Saturday evening. Champions League football final In the background, bottle of decent French red half-consumed, and I’m sitting writing this looking out over a stunning view of Paris. Notre Dame? Directly in front of me. The Louvre – around to the left. Montmatre – on top of the hill on the skyline. Save for a small area blocked by the Montparnasse tower, it’s a perfect, uninterrupted 180 degree view of one of the world’s great cities. Such a shame, really, not to have a girl with me to bend over the table and spank with her looking out over Paris.
I guess monarchs in days gone by might have had similar views from their castles – high their kingdoms, looking out over their subjects below. And what if a princess misbehaved, some disgraceful act risking damage to the royal family’s standing with the populace? Why, I think she’d have been taken to a room at the very top of the castle. She’d be instructed to bend over a table in front of the window, offering her a perfect view of the kingdom below as the whip striped her bare behind. But what would be more unbearable: the pain of the harshly-administered strokes, or the lecture that would accompany them about the importance of upholding the royal reputation in the eyes of those over whom her tear-filled eyes gazed as she was flogged?
As much as I’d just like to make fun of any notion that the scenery matters much after the first few blows, I have to admit that the thought of being spanked overlooking Paris is somehow very hot!