The Spanking Writers

A journalist in South Africa has managed to get an entire column out of the fact that she’d been invited to a spanking party and didn’t go, because she’s actually not into spanking at all.

Um. Fascinating, I guess.

Don’t look at me like that, aren’t you even vaguely curious about what goes on at something called a spanking party in Tokai?

I would have gone purely out of curiosity. I just have so many questions. Like what happens at these things? Is there sex involved, or is it purely the act of spanking? Is everybody naked and is it debauched? Or is it all reserved and polite pinkie-raised cocktail drinking downstairs, and upstairs folks are squirreled away in the bedrooms going crazy? And what kind of person is going to these things? Couples or singles, oldies or youngies, hippies or yuppies? And will there be snacks or should I eat before I go? And most importantly, why, why and again I ask you, why?

I have a different question: who in their right mind invites a completely vanilla journalist to their spanking party? South African kinksters, what were you thinking? What would she have been writing if she’d gone?

How about this, for a newspaper clipping that’s wrong on so many levels:

It dates from the New York Times of October 1903, and reads:

Spanked Bride of Fourteen

Columbia, N.J., Oct. 4. – When Margaret Matlida, the fourteen-year-old daughter of William Smith, appeared at breakfast this morning, her hair “done up” and her skirt obviously lengthened by unskilled fingers attracted the attention of her father.

“What’s all this about?” he inquired.

“I’m married now, and can wear my hair the way I like,” was the reply. “Albert Cisco and I went to Washington, and Judge Craveling married us.”

“Come her, Miss-” began Mr. Smith in a deep, ominous voice, but his daughter corrected him.

“”‘Mrs.,’ if you please,” she said, in a superior manner.

There followed a short, sharp struggle which ended in Mrs. Albert Ellis Cisco being placed in an attitude which gave her every opportunity for examining the pattern of the carpet from a height of about a foot and a half. Then Mr. Smith’s right hand rose and fell with painful regularity during a period of two minutes. That part of the incident closed, Margaret Matilda retired to her room.”

Somewhat amusingly, the young lady’s husband[he, a man who'd just wed a 14-year-old?] then pressed charges against his new father-in-law for assault and battery. The outcome of the case – and indeed the transcript of proceedings – sadly appear to be lost.

Last night I stayed up until ridiculously late, unable to settle down to sleep. Not even music or audiobooks would help me drift off. Naturally, I started wondering if a bedtime spanking would do the trick, but I had a feeling that a traditional, over-the-knee, go-to-sleep-now-young-lady spanking would just upset me; I was really that tired.

That’s when I remembered that not every spanking has to have a rigid structure of disciplinary headspace around it. Sometimes, a spanking is no more complicated than the sensation of a hand or an implement on my skin. And that would have been the sort of bedtime spanking that I would have really enjoyed.

A soft, heavy flogger, as I lay on the bed on my front. Starting with my bottom, but sneaking a few strokes at my shoulders as well. Rhythmic, soothing, thuddy. I’m sure that quite soon I would begin struggling to concentrate on the proceedings as my eyelids started to feel heavy, and soon I would be drifting off.

I wonder if I could manage to fall asleep as the flogging was still going on. It doesn’t seem implausible.

Jimmy was sitting in a chair with a cigarette in his hand and an appreciative look in his eyes, looking domly. I was standing in front of him, awaiting instructions.

“Smooth out the bed covers,” he said.

Impatient for what would happen when the bed was ready, I hastily yanked the duvet into place. It wasn’t great, but I judged it would do.

Jimmy regarded it impassively, and turned his gaze back to me.

“Are you happy with that?” he asked quietly.

I melted inside. It was just about the most dominant, mind-controlling thing anyone has ever said to me. Not “this isn’t good enough”, not “do it properly” -just a reminder that I should know better than do less than my best. Ohhh, the shame.

There was a fair amount of other play that day, but this is the moment that’s fused into my brain like a living picture.

The prospect of breakfast in bed at the weekend in a rather lovely hotel room with Emma Jane occasioned all sorts of naughty ideas as she slept, early in the morning. She was tucked up demurely under the duvet, and I couldn’t help but think how hot it would be to make an obedient girl answer the door nude when the food arrived.

Now that simply wasn’t going to happen – it’s not at all our dynamic, and it would in any case be highly inappropriate and most unfair on the unwitting hotel staff. So I moved on to picturing a member of the nobility in his bedroom in some grand country house, a young lady sleeping naked next to him as the butler arrived with breakfast.

As the trays were being set out, the gentleman would turn to the freshly-wakened girl, telling her to fetch her dressing gown from the bathroom so they could eat. “But I’m not wearing anything,” she’d protest.

“Indeed. That’s why you need a bathrobe for breakfast.”

“But *he’s* here…”

“And I shall deal with you once he’s gone for being disobedient. Now: bathroom!”

