Just not cricket

Sometimes spankings are severe, intense. And sometimes they’re just fun. Let me tell you a story about last night…

But first: a little background. I’ve always loved sport: growing up in Liverpool, home of the then-most successful football team in the world, it was hard not to. Yet I’ve never actually been much good at it – other than at cricket. Even then I wasn’t great: I opened the batting for various of my school team at various ages, played occasionally for my local club’s junior side, but never really shone.

To this day, though, it remains my abiding love – so much so that listening to the radio in September as my beloved Lancashire sealed the county championship outright for the first time since 1934 was very clearly the high point of my non-scene-related life this year.  Yet earlier in the year there’d been a rather less glorious game – with Emma Jane gloating understandably as Ireland (not a renowned cricketing nation) beating England in the world cup.

And you need to know this: that EJ had come up with a scene idea a few months back involving a girl being whacked with a cricket bat – easily available to use in a school where corporal punishment wasn’t formally permitted. On the basis that my friend was moving from Ireland and wanted to take up an English sport, I’d asked my father to dig out my old bat. He duly did so, passing it over with a comment – apparently in all innocence – that “she”ll need to put a new rubber on the handle, and to oil it well before use.”

Anyway… to day twenty of Spankvent, the fun pre-Christmas celebration that’s involving so many people around the world (of which more  – much more – in the coming days). It was Emma Jane’s chosen day, to follow on from our Christmas celebration together – present-opening under the tree; Christmas dinner. Our original plans (a severe twenty-stroke caning) didn’t really work after she’d had an especially tough day. At one point, I proposed twenty minutes of cuddles – for hugs are just as important in the spanking scene as whackings. We considered using a pizzle I’d picked up fairly recently yet not yet used – a pizzle, for those of you who don’t know, being a traditional style of whip made from a dried bull’s private parts. “Twenty strokes with the penis” didn’t seem quite right, somehow…

So, on to the cricket bat. EJ bent over the side of the bed in her pyjamas. Me drawing on years of practice and experience as a teenager to deliver the strokes. It was a surprisingly tough implement to use – tending to land on the same spot – but I think I got there with practice! Certainly, a girl’s backside was nicely reddened by the time we curled up in bed.

Oh, and the final stroke of the twenty? The hardest, of course. A pause before I delivered it, with the comment: “This is revenge for Ireland beating England…”