The Spanking Writers

Over the past three months or so, I’ve been putting myself through a get-fitter regime of diet and gym. The latter in particular’s been a shock to the system – I’d been to a gym, perhaps, four times previously in my life, and had never (for example) previously dared brave a treadmill.

As ever, I pass some of the time trying to mentally corrupt my environment for kinky purposes. And, frankly, I’ve struggled. The best I’ve come up with has been the thought – as I run, cycle or row away – that I’m dashing to the rescue of a girl who’s about to be whipped. She’s in her prison cell; the preparations for her flogging are underway. Yet I have the papers that will overturn her sentence and have her spared and freed. But will I make it on time…?

As a means of motivating myself to work out harder, longer, it rather works – albeit not nearly so much as the incentive of wanting to make my loved ones proud of me. Yet it’s a surprising one, perhaps – as I’m trying to save a girl from a whipping, when a good top should surely be wanting to see her punished.

I happened upon this fascinating essay called “The Governess in Nineteenth-Century Literature”. Before you rush over to read it, I must warn you that not once does it mention corporal punishment. This fact hasn’t stopped me from enjoying it a lot, and perverting it to my heart’s content.

For example, these lines: “…Retaining a governess served as a status symbol, signifying the power and wealth of the family. A governess also helped validate a family’s membership in the ranks of the leisure class, a station characterized by the fact that the lady of the house was truly a woman of leisure.”

Picture a family, only marginally rich, but hungry for the status awarded to the truly wealthy. They’ll have to be frugal about many things, but their daughters will have the best governess the family can find. Appearances are very important: the girls must have impeccable manners, learn all the necessary accomplishments, and be ready to woo suitors of a better rank than their father’s. It’s certainly important that the governess is particularly strict with them, as their father explains to her at the start of her engagement.

“Why,” she says, surprised. “I’m used to chastising boys, but girls, as old as fourteen and fifteen? Are you certain, sir?”

“I’m certain. Their mother has been too soft with them. There is a birch tree in the garden, and I would like you to make a good use of it in their education.”

Back to the article. “The general dismissive attitude towards governesses had many roots, but there is an abundance of instances in contemporary letters, journals, and fiction describing public humiliation and degradation by employers of the very person they’d charged with the upbringing of their children.”

A young governess in her first position finds herself facing the child’s mother, who looks at her with visible displeasure. “I saw you return from your walk today with little Anne,” says the mother. “Her hat and gloves were off.”

“She doesn’t like wearing them when it’s hot,” the governess says, knowing full well that she should have found a way to make the little tyrant dress properly.

“Nonsense. She will do as she is told, and if she doesn’t, she will feel the back of your hairbrush. Perhaps, you yourself need a reminder how a hairbrush can help a young person mend her ways?”

“What? No!” the governess is horrified, but the mother gives her a nasty smile.

“I think you’ll find that it would be to your advantage to submit to my discipline. It would be very difficult for you to find a new position without a glowing reference from your first employer. Come and see me in my bedroom tonight, after Anne is asleep. Wear your night dress and nothing else.”

As tears spring to the young woman’s eyes, she knows she will do exactly as she is told.

I could keep going through the article in search of the juicy bits, but I’d be here all day – I’m sure you don’t need me to help you pervert it!

Abel finds an article about country house servants, which inspires a dark little fantasy.

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I was standing blearily in the kitchen, unfocussed gaze on the kettle that was heating too slowly for my liking. I was fervently wishing I was still in bed, or could return there. Abel bounced in, as awake and lively as a toddler on jelly beans.

“I’m tired,” I whined. “I can’t wake up. Tireeed!”

“Let’s correct that,” Abel said. He closed the distance between us in two strides, flipped up my dress and gave me a volley of quick, stinging spanks. It was quite painful, but also quite fun, so I giggled all the way through.

He finished spanking me, shook out his hand, which was also, no doubt, smarting, and grinned. “Feeling awake now?”

I was feeling more cheerful, that was true, but awake? “Not really,” I said, pouting.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when Abel grabbed me around the waist, swept my dress out of the way again, and resumed the spanking. It was now even quicker and considerably stingier. I marvelled at my own silliness at bringing it upon myself.

When he finished, he was grinning ear to ear. “Any more awake? Think carefully how you answer.”

I was as tired as ever, but wasn’t going to be this careless again.

“Yes!” I said. “Totally awake now. Thank you.”

I don’t think he believed me, actually. But there’s only so much spanking you can fit into one morning.

So, here’s a sad sight, snapped on my phone as I wandered round London last weekend:

I’m guessing a fair few of you (especially those in the UK, in your mid-30s or older) will recognise the store concerned, and feel a tinge of sadness hearing of its closure. Back in the pre-internet era, the Janus shop in Old Compton Street was perhaps the first (and often only) place that those of us into spanking visited to buy magazines, books, videos and even the odd (usually not terribly good!) implement. Certainly for me, finding an establishment that specialised in exactly the stuff that fascinated me was a godsend – one of the earliest things that made me realise that I wasn’t alone in my interests.

For a long time in the 90s, it was something of a habit for me to drop into it for a browse whenever I was in London.  I have fond memories, too, of visiting the shop more recently with kinky female friends and watching the confused, nay even panicked, looks on some of the customers’ faces (“There’s a woman in here! She’s young! And attractive!” … and, in some cases… “And she’s on the cover of that magazine I was just looking at!”). And then there was the American friend – a student, staying with us – who asked a chap behind the counter, “What does a girl need to do to get spanked round here?” and was told, “Come back at 6pm and come into the back room with me.” A caning duly ensued!.

