The Spanking Writers

Last week Abel undertook a frightening, but necessary task: he decided to count and sort our implements. It was frightening because there were piles of spanking toys crammed into every box and drawer in our bedroom and study; it was necessary for the same reason.

With our toys sorted into little heaps on the floor, we did an inventory, and tidied them into suitable boxes, umbrella stands and drawers, and were about to breather the sigh of relief when Abel went under the bed for something else and emerged with an uncounted strap.

“Trying to hide it?” he thundered, with a glint of a smile behind his eyes. “Bend over!”

This happened to be a fairly light strap that I really like, so I leaned over the foot of the bed with not so much trepidation as fond anticipation.

Abel began my licking with some detectable glee. “Do you know how many you’re getting?” he asked.

“Ow! Ouch! No?”

“Eighteen. One for every ten implements we own.”

I ruefully braced for my proportional comeuppance, and suffered it with only minimal carrying-on and hardly any giggles at all.

I’m glad we found that strap, and not, say, a ginormous wooden paddle or something…

So, how long does a caning last? My mathematical background (sadly, I did a degree in the subject) has been teasing me lately with trying to work out the optimal time for a punishment, from the moment the girl enters the room. I think I have the formula:

t = l + p + sg + c

where

t = the total time elapsed from start to finish

l = the time spent lecturing her about her misdemeanours – including discussing the offence, hearing any mitigating factors or pleas, scolding, passing sentence

p = preparation time, as the girl adjusts her clothing as required, adopts the required position, and (if applicable) is tied into place

s = the number of strokes awarded

g = the gap between the strokes – a time interval that can vary from, perhaps, less than one second to twenty or more

c = the conclusion, as the girl returns unsteadily to her feet, straightens her clothes, completes any paperwork and receives any final admonishments before being dismissed.

Of course, it’s something of a simplification – I wouldn’t want to bamboozle you with my sophistication of my mathematical brilliance, after all. (There’s the small matter of ‘a’, for example – something inevitable in so many spanking situations. Yep, the additional time during a scene for pauses, for further discussion of her offence, a girl to resume her position after leaping to her feet clutching her bottom). But it does pose some interesting questions. For example, I could envisage the following exam question:

A housemaster has 30 minutes between finishing his lunch and the start of afternoon lessons. During this time, he would like to take 10 minutes for coffee, mints and a cigar in the staff common room. He needs a 2 minute conversation with his head of house, and 3 minutes to gather his papers for the next lesson. Two other girls need two minutes each to be congratulated on their latest school report card.

He punishes any miscreant with six of the best, and likes to allow an average of 15 seconds between strokes. There are three girls waiting in line outside his office to receive corporal punishment. How long can he spend with each in total on lecturing her, allowing her to prepare for her punishment and on concluding matters before dismissing her?

See, it must be tough being a teacher, juggling this sort of mental arithmetic every day. And you were feeling sorry for the girls being punished…

In the midst of working with a client last week, I found time to note my amusement on Twitter at the names of two of their systems – one called ‘PMT’, the other ‘IPIS’. Immediately, other tweets picked up on the theme: we first uncovered an application called ‘OTK’ and two named ‘WHIPS’; a “TWAT” initiative (“Teachers Working At Targets”) and a failed attempt to name a program ‘CLIT’. And I oh so want to have a meeting with Emma Jane in her workplace’s S&M room (‘Sales & Marketing’, of course – to which their Business Development colleagues also occasionally invited).

Thus, the 2011 “Best kinky acronym in the vanilla world” contest was born. Our collective challenge, to find some occasion in the next 11+ months to legitimately introduce some pervy abbreviation into our work lives. Surely we must be able to succeed? Here’s looking for entries, by comment here or by email, tweet or DM!

In the meantime, here’s another – slightly easier – contest…

Clearly, a never ending stream of documents and emails flow from many of our work computers on a daily basis. Often the knowledge shared in these is critical to our colleagues. Besides, I really consider helpful communications to be an invaluable part of most people’s jobs, Could, perhaps, this form the basis of a subversive game? So, people, a new kinky challenge is duly born!

