The Spanking Writers

We don’t normally review products here on The Spanking Writers: we’re not a commercial site, so although we’re happy to endorse the things we buy and like in our kink lives, we’re wary of turning ourselves into some form of marketplace. However, once in a while, we’re asked very nicely to look at something that might be of real interest to our readers, so are happy to oblige! And a charming note a few weeks back from Gemma Forbes seemed to fit that bill.

I’ve just finished reading her book “The Adult Spanking and Discipline Handbook”, and rather like it. The introduction sets out the book’s premise:

Common, ill-informed myth dictates that anyone who even considers exploring non-mainstream erotic pursuits is some kind of deviant weirdo. However, over the years, I have met enough extraordinary and upstanding participants of these games we shall be investigating here to know that that is as far from the truth as it can be…

As long as your intentions are to solely and exclusively participate with mutually consenting adult partners, and you never perpetrate any true or vengeful harm, spanking and discipline play is just another form of recreation and exploration…

Fortunately, we now live in a time when the subject of spanking no longer sends civilized people into spasms of horrified shock. While there are still those who would condemn a safe, sane and consensual thrashing as “sinful” or “wrong”, those same people would probably censure many other commonly practiced ideas and pursuits. They are the book-burners and blindly orthodox. But they are not going to be the readers of this book…

So if you want to order this book on the Internet under an assumed name and hide in the darkest corner of your basement whenever you dare read it, go ahead. But you’ll find that, as far as therapeutic experts are concerned, you are going to a lot of unnecessary extra bother. The things you fantasize over are not heinous crimes against society. They’re just another example of the endless creativity of the human psyche. Whether it’s spanking or any number of other potentially titillating fantasies you have, you can be sure that the guy in the suit and tie next to you on the  commuter train or the well-dressed woman standing behind you in the line at Starbucks have had reveries just as colorful and blush-inducing as your own…

So if you’re a fervent spanko, chances are you’ll always be a fervent spanko. And maybe, just maybe, there’s no need to be embarrassed about it. That doesn’t mean that certain occasions aren’t more appropriate than others to indulge in an open display of enthusiasm for the subject. Maybe for you it’s best to only reveal it to those you know to be likeminded. That kind of choice is yours, and yours alone. But if you bury it as a deep, dark, shameful little secret you could be hurting yourself (and I don’t mean in the fun way we’re going to be exploring here).

And that, for me, is where this book really adds value – to give confidence to those considering exploring their interests in spanking for the first time, or for those relatively new to the scene needing sage advice on how to explore their kink safely. Throughout – as I read it on a transatlantic flight (!) – I found myself nodding in vehement agreement at the author’s wise words, and wishing I’d had copies to give to various “newbies” over the years.

If you’re a more experienced player, you may still find numerous snippets of thought-provoking information and interesting ideas. More importantly, I think you’ll enjoy reading the perspectives of someone who “gets it”, recognising and re-enforcing your own thoughts on what works in scene life. It’s great to have a book like this that we can relate to so readily.

I have one – minor – reservation. The final sections talk about work as Pro Domme, and I’m not entirely convinced that these sit entirely comfortably within a book that focuses more on relatively basic (yet comprehensive) advice for less experienced players. But Gemma’s perspectives, drawn from her own personal experience, are never less than interesting: perhaps I’d rather this had been expanded into a separate volume, with more for those who want to offer to receive spankings professionally as well as those who want to be disciplinarians.

All in all – a recommended read, and one that many (whether considering dabbling in the scene, or more experienced) may find useful, interesting, enjoyable and supportive. You can get hold of printed / Kindle copies from Amazon or other online stores – and, one might dare to hope, even on the tables of some more enlightened local bookstores!

You read about some court cases, and it’s not really clear-cut which way the decision should go. And then you get some like this:

A sales manager who chased a female colleague around the office before putting her across his knee and spanking her also hired female workers based on their bra size rather than their abilities, an employment tribunal heard. …

Well, the guy is saying in his defence that none of this is true. But for entertainment value, I would have liked him to stand up in front of the tribunal and go: “Of course I spanked her! She was very, very naughty!”

It’s rare that I’m angered enough by a newspaper article to change my scheduled post and whinge. But whinge I must, after Joan Smith’s column in The Independent on Sunday, in which she explores the treatment of a murdered schoolgirl’s family during her killer’s trial.

Her father, she tells us, owned a magazine containing “probably extreme pornographic material” of “a fetish nature… latex and bondage”. He “kept bondage gear in a box in the loft, including a rubber hood and a ball-shaped gag”.

