Stories of Spankvent – part 2

On to the second part of our Spankvent round-up. Such fun – who else thinks we should do this again in 2012?!

Quickly catching up with one remaining account from the first half of advent, from Not An Odalisque (winner of the “best blog” in the 2011 Spanking Writers Awards):

The lover chose the 10th for our Spankvent day, on a weekend we planned to spend away. We stayed, conveniently, at No. 10, The Coffee House, in Haworth (which is a lovely B&B with fabulous coffee and cakes, if you’re ever visiting the area). On the way there, we came up with a role play scene which would play into the Victorian theme of the focus of our visit. We were nearly swayed when the lover found a shop selling ration cards and carbolic soap, but I convinced him to save that for another time (I also ended up with the soap—my overnight bag stinks!). We meandered back to the coffee shop after a less than successful attempt at finding veggie food slightly too late in the evening in the country, and I demolished a packet of shortbread from beside the kettle as we finalised the details.

The coffee parlour, transported back in time, was owned by Mr. Taylor, who’d been on a trip to Manchester or Liverpool—my knowledge of historical coffee shops comes almost entirely from Habermas and French novels, so I’m a little hazy on the details—to source beans. Whenever he went on one of these trips, the housekeeper, Nelly, always made sure the parlour fire was warm and put out a meal before the servants went to bed, in case Mr. Taylor came home late. Since Emily, the newest maid, had started, though, he’d never got home in time to eat a single one of those meals, and she was often asked to throw them away in the morning, not long before Mr. Taylor would clatter into the yard, talking about late nights or bad weather making him stay overnight in the city.

When Emily woke in the night, cold and shivery, she knew there’d be a nice fire in the parlour. And when she stood there in her nightgown warming herself, and found that she felt slightly peckish, she didn’t think there’d be much harm in nibbling a biscuit, since she was the one who’d be throwing them away in the morning. And when she became curious about how her master’s special cheese and pickle sandwich tasted, she didn’t think there’d be any serious repercussions. It was nasty, anyway.

Emily heard a noise downstairs. She was mindful enough to make it to the kitchen with a tray, but then she was trapped in the basement, far from her room, hearing footsteps go to the parlour and then descend toward the kitchen. She stood in the dark, clutching the tray, until her master found her there, with the crumbs of his biscuits and dismembered sandwich. He was hungry, he was cold, and he’d ridden a long way through the frosty night. He told her she had five minutes to bring him another tray. Unfortunately, looking for the pickles and the biscuits in the dark pantry, it took her fifteen.

When Emily got to her master’s room, he told her to put down the tray. He told her that she had a choice between a punishment, one stroke for every minute she was late, or dismissal without a reference. Seeing her indecision, he threatened to increase her punishment for every minute she kept him waiting, and instructed her again to bend over his bed. He drew her nightdress up, and she tugged it down. He pulled it up again, more firmly, and she blushed at the thought of what he saw. Emily squirmed through five strokes of the strap, and bit her lip through five burning cane strokes, afraid of waking the housekeeper, who wouldn’t go as far as to give her options.

I imagine that Mr. Taylor then went on to eat his sandwich, but we stopped the scene there. I do know, however, that Emily was so humiliated by the experience that she left Mr. Taylor’s service, and indeed the village. I’ve some photographs of her walking through the heather and the misty rain on the moors, setting out to seek her fortune.

Next up: Nicky Montford bagged the 13th December, but won’t get to enjoy her Spankvent spanking until the new year. (She suggested on Twitter that an extra stroke epr day’s delay might be appropriate; I countered with six!). On the 14th, Leia Ann took 14 strokes with the Canadian Prison Strap – and the 15th fell to Tepees, and the lovely Lucy (of Northern Spanking fame).

Next, on to Poppy St Vincent:

I had been looking forward to the 16th of December for about two months. It was the first day of my week with Dexter and, as such, the start of Christmas. But, this holiday being what it is I arrived in London, tired and grumpy after a shocking week and a five and a half hour drive.

