The Spanking Writers

Good news: SpankingCast, our spanking podcast, has just been accepted by iTunes for listing in their podcast directory. This means that you can subscribe through iTunes to have it delivered to you automatically every time we post a new episode. (It’s free, you know.)

Here’s how you subscribe:

1. Automatically:

- Click this iTunes link. This will open iTunes and take you straight to our page.

- Click “subscribe free”. That’s it!

2. Manually:

- Open iTunes

- Go to iTunes Store

- Type “SpankingCast” into the search tab

- When our listing shows up, click the “subscribe free” button

- Enjoy the show!

As you can see, either way is pretty easy; so enjoy your audio spanking show to your heart’s content.

(Episode 2 is coming up this weekend, and this time I’ll do all the talking. It’ll be interesting, I promise!)

As ever when I have an early start for work, I didn’t sleep that deeply last night – I guess my subconscious is always afraid that the alarm will fail to go off and I’ll end up missing my meeting. (That’d be the bedside alarm *and* the battery-powered one I set as back-up, *and* my mobile phone alarm too).  The other thing that could make me late would be sitting writing an entry for The Spanking Writers when I should be showering and ironing my shirt, and setting off towards the dreaded M25 on a Monday morning. But my mind’s buzzing with a wonderful dream, despite my restless night, and I can’t resist writing it down.

The police had just been to the house, dropping off my two daughters who’d been caught trespassing in the grounds of the big local mansion. The lord of the manor didn’t want to press charges, the constable explained, but hoped that I’d deal with matters myself.

Indeed I would…

“Get upstairs,” I instructed, following them to their bedroom. I lectured them about their conduct – about how generous his lordship had been not to take them to court, about the consequences had he taken a stricter view. And then over my knee they each went in turn, their jeans down, for a hard and unforgiving hand spanking.  They were crying from that, even before I told them that I was now going to deal with the more serious matter: the fact that they’d lied to me about where they’d be spending the afternoon.

As I unbuckled my belt, the younger girl protested: “But we’re too old too get punished…”

“You are indeed,” I replied. “Old enough to know better, and not to be so dishonest. That’s why I intend to make sure you both learn your lesson well.” They were made to take off their jeans and knickers, and bend over the side of the bed next to one another. My belt doubled, lifted high, I thrashed them both until I believed their sobbed apologies and vows to behave better in future…

Oh how I want to play a scene. But it’s now twenty-two minutes past six, I’m supposed to be leaving the house in twenty minutes, and that shower really does beckon…

I leafed through an interesting book in a gift shop: “Victorian Villains: Prisoners from Newcastle Gaol 1871-1873″ by Barry Redfern. It’s a thin volume, but, opened at random, it gave some nice food for my fantasies.

…for the year 1855 there is a very interesting note on the 175 “other punishments” used that year. All but two were shower baths, which, according to the Governor, formed a “very efficacious punishment which he could scarcely do without.” The exceptions were used in “two instances of gross misconduct by two females violently shouting, calling out from their dormitories, and disturbing the whole prison, when a headpiece of muzzle was placed upon the prisoners, which effectually prevents them from shouting but allows them to respire freely.”

I was delighted to discover that disciplinary showers, which Abel is so fond of, are actually an authentic prison punishment. I wish the prison records had more detail about how a “shower bath” was administered. Was it a private affair, between a prisoner and her guard, or would several prisoners be showered at once? Did it have to do with washing, or simply thoroughly drenching the offender? Was there any scrubbing, and if so, who did it?

With the records of punishments being so sparse, however, I’m sure we can make up the relevant details ourselves.

I had a delicious dream last night, connected directly, I suspect, to yesterday’s launch of SpankingCast. I dreamed I was sent with my laptop and microphone to interview Alan Rickman about a spanking video he was about to shoot.

This was a charity endeavour, where he dressed up as Professor Snape and delivered a 10-minute lesson to a classroom of 10 or so schoolgirls, and then he was supposed to cane them one by one. I turned up before the shooting had started, so I asked whether he was looking forward to giving the canings.

“Of course not,” he said. “Snape might, but I don’t.”

I was terribly disappointed.

I was even more disappointed that I wasn’t one of the schoolgirls, and also that I woke up before they could shoot the film, and I could interview him again, after the canings had happened.

We’re very excited to unveil our new project today: SpankingCast, our very own podcast on our favourite topic: spanking, spanking and more spanking.

If you don’t know what a podcast is, allow us to explain: essentially, it’s an audio blog. We record an audio track and publish it on the blog, and you can download it and listen to it on your MP3 player. It’s that simple.

We’ll notify you of new episodes here on The Spanking Writers; eventually we hope that our feed will be accepted by iTunes, which is another great way of subscribing. (We’ll let you know when that happens.)

In the meantime, we give you SpankingCast Episode 1: “Into spanking”.

Welcome to the first episode of SpankingCast, hosted by Abel and Haron, two of the web’s best-known writers of spanking erotica.

In this debut episode, Abel muses about tolerance and acceptance of kink in society, quoting Matthew Syed from The Times.

Relevant links:

“Hypocrisy is one thing. Morality is another.”

“The problem with stereotypes”

“Hot off the presses”

Podcast: Play in new window | Download

Matlock Bath, in Derbyshire, is a very strange little place. Developed in the 1800s, it became famous as a spa town after Queen Victoria visited in 1831 – and the town appears to have changed little since, save for the appearance of a quite astounding number of fish and chip shops. The local tourist board would doubtless describe it as ‘evocative of another era’ – the usual shorthand for ‘slightly run-down and very dated’, albeit still a pleasant place in which to pass an hour or two.