Actually, I’m playing the game already. For if you look at the first letters of each sentence in the previous paragraph, you’ll see some interesting words emerge. “Clearly, a never ending” – Cane. Followed in turn in subsequent sentences by Otk, Birch, Cp and Spank.

So, here goes… One week to complete the task. Write a sentence or paragraph in some genuine work communiqué (or other vanilla correspondence), in which the first letters of the opening words spell out something naughty or kinky – and post it here too. I guess there should be a prize for the winner: oh yes, the glory of winning such a clever and nice, innovative new game (or, of course, ‘caning’).

* Thanks to the original tweeters! I’ve not named you merely because some of your feeds are locked, and I’m not sure you’d want your lovely acronyms attributed to you with a wider audience here!

“What are you doing with my handcuffs?” Abel bellowed.

“Throwing them out,” I said innocently, talking what I thought were faulty cuffs to the bin.

“You leave my cuffs alone!” I hadn’t realised he could move with such alacrity. Before I could blink, he had retrieved the handcuffs from my slack hand, and was cuddling them.

Turns out, there had been a misunderstanding. I had thought the cuffs were broken and were waiting to be thrown out; in reality, they were in a good working order, and were simply in need of a little oil.

After the ordeal of nearly being separated from his toy, Abel suggested that I’m fortunate not to be the girl who tried to bin her probation officer’s handcuffs. He left me with this delicious thought.

What, indeed, would happen to such a girl? I’m leaning towards a summary punishment on the spot, rather than any judicial fuss. But, it being a judicial setting, perhaps a prison strap would need to be deployed – a wide, long strip of leather with two rows of holes along its tongue.

Obviously, a girl who would make a grab for an officer’s cuffs couldn’t be trusted to stay in position, so she would need to be cuffed over a chair. The officer might have to borrow a few sets of cuffs from his colleagues to secure her feet at the width of the chair legs. Her knickers would need to come down to make an additional point, though a prison strap can make a suitable impression when applied over the thin cotton.

She would struggle, and she would cry, but the officer wouldn’t stop until he deemed that she was properly subdued, and genuinely sorry.

On the whole, Abel is right: I’m glad I’m not that girl.

So, here’s a question for those out there who end up on the receiving end of spankings – specifically, more severe whackings that leave painful marks or bruises – such as, for example, intense scenes or longer events (such as wonderful school days, reformatories, house parties or Finishing Schools).

It’s the day after you’ve been ‘punished’ – in role, not for real. You’re sitting in the office, meeting room, lecture theatre, library, coffee shop, wherever. And you feel a twinge of pain. You shift uncomfortably, and it doesn’t help – it hurts!

But, of course, the scene is long over, your character left behind. What do you think, when the discomfort strikes? Is it:

(a) I’m now in the real world, behaving as a responsible grown-up – and my bottom hurts. This is mad: I do live a strange but fascinating life!

or

(b) Mmmm, that was a fun scene, as you’re transported straight back to the play date / event – perhaps even recapturing, just for a moment, that spirit of naughtiness that got your character into trouble, and the memories of feeling soundly punished.

or

(c) A balance between the two, perhaps depending on how successful the scene was and what you’re having to face back in real life?

This morning I reflected that, on the one hand, it’s quite handy that I don’t work in an office. I had to take the car to be looked at by dashing mechanics, and didn’t get to my desk until 10am; the freedom to be late – and then work late, naturally – is something I really appreciate.

On the other hand, I also don’t get the disapproving attention of a Glamorous Boss.

She’s a mythical figure, to be sure, but I picture her very well. She wears dress suits and smart knee-high boots with narrow noses. Her hair is cut short in a glossy, immaculate bob. She has a truly astonishing collection of spectacles with interesting frames.