And after repeating such private details, the journalist explains:

it is hard to see why possession of such material by the father of two teenage daughters should ever be treated as an entirely private matter. Looking at extreme pornography and acquiring restraints for use during sex are worrying behaviours, and it isn’t hard to imagine circumstances – a custody battle, for example – in which they might even be interpreted as potentially abusive. Indeed, what is so extraordinary about the outpouring of sympathy…  is that so many commentators have been willing to overlook what this might imply about his feelings towards women…

So, what precisely does an interest in fetish say about someone’s “feelings towards women”, Ms Smith? In what possible way does an interest in using restraints during sex suggest that one’s “abusive”?

See, it couldn’t possibly be that some women – bright, intelligent, capable women, entirely comfortable with taking their own decisions in life and in enjoying their own sexuality – might actually enjoy this stuff too? Nah: they’re all victims of us abusive men – even if they don’t actually realise it.

This is the sort of rubbish that some writers like Ms Smith perpetuate far too easily – often in the apparent name of feminism, the primary theme of most of her journalism. At least fresh voices, such as Caitlin Moran in her wonderful recent (highly-recommended) autobiography “How to be a Woman” are challenging this sort of prejudice and reclaiming the “feminist” word.

In any case, why stop there when it comes to condemning what people get up to in the bedroom? Hey, I have sex in the missionary position sometimes: I must be perpetuating age-old misogynist stereotypes by forcing my partner to “lie back and think of England”. If I take a girl from behind? Well, obviously, that’s me trying to subjugate her.

And why, whilst we’re at it, do I need to see details of someone else’s private life regurgitated again by newspapers which should know better? And how does being into BDSM cast doubts over one’s parenting ability?

This lazy, bigoted nonsense really has to stop. It’s no longer in the least acceptable (thank goodness) to judge people because of their sexual orientation; perhaps folks should think twice before condemning others for their consensual sexual activities. Shame on Ms Smith. Shame on The Independent on Sunday.

There was a time when, if I felt sad or vulnerable, a spanking would be the best thing to sort it out. Pain would allow emotions to well up to the surface, bubble over into hot tears: cleansing, soothing.

Now? I would rather be pampered, spoiled, brought treats, and under no circumstances caused any pain at all. Not even a little bit.

Isn’t it strange? It really does feel weird.

Many years ago, when I was a mere stripling of a spanko and Haron and I were early in our relationship, regular punishments for real-life events formed a not insignificant element of our spanking relationship. Those of you with longer memories may have read her accounts of said activities across at The Punishment Book blog; newer readers might well find them an interesting browse. It’s something I’ve also dabbled with with other friends in years gone by – although not, I think it’s fair to say, entirely successfully (for reasons I’ll explore below).

Yet these days, such “domestic discipline” (to adopt the scene’s perhaps slightly misleading generic name for such activity) doesn’t feature with in my life with my partners – and that’s by mutual choice: any formal structure of discipline and punishment for real-life activity (as opposed to the occasional more spontaneous whackings, or roleplaying) just doesn’t really fit the dynamic I have with either of them. Yet DD is something that comes up in conversation with people in the scene and on other blogs on a fairly regular basis – and it’s clearly something that’s core to many kinky relationships. And an observation recently that “domestic discipline isn’t your thing” made me stop and reflect, to analyse (as I am wont to do!), and to wonder why I’ve moved on from it – or, indeed, if I really (deep down) have.

I understand why some crave discipline and consequential punishment in their lives, in some form or other. The thought that there’s someone watching over them supportively.  The desire for some form of mutually-agreed framework to guide their behaviour (or aspects thereof).  The fact that someone cares enough to want to help them to “be good”, to do the “right things”, or not do the “wrong things” (however those may be defined, within certain small areas of their lives or more generally). The confessional nature of admitting errors; of penitence; hence of absolution.  Perhaps, too, something of a desire to (in this consensual context) submit to authority, to cede control – and to experience the edgy nature of being punished, perhaps harshly, for real.

And, after all, we’re into spanking: choosing to participate in this style of ‘play’ (however real it may then feel) is one way to explore and satisfy one’s kinky needs. For some, it’s at the very core of their kink, the disciplinary regime all-embracing. For others it’s merely one facet of their scene activity, focused on small (even relatively insignificant) aspects of their behaviour – a different, albeit intense, game than (say) roleplaying in character. In either case, it’s a choice: a willing decision to enjoy an aspect of kinky life that the partners concerned can find rewarding, fulfilling. And different people embracing DD have different needs – what works for one person might well be entirely inappropriate for another; to generalise and assume that everyone wants the same thing in the same way is dangerous and patronising.  Trust me, I’m not trying to do that. (Hey, I know I’m treading on perhaps sensitive ground when I get defensive midway through a blog post!).