We visited a little while back with a group of kinky friends, and popped into the once-grand Hydro – now home to an aquarium and holographic exhibition. As the attraction’s site notes, “Reminders of its former splendor can be seen in the fine stone staircase, the drinking fountain and huge iron girders spanning the thermal pool.” (The slot machines, from which we won the grand total of £2 for a 40p stake, are presumably a more recent addition).

Said fine staircase features a rather lovely cat:

But it’s this type of cat that really caught our eye:

The display helpfully explained the types of knot needed to make the implement (“but don’t try this at home, children”), with a history of its use. I hadn’t known, for example, that floggings aboard ship always took place at the same time – 11am. And have you ever wondered why the tails on some cats are knotted, whilst most are not? It seems that ‘a standard cat o’nine tails had plain rope tails, but if the punishment was for stealing from a fellow shipmate, each tail was knotted at the end and this instrument was known as a “thieves’ cat”‘.

Quite what it’s doing in a glass case on the staircase in an old spa is anyone’s guess – were whippings one of the treatments on offer? Were the maids accompanying their Victorian employers to the resort despatched to the Hydro for punishment if they misbehaved? Or, perhaps, were the current owners simply hoping to attract kinky visitors like our group?

The most recent edition of “Cotswald Life” magazine gave us not one, but two startles on one page. (The page in question is itself a sort of blog, reprinting interesting quotes the author of the column enjoyed in other papers and magazines.)

“Silly and naughty.” – Elizabeth Hurley responds to the suggestion posed to her by the Irish Independent that she was once a member of a libertine group called The Viles who supposedly enjoyed a spot of spanking at Sudeley Castle.

“I like my smokes, a drop of whiskey and Guinness… People try to tell you it’s bad for you but my family wouldn’t dare ask me to stop. If they did, I’d put them across my lap and give them a slapped bum.” – Lorna Gobey celebrates her 100th birthday.

I really want to know whether Elizabeth Hurley thinks the idea of spanking is “silly and naughty”, or whether it’s just that particular group that she wouldn’t like to mix with.

Haron, Cath and I are heading to Florida Moonshine’s famous ‘Tropical Beach Party’ for the first time this year, as are a fair few close friends (both from the ‘known in real life’ and ‘known so well online that it feels like we already know them in real life’ camps). The event’s still some two months off, but we’re already incredibly excited by the prospect.

I was rather amused, though, to read the latest online publicity blurb for the event on Fetlife and other forums, which proclaimed that the Saturday night will feature:

“a sit-down dinner in the banquet hall”.

Hold on a moment. A sit-down dinner? Either some of the girls attending are being very optimistic, or some of the tops involved in organising the event really do have a delightfully cruel streak.

I’m particularly looking forward to the school scene we’ll be playing at the event. As Tony from FMS wrote in another recent post about the party:

Two of the top British role players in the scene today Cameron and Abel will be your strict masters at the Florida Moonshine Academy for naughty girls. This will not be some silly unrealistic school role play but rather an unforgettable experience and trip back to the days when schools were strict and teachers stricter.

Stricter than strict, eh? I think I can do that

PS if you’re a reader here – a lurker even – and you’re going to the event, why not say hi in the comments?! And it’ll be great to see you in a couple of months’ time…

It’s a very cold Easter break, and the girls free from school for the holiday are disappointed with having to bundle up in layers and layers of clothes. After all, what use is finally being out of uniform, when your fun little dresses and short short have to be supplemented with thick tights and sweaters? It doesn’t seem fair.

One girl, though, is happy with the weather. She pulls on the thickest black tights, and wears skirts that are at least knee-length, and she loves that she can do it without raising her friends’ eyebrows.

She needs the cover, you see. She goes to a different school from most of the girls in her street: instead of walking or taking the bus to a local school every day, she boards at St. Stephen’s Academy miles and miles away. It’s a good school, and she likes it most of the time, but there is one thing that makes her unhappy: the discipline policy.

The final day of term in St. Stephen’s involves all the girls and boys checking the announcement board by the Housemistress’s office to see the final tally of their merits and demerits. Everyone whose standing is at fewer than plus ten points has to visit the office before they go home, to receive twelve strokes of the cane. It doesn’t matter whether you have missed the mark by one point, or whether you are at minus fifteen: everybody gets a dozen strokes. (Though rumour has it that those with a negative count can expect to get their strokes extra hard.)

Our girl had eight points. It wasn’t that she’d been badly behaved and had lots of demerits, but she hadn’t been particularly good, either. She just hasn’t earned enough points to avoid a caning. And so the Housemistress picked up a senior cane, told the girl to take off her skirt and knickers and bend over the back of a chair, and started to administer the punishment.

This is where it all went wrong for the girl. She simply couldn’t stay in place for the caning. After every stroke she leapt up, rubbing her bottom and begging to be let off. She just wasn’t used to this sort of pain. The Housemistress had to say: “If you don’t stop this disgraceful display, I will give you the final six strokes on your thighs. You don’t want it to come to that.”

Perhaps the girl inwardly hadn’t believed that this could happen, but she couldn’t make herself stand still. After the very next stroke she leapt up, howling in pain.

“I see,” said the Housemistress calmly. “Very well, then. Bend back over, I will continue with your thighs.”

And there was nothing to be done after that. No matter how the girl begged, the strokes landed across the top of her legs, neat red lines of pure flame.

Of course, her regulation skirt covered up her shame for the rest of the day, though there were whispers, of course. It was only when the time came to go home and dress in her street clothes, when she started to get worried. Shorts and mini-skirts were out of question, with the puffy red tramlines covering her thighs. But what would the other girls in her street think when she covered herself up?

So you see, this girl is quite happy with the cool Easter. She only hopes that the weather doesn’t brighten until she’s safely back at school, where the marks can heal out of sight, undneath her uniform skirt.