-

I rather like the idea of making the girl display herself as she walked past the butler’s prying eyes; even more the thought of the long hard spanking she’d receive for not co-operating, topped up with a hairbrushing until she cried, for not behaving appropriately in front of the staff.

Or, of course, the young lady might have already been beaten before breakfast. The staff would deliver the trays without comment as she stood, bottom bared and striped, hands on her head, facing the wall next to the fireplace.

Naturally, a gentleman could be crueller still. I picture the conversation in which a young bride newly-arrived at her husband’s castle is introduced to his butler. “I shall never lay a finger on you, my darling, but should you require correction then I shall have no hesitation in asking Leighton to birch you soundly…”

I’d like to talk a bit about my story in “The Spanking Collection”. It’s called “Honour Among Fools”, and it’s a school story (I know, right, a major surprise there).

It came about because, on the one hand, I wanted to write an M/f school spanking story, as that was what I thought the anthology needed based on the balance of other authors and subjects, but on the other hand I was very wary of falling into the cliche trap and writing a story we’ve all read many times before.

The way to deal with the cliche issue – while still keeping the story recognisably within the M/f school genre – turned out to be using a boy as a protagonist, and have him observe the girl’s punishment. I’m far from thinking this is actually a really original move – there’s no such thing as an original move when you want the story to be arousing within the bounds of a specific fetish. I’m sure others have written stories along these lines before. But I hadn’t, and that was good enough.

I think it’s an okay story as a result.

Two girls – naked, tear-stained, dishevelled – each brought into the room by a different gentleman. Their eyes meet fleetingly, knowing what the other must have been through: that she too would have been stripped roughly; made to touch herself as he watched; forced to kneel and pleasure him; would have been raped, then fucked up the arse.

They’re made to bend over opposite sides of the bed; to hold one another; to keep holding one another whilst they’re both caned – hard, without a shred of compassion or mercy, until their whimpers gave way to broken sobs.

And then their tormentors would swap sides of the bed. Hands would roam over weals: pressing, tracing tramlines, probing… before the canes were taken up once more and each gentlemen proceeded to beat his new girl just as hard as he had his own – and then to lead her away, without a word, to his bedroom…

–

Sometimes my dreams are just plain rude… Yet I have no idea who the gentlemen were, or why the girls were being tormented – other than, as I dreamed, having had a vague sense of this being some carefully-planned scene rather than (as sometimes is the case) the events involving ‘real’ people in a ‘real’ situation. But I rather liked it…!

I feel the need for an additional quick post to celebrate noticing a  few moments ago that “The Spanking Collection” was ranked at number 79 on Amazon UK’s Kindle “top 100″ bestseller list for erotica.

We’re so excited! Thank you to everyone who’s downloaded it (and, in doing so, helped cancer research). I hope all of the contributors feel very proud of themselves – and that anyone who’s not yet got a copy considers doing so in the next couple of days to push us even further up the charts.

Ordering information for Kindle, other e-Readers and the paperback edition – and a list of the authors / stories – can be found in our post from a couple of days back!

For many girls I know in the scene, watching a friend take a particularly severe thrashing is perhaps the toughest thing of all – harder to bear even than being beaten themselves. So, how to play with that idea, in my usual Machiavellian way?

I’m imagining three girls, jointly convicted of some offence or other. The judge’s sentence? 100 strokes of the cane – to be shared between them.

The guard ties down the first girl; the second is told that she can take over at any point. The caning starts – very hard; the girl being punished struggles to take the strokes.

The second, of course, can stop her friend’s whipping whenever she wants. Yet the sooner she does so, the sooner – no doubt – the third girl will volunteer to take over from her. Saving one friend will have consequences for the other. So, what to do?

So, the book is out. I’m pretty thrilled, albeit exhausted. Last night we had a launch party, also known as “Twenty people get together in a pub and get sloshed while talking about spanking”. Unfortunately, I was so off my head on dental pain that I completely failed to actually communicate with anyone, but it was lovely to drink in the atmosphere and listen in to the conversations.

Quite a lot of the conversation seemed to turn around spanking the waitress who was serving our table. She was clearly well-intentioned, but incompetent to the degree of almost complete pointlessness. I won’t enumerate the ways in which she managed to make the meal slower than a fine dining experience with an 12-course tasting menu, but even I, with my toothache-frayed attention span got quite annoyed.

When Emma Jane declared that she really wanted to cane the waitress for the general uselessness, I was quite surprised. Thing is, I normally prefer to dispense punishments to people I actually like. (I know, it may come across as somewhat psychotic: the more I like somebody, the harder I want to spank them. Evil.) When somebody annoys me, the last thing I want to do is waste a spanking on them. Emma Jane, though, was adamant that the waitress deserved a caning, and therefore she, Emma, would be the person to do it.

So, what do you say? Should spanking fantasies be squandered on annoying people? Or should they be reserved for people we like? Where do you stand in this debate?