I “get it” too in terms of the attraction of being the person who administers such discipline for a partner. The trust that the individual puts in you as their disciplinarian, the fact that they’ve placed such confidence in you to help them in this way. The intensity of the experience – from the clear mutual realisation that there’s a matter that will need attention; the anticipation; the discussion of what’s happened (scolding, and engendering self-scolding that’s often worse than any beating); the actual administration of the punishment (severely, where necessary); the caring hugs amidst the tears afterwards. The very vulnerability of the person about to be, being, having been punished.

I’ve been there: it rather worked for me. So why’s it fallen out of my life? Of course, it takes two to tango – but irrespective of my partners’ preferences, I’ve not been especially willing or looking to dance. Let me try and explain my hang-ups, or concerns.

Partly, it’s a matter of time and distance. If one doesn’t see the other party every day, it can be days or weeks before a matter can be addressed. Leaving something looming over a girl feels harsh; returning to it an age later can feel inappropriate (even unfair – “that’s ancient history”; “move on”; “forgive and forget”?). After being apart, I want to hug, to chat: interrupting that to deal with matters disciplinary feels jarring – an intrusion into all-too-precious time together. Tiredness comes into it too – it’s rare to catch up with a partner early in the day, when you’re both fresh; if it’s late at night after a long hard working day or week, then energy levels may not be conducive to wanting to do anything other than curl up, cuddle and sleep.

There’s an element, too, for me of “I am not worthy”. I understand those looking for disciplinarians don’t expect them to be perfect, and that those who do act as in such a role don’t make that claim for themselves. Yet for me, to sit as judge, jury, executioner regarding certain issues of another’s behaviour – when I have my own flaws, failings – feels hard to do. Assuming a position akin to one of “authority” or “mentorship” with others who I regard fundamentally as equals also feels strange. And when things are troublesome for others, I talk and try to be positive – yet I understand, too, that sometimes some people  can’t move on fully until matters have been dwelt on and addressed.

There is a deep-seated fascination for me with this whole area – to the extent that I found writing a story (as yet unpublished) recently on the topic to be incredibly intense. I doubt it’s something I’ll return to:  I don’t think I could conceive of any formal domestic discipline arrangement outside a close, caring, loving relationship – and, as I said at the outset, it really isn’t “our thing” with either of my partners. But it’s nonetheless an area that interests me greatly, and I’m really curious to hear others’ thoughts on what works for them, how and why.

So, I’m staying with my mum right now, and, although I spend most of the time indoors, I do get to go outside from time to time. And what I notice about Kiev, the city where I grew up and spent 2/3 of my life, is that it’s absolutely crowded with trees with whipping potential.

The thing about Kiev is that on the whole it’s pretty green, with trees everywhere. I knew that. What I hadn’t noticed is that how many of the trees are birches and weeping willows. At the end of my street there’s a positive willow grove, offering a harvest of beautiful switches. It’s cruel mockery that I’m here on my own, with no chance to enjoy a nice switch on either the giving or the receiving end.

Anyway, I like the thought that when all these trees were planted many years ago, there was somebody responsible for the city planning who had their eyes on the provision of switches for the masses.

If ever there was a prize for “most intriguing title on a vanilla bulletin board”, the “Naughty women of Hastings” – on a family history site – would surely win. And, indeed, the post itself does not disappoint, being about “the history of punishment in general and in particular extracted notes about the ladies of Hastings”. Some extracts:

The first record from Hastings in 1597 records how Mary VINTON was whipped at the cart’s tail for assaulting Elizabeth STUBBERLIED and stealing tenpence halfpenny. At the same court Joan BRECHER was similarly punished for petty larceny.

A good picture of how respectable members of society viewed those neighbours who received such beatings can be judged from a letter written in 1742 by a Hastings man John COLLIER, to his wife which mentioned that Dame Elizabeth ARTHUR, a widow, had “for abowte one a clocke beene whipt at the Carte Tayle round the town – hadde some strokes at every lanes Ende, but I fynde that it is thoughte she hadde nott half enough!”