I hadn’t actually been in for several years: that probably highlights why the business had become unsustainable. But its closure marks something of the end of an era – perhaps, the final triumph in the spanking world of the web over the printed word. Much as that’s a sign of very positive progress, I do feel rather sad to see it go.

A fascinating announcement yesterday from this year’s Chelsea Flower Show:

The Punishment Garden has been named the Best Show Garden for 2011. Judges praised the careful selection of plants: popular British trees such as birches and willows combined with more exotic selections (rattan, tamarind, hickory, apple). The tasteful bed of nettles was most thought-provoking, and the absence of dock leaves was particularly noted.

Items of garden furniture – trestles and benches – were positioned to good effect. The small selection of red roses at the entrance was deemed a nice touch (a girl visiting the garden needing to know that she was loved by her gentleman host), as was the bed of wildflowers (from which he could pick a bunch to present to her with hugs after their encounter).

(Actually, the prize went to the rather lovely ‘Daily Telegraph Garden’, but one can dream…!)

The one lesson I did get to teach at the Lowewood weekend earlier in the month was English, in which the girls were asked to complete a word square puzzle, under the guise of improving their vocabulary. It contained a dozen methods used for “Ensuring good behaviour” in schools – and needless to say, the emphasis was more on the stick than the carrot.

You might like to play. The words can be found horizontally, vertically or diagonally. And words can be written in reverse – e.g. “spanking” might appear as “gniknaps”. (By the way, this isn’t one of the answers – something of an omission on my part as puzzle-setter, I guess!)

Anyway, over to you:

Salutary effects of a good spanking on the spankee’s state of mind are well documented. The progression that goes “I’m stressed – I get a good spanking – I have a cry – I feel better” is tried and tested, and can work wonders on the recipient.

I’m feeling very stressed at the moment, but recently I’ve been feeling more toppy than not, and so getting the stress spanked out of me doesn’t appeal right now. I find myself wondering whether the method works the other way up, so to speak. How about spanking someone until the top feels better?

I’m quite uncertain about the ethical side of this. I tend to think that, when I top, I should be entirely in control of my faculties, i.e. not angry, not tired, not drunk, not under the influence of any circumstance that can make the bottom unsafe. If I’m highly strung with stress, I’m not sure I should be spanking anybody. On the other hand… how unsafe can a simple OTK spanking be – surely, I can still have enough of a grip on reality to safely smack a bottom with my hand!

The question is academic right now, because I don’t have anyone on hand who would be willing to let me smack my stress out on their bum. But one day I might, and I’d quite like to have made up my mind about it by then.

Any insights from you?

Girl meets older man. Man offers to mentor her, setting down rules for her to follow. Girl consents to be spanked when she breaks the rules.

A familiar fantasy, isn’t it?

Well, a court case in Virginia is dealing with a similar scenario, which went pear-shaped because of what seems like the guy’s imprecise understanding of the concept of consent:

“The three young women first became involved with a Beach restaurateur now facing sexual assault and abduction charges because he promised them college scholarships, room and board and weekly allowances, they testified at a preliminary hearing…

But the so-called Spencer Scholarship Program that 54-year-old Henry Allen Fitzsimmons offered them required obedience – and bare-bottomed spankings…

“At first, he helped me out financially. He helped me cope with my life,” [one of the women] testified. “He made himself to be very caring and to help me get my life back on track…. It just seemed like an amazing opportunity.”

Then came the spankings, she said. Fitzsimmons blocked her exit from a hotel room until she submitted to a beating, the woman testified. [Another] woman, 20, described a similar experience.”

Oh, dear. There are so many women who’re into spanking, and the guy has to try and live out his fantasies with vanilla girls who aren’t entirely willing. Silly, very silly.

A few years back, I – or rather one of my role-playing characters, Rev Jenkins – gave a Sunday morning sermon at a school weekend we were attending. Last Sunday saw another such – albeit  Haron ended up delivering it on my behalf, as I’d not been in the right frame of mind to stay at the event after much sadness the day before. We thought some of you might enjoy it:

This morning’s lesson is an uplifting story, with a message that is so very pertinent to the lives of our girls here in the school. I’d like to read to you from the Book of Jonathan, chapter 13, starting from verse 666…

In the time of the prophet, a young girl didst live in a fine house in a beautiful, bountiful oasis. She was verily a fair maiden, pretty, untouched and untainted.

One day, a handsome stranger didst appear in the area, resting in a nearby copse. The curious girl hastened to his side, seeking his favour. She offered him help in his times of hardship, and lo, the visitor was made happy.

But as the day turned to dusk, the dusk to dark, the girl’s father became worried. For where was his precious daughter? He hunted high and low, near and far. He knelt in the temple before the priests, made offerings to the Lord, and offered prayers for her safe return.

Now near the village wast a small stream, and there he didst stumble across his offspring. The stifling heat of the still summer evening hadst full overcome the girl, for she hadst shed her clothes and lay naked alongside the stranger.

The man seized his daughter, and threw stones at the impostor to drive him towards the desert. And then he led her home.

She wast placed over the knees of her father, and didst plead for mercy as she wast sorely chastised. And then she wast sent to the garden outside, to fetch rods with which she wast whipped still more painfully.

She was sent to her bedchamber, where she lay face down, resting her hands on her tender places. So tormented was she by thoughts of what had happened in the bush that she cried out loudly, repeatedly and uncontrollably. As he listened to her moans filling the still night air, her father gave thanks for her safe return. And he praised the Lord.

For how fortunate is a man to have a good girl by his side. And how blessed is such a girl to have the love and discipline of a good man.

Here endeth this morning’s lesson.

Amen