What a welcome awaited me. He had dressed a Christmas tree, opened a delicious bottle of wine and made a meal that still makes my mouth water when I think of it. I was then packed off for a bath and to seek out my Christmas pyjamas.

I returned and found my place in his arms. I did not mention spankvent. I had already been spoiled and felt I could not ask for any more. So when he pulled me over his lap I was unsure at first what kind of spanking it was. He tugged my knickers down and ignored my quiet protests. Each slap was hard but his voice was gentle and cheerful. As he counted I realised this was indeed spankvent and, as such, it was only 16 spanks. Nevertheless as he got to number nine he got harder so I helped by saying “teneleventwelvethirteenfourteenfifteensixteen”. I waited for a moment and his reaction.

I heard, “One” and over he started. I would like to tell you that only happened once but on the second attempt when he got to thirteen I protested too much and I heard the fateful “One” all over again.

It was a beautiful, gentle, slightly sore start to Christmas.

We move on to the 18th: my own turn, taking advantage of various lovely friends being over at my house for Sunday lunch. Four girls, bending over the end of my bed in turn to take eighteen strokes in total, four or so from each of five implement-wielding tops. We pretty much ran through the range of my implement collection – Singapore canes, school canes, straps, birches, more… with the whacks administered pretty severely, as is the wont of the gentlemen concerned! Huge thanks to the lovely Emma Jane, Martha, Cath and Faye for taking part in such good spirit.

Next day: Mr Allen writes:

Our original plan for #spankvent was nineteen hard strokes using a thick kooboo or dragon cane. After the intense canings Cate Stoker received on Saturday afternoon, however, it was decided she was too marked! We decided not to let the occasion pass, so I took nineteen strokes of this cane expertly administered by Cate. She, of course, took delight in choosing that I should take the strokes in head-down position – this was definitely a top the top revenge caning but whilst bloody painful, absolute fun. My vanilla bottom remains profoundly striped, marking the nineteen strokes of #spankvent.

Of course, Cate wasn’t to get away scott-free so I administered nineteen stokes with my two lovely thick custom leather belts that I purchased this year. One belt is thick saddle leather and the other is even thicker bridle leather. This scene marked the end of a lovely relaxed afternoon with Cate – followed by an awesome lasagne.

And then on to the 20th – Emma Jane’s chosen day, on which she received twenty strokes with my cricket bat – as documented here a couple of days ago. Such wonderful fun!

From one lovely Irish girl to another, as we head next across the water to Bandree:

I chose the 21st for my Spankvent date just because it sounds like a serious, important, grown-up number. I didn’t think it would actually happen! But by coincidence, around that time my good gentleman found in a hidden cupboard a cane that he had bought this year as a gift for a friendly Top; and he suggested a trip to present it, and to claim back one that had been given on loan.

…so we made the journey. A story was contrived; the sea captain had been bringing a parcel from Singapore (where else?) to deliver, carried by his maid (me) and she had paused on the way to finger longingly the gold ribbons and pretty lace in a haberdasher’s shop…

Now that the long thin parcel has been handed over and opened, he suggests that the recipient (Mr Carpenter) should try out the contents… So the two gentlemen order the maid to take off her black top and skirt and she stands before them in her chemise, petticoat and drawers; she is commanded to slip off her petticoat and open the back of her drawers; and nervously, bashfully, she complies. She is given a preliminary spanking OTK as a warm-up. Then she is ordered to place her forehead on the table and expose her rear: Mr Carpenter on her left and the Sea Captain on her right – and they commence, one stroke each, by turns. And she has to count: one, one! two, two! – all the way to 21, to punish her for shop-lifting and to remind her to behave for ever more in a mature and grown-up fashion.

Soon the creamy skin of her bottom is is glowing pink and striped with red lines, high and low. When