In l659 the Hastings whipsman, called LUNSFORD, wore a ‘whipping-cote’ which then cost the sum of five shillings to the town – A ‘Catte o’ Nine Tayles’ was used whenever a carting was decreed and wide streets were invariably specified for the route to accommodate a greater number of spectators.

Hastings ‘cartings’ included:

1747 – Jane BURCHETT for ‘inciting a childe to steal money from hys father’

1754 – Mary and Elizabeth RELFE ‘for stealing one fowle call’d a henne’; Elizabeth STEVENS for stealing a hammer

1776 – a widow, Ann COLBRAN ‘for stealing two handkerchiefs value tenpence…

Two years later Elizabeth SARGENT stole “…29 pieces of silver value 2d, silver scissors value 2d,and after being stripped ‘from the waiste upward and ty’d to a cart’s tayl was whipped at the Old Market Place, the Fishe Market and ‘atte The Sundial…sixe stripes at each places’ after which she was released.

The ‘Catte’ was certainly overworked in Hastings and in 1791 William PAYNE was paid nine shillings for a new one.

Apparently: “Youth was no shield against punishment either, for in l663, 13 year old Alice FAUTLIE of Hastings was severely whipped for stealing a handkerchief belonging to Mary PUNTIS.”

The post then went on to explore branding and hangings, so we’ll move swiftly on, with a mere fleeting mention of the punishment of public penance:

On Palm Sunday, 4th April 1574, in Hastings, Jane HAMPTON, a shoemaker’s wife ‘did open penaunce for fornication in St Clements Church before 100 persons at ye Communion tyme’.

You know, I really do like the idea a scene in which a girl is made to publicly confess her wrong-doing before an assembled crowd of onlookers… although whether that would happen before or after she was whipped, and whether the flogging would be in public or in private, is very much open for debate!

Last weekend, Emma Jane and I spent a lovely 24 hours holed up in the W Leicester Square – a rather fabulous hotel opened earlier this year, which prides itself on being (or, at least attempting, to be) at the cutting edge of design and style. And, frankly, it manages to carry it off pretty well.

It’s genuinely original and quirky in parts – take, for example, the goods on offer in the room, which occasioned a rather memorable discussion on check-out:

Staff member: “And did you have anything from the mini-bar?”

Me: “Yes. A pack of cashew nuts and a vibrator.”

But what amused us most of all was the description of one of the spa treatments, which EJ spied in the hotel directory:

BAMBOO MASSAGE

De-stress as silky bamboo canes are expertly rolled and powerfully massaged across your body using unique techniques for muscle strengthening, lymph draining and circulation reactivation. Away from the ordinary, this treatment encourages improved inner well-being as specific reflexology points are activated while the bamboo bio extract leaves skin feeling silky, nourished and restored.

Now, £45 for 25 mins or £99 for 55 mins sounded like quite a lot for a caning. And sadly we didn’t have time for EJ to try it out. But this must surely win the prize for the kinkiest spa treatment in the world?

And no, before cynics reading this wonder: I’m really not making this up!

In pretty much all of my fantasies and stories, where there’s more than girl being punished, they tend to be either friends or (at least) sympathetic to the other lasses about to share their painful fate.  But what if, instead of friendship and moral support, there were two girls who hated one another?

Picture the scene: a fight breaks out in the reformatory between two bitter rivals. The guards separate them and lead them off to the punishment chamber where they’re bound tightly over whipping frames facing one another – still uttering curses, their enmity so strong that they have no room to fear what’s about to happen.

They’re caned simultaneously, and the strokes are hard. Each girl, determined to be the strongest, grimaces at each cut –  refusing to show weakness to the other. Yet as the pain increases, one lass can stand it no more. Broken, she gives in to tears – and the other girl’s sobs follow immediately. Their floggings continue, naturally – there’s no mercy from these officers – until the offenders are untied.  And, dear readers, in this lovely tale of triumph overcoming adversity, the two would hug and vow to be lifelong friends henceforth. How sweet…

My psyche clearly doesn’t want me to stay upset and vanilla for very long. Last night I had the sweetest spanking dream: I got caught stealing a flying skate-board from a shop (like the one in “Back to the Future 2″).

Now, you would wonder how somebody who has a flying skate-board and a head-start on any chasers ever gets caught. Unfortunately for me, the board started running out of batteries at some point, and gently lowered me to the ground, at which point the shop assistant who’d chased me swooped from above and grabbed me by the collar.

The spanking that followed didn’t hurt any more than dream spankings usually do, but in my mind this was justified by me wearing really thick trousers with boy’s flannel shorts underneath. Which was its own secret pleasure.