When she is displeased, she calls me into her office and instructs me to lower the blinds on the glass door, and then reaches into the drawer of her desk for a ruler.

Everybody in the office knows what happens on these occasions, because just about everybody has had the taste of the ruler at one time or another. I lower my trousers and bend over the desk. She allows me to keep my knickers up – this is not about humiliation, only correction. The ruler lands two dozen times, printing pink and red rectangles on the exposed part of my cheeks. I bite on my knuckle to keep from embarrassing whimpering. I have a massive crush on my boss, and hope that she will think better of me if I take the punishment bravely.

I exit her office with a silly infatuated grin on my flushed face. Under my trousers, my bottom is also flushed, and I will replay this punishment throughout my day in the office.

At a party not long ago, I was chatting to a fellow top about some of the rituals associated with spanking roleplay. Some are obvious – setting up the room, selecting implements, thinking through the scene ahead.

For me, though, there are two very specific details that always tell me that I’m about to play. The first is putting on a tie: I simply don’t wear them in daily life, and the act of knotting one it is a sure-fire signal to me that a spanking is to be administered. (For, after all, who wants their housemaster or headmaster in an open-necked shirt?). It’s like the very acting of selecing a tie from the wardrobe jolts me into character, into the right state of mind.

The second is polishing my shoes. Whilst this is something that, obviously, does feature in my regular vanilla routine, it’s become a habit of mine to buff my shoes shortly before playing. After all, if a girl’s bent over my knee, she surely doesn’t want to see dirty shoes* – and, indeed, has the right to know that the person spanking her is immaculately turned-out.

So, I wondered – does anyone else have any specific, detailed things that they do before a scene, that clicks their mind into kinky gear?

* The friend in the conversation (@HelloMrAllen on Twitter) immediately conjured up a time-saving variant on this – that the girl might usefully be made to polish one’s shoes whilst being spanked – but we decided that that was probably not really the done thing!

A few days ago I was painfully yearning for a spanking. Luckily for me, Abel was due to come home from a work trip, so there was hope of a spanking actually happening. I expressed my wishes to him via Twitter, and he immediately told me to go and wait in my room for my guardian to come home.

When I heard the front door, I was in my pyjamas, cocooned in blankets, restless with trepidation. My guardian took his time coming into my room, and I listened to his every familiar home-coming noise, straining to hear his footsteps on the stairs.

When he finally entered the room, he looked like he was just about holding in a whirlwind of fury. He demanded my explanations: why were the neighbours complaining of so much noise from our house in his absence.

None of my excuses would cut it. I only had a few friends over, we did nothing more than play a shooter on the Xbox, the alcohol we drank was only Bailey’s, which is like condensed milk. None of this was good enough. I was ordered out of bed and over his knee with my pyjama bottoms down.

What followed was exactly the spanking I wanted: pretty painful, but not so atrocious that I had to wriggle and pull away. It felt like it went on for a long time, and I was keen to offer my apologies and promises of good behaviour. These were not enough, though, because after he finished spanking me, my guardian told me to go to his office and bring the clothesbrush that was sitting on his desk.

This was the beautiful brush that Abel had brought home recently, when I was too sick to try it. I was thrilled that now I would find out what it felt like, but there was also a tingle of apprehension: it’s a very thick, sturdy implement. I handed it to my guardian and returned over his knee.

My fear had been justified: the brush burned. I knew Abel was putting hardly any force behind the smacks, but it was, nevertheless, quite an ordeal. He gave me ten, in quick succession, and I just about succeeded in not levitating off his lap.

After the scene was over, and I’d had my cuddles, Abel thought it would be a great idea to give me one full-strength smack with the brush, probably so that I fully appreciated how lenient he had been. While this wasn’t strictly necessary – I know what a thick polished chunk of wood feels when wielded with great strength – it did make me particularly happy that my entire spanking wasn’t like this. (And wouldn’t ever be, of course. Of course.)

Thus was my craving for a spanking temporarily sated, and I could go to sleep with my skin deliciously, tantalisingly warm.

