vanilla…

We joined a new gym recently, and I found myself in a weirdly disconcerting position of having my induction from a young man who didn’t look old enough to have left school yet. He was being awfully polite, but the process of induction demanded that he told me what to do, and to be ordered around by such a young guy was decidedly odd.

I was transported in my fantasies to a country house where I am a housemaid. The mistress of the house has a younger brother, who spends most of his time away at school. This summer, though, he is resting at home before going up to Cambridge for his first term.

I have been with the family for a long time, so I remember this boy when he was first sent away to school, so small and vulnerable. Now, though, he’s definitely a young man, and he is also my senior in the household hierarchy.

One day I find him in the kitchen spanking one of the scullery maids, who is bent over the counter with her bottom bared. Such sights are not unusual; indeed, I have often been spanked myself by my master and mistress. Normally I wouldn’t dare interfere, but the girl is crying so pitifully, and I still remember this young man as a little boy, so I intervene, asking him to stop.

“I’m sure she’s sorry, Master Freddy,” I say soothingly.

“Don’t be impertinent,” he answers coldly. “I know how to discipline servants. Would you like to experience this for yourself?”

“Of course not, sir. But look at her, she’s crying.”

“As well she should. I caught her with her hand in the sugar bowl. As for you, you clearly need a lesson in manners as well; when I’m finished with this wretch, I’ll attend to you. Wait over there.”

And thus, to my utter mortification, I end up being spanked on my bare bottom by a boy ten years my junior.

I fully intend for this to remain a fantasy, mind you!

It’s become something of a cliche for spanking blogs to discuss the search terms that have led readers to their sites – but indulge me for a moment? For I do occasionally browse our keyword list out of curiosity, only to find it full of the usual suspects.

Yes, if you want “spanking stories”, you may find your way to our site. “Doctor Who spank” would probably lead to several of Haron’s posts (and, who knows, I might just be thinking of adding to that particular genre by sharing illicit thoughts about the new Doctor’s rather lovely, sassy new assistant). And we’ve certainly described a few scenes that would qualify if you were hunting for a “severe caning true story”, although I’m not sure how many of our play partners would describe said events as their “worst thrashing ever”.

But a couple of terms used in quick succession the other day really caught my eye, to the extent that I just had to share them. See, said individual had looked first for “wedding night spanking”, returning moments later to hunt for advice on “new wife spanking”. Oh, how I love a romantic story! I do so wish the happy kinky couple every joy in their spanking-filled married life.

Of course, today’s Saturday – perhaps the most popular day of the week for people to pledge their commitment to their partners. So if you happen to see a bride in the coming hours, I challenge you not to wonder whether she’ll be getting a “birching” later this evening, experiencing the “lochgelly tawse in action” – or just being cuddled and held tight by her new husband or wife before being made to “bend over for punishment”.

PS to whichever reader was hoping to read about “abel’s spanking” – no: that’s just wrong, and not going to happen, OK?

The Times gave me a good giggle a couple of days ago by publishing the following opinion piece:

There’s a line in the long Wikipedia entry for Eton College that, more than anything else, epitomises the peculiarity of the institution. Under the section on “corporal punishment”, which was apparently such a fixation at the school that in the 16th century Friday was set aside as “flogging day”, it reads: “Beating was phased out in 1983.”

Huh? Why did it have to be phased out? Surely, if you’ve decided violence against children is a bad thing, then you get rid of it in one go? And how did this phasing out work? Was the a period in the Eighties when some boys were beaten while others weren’t? Or perhaps children were, over the course of a few months, flogged with decreasing viciousness, until the activity finally died out? Weird.

I really like the idea of the Headmaster, sour-faced, announcing in assembly one day: “Starting today, the school is forbidden to use corporal punishment on scholarship pupils. Each of you must appoint a proxy, who will be punished in your stead whenever you deserve a thrashing.”

What? That’s as good a method of phasing out canings as any suggested in the paper…

Oh, how delightful! A story at Google Books of a young lady passing herself off as a boy to join the army in times gone by – and suffering the consequences of her misbehaviour.

‘A Mirror for Ruffians’, by Philip Lindsay, tells the tale:

And there was Hannah Snell, the eighteenth centruy soldier who shouldered a musket at Pondicherry; Hannah is a delightful case, she was such an obvious liar, and apart from those tales proved mendacious, I rather doubt her boast of having been twice flogged.

Her biographer explains that her bosom was exceptionally small and that she tied a long handkerchief around her neck… Nevertheless, flogging was unbelievably brutal punishment, and even the most powerful man inevitably jerked some cry between his clenched teeth at the first swing of the knotted cat; Hannah must have been amazingly tough to withstand this.

So: who’s up for a scene?!

When you say a really bad word, and your husband makes you bend over the kitchen counter, grabs a giant spoon and starts to spank you with it -

- DO NOT! -

- react first of all by yelling “Fuck!” at the top of your voice.

The consequences may be painful.

P.S. Though you may end up giggling so hard that the spanking may not hurt as much as it otherwise would.