Last week, we received the most lovely, generous email from one of our readers. It really struck a chord – and so, with his permission, we’re reproducing it here. We’re sure there are other readers who’ll relate to many of his perspectives; we hope you find it as touching and inspiring as we did:

Dear Abel and Haron,

I have followed and enjoyed your blogs for two years now and finally decided that I must write and thank you for giving me so much pleasure, reassurance and inspiration. Every day the first thing I do on switching on my computer is to see what you have written. Your imagination is wonderful. The perverse situations that you conjure from the most innocent situations are fascinating, imaginative and always amusing. I do wonder, however, how you manage to do any work at all so easily are your minds drawn to spanking scenes. I must also apologise for “lurking” and taking so long to write and thank you.

I have had a lifelong interest in spanking. A child of the forties I grew up in a world where smacking, (as it was called) was an almost daily occurrence in schools and homes although my parents were not believers. I was fascinated as a child watching other children being punished in school, particularly if they were girls and enjoyed a strange feeling of excitement that I did not understand at all. I was often asked to play ‘Schools’ with the girls at primary school and when it was my turn to be teacher all the girls got smacked! Perhaps I should have questioned why they were so keen for me to join their games!

Obviously a slow starter, with an innocence that extended well into my teens it was a long time before any connection with the erotic dawned! Too old to play such games any more, as a teenager, I fantasised about spanking girls while in my bed at boarding school. I also fanaticised about being punished myself and played (solitary) games with that theme from time to time although strangely I had no desire to actually be beaten and made sure that I behaved well enough to avoid it.

Unable to discuss my feelings with anyone else for fear of being ostracised; at university I alternated between excitement, imagining spanking my fellow female students and deep shame at such perverted ambitions. I eventually decided, in my twenties, that, if not actually mentally ill, I was pretty unpleasantly disturbed. I tried to suppress these feeling as much as I could, although I enjoyed the occasional spanking scene in vanilla films from time to time.

It was not until the eighties that a TV documentary, ironically in favour of banning corporal punishment in schools, alerted me to the fact that I was not alone in having these feelings and directed me to Soho where I found the Janus bookshop. The feeling of not being alone was a huge relief and the knowledge that I was far from unusual in having this interest was very reassuring. Later, the arrival of the computer opened up the subject even more.

Sadly by the time things were more open and organised it was far too late for me. I had, by then, been married for many years to a vanilla wife who I adore and would not hurt, physically or emotionally, for the world.

I just wanted to tell you that, although the scene has sadly passed me by, that your blogs and those of your friends, like Emma Jane, give me enormous pleasure and encouragement. Your mutual sense of humour, respect and love for each other shines through all your writing. As a result I am able, vicariously at least, to enjoy your scenes, your dreams, your weekends together, and, in some way, share your friendships too.

With very many thanks and best wishes to you and all your friends.

Spontaneous spanking is returning into my life as my body is finally restoring itself after nearly two full months of annoying illnesses.

This morning I committed a heinous crime of walking past Abel while naked. He was dismayed by this behaviour, and ordered me to bend over the edge of the bed. I pouted a little bit, just enough to be told off for making faces, and leaned over the low iron foot-board.

Abel grabbed the first implement that caught his eye: a belt curled up on the floor. He shook it out, doubled it over, and measured it against my bottom.

I tensed up, expecting it to hurt on top of the spanking I got the previous night*, but when the belt struck, the licks felt warm, luscious, thrilling. My reactions went something like this: “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch, this is really nice! Ow!” Abel may have been disappointed.

After the belt, he picked up one of our new toys from Maui Kink, the “bloodline cane”. It’s actually a pretty fierce, rigid stick, but used lightly, with the curve in its body aligned to the curve of my bottom, it gives a gorgeous even burn. A few smacks with it on top of the belt licks left me buzzing, happy and pleasantly sore.

A few hours later, and I’m still sore, and very pleased with my life.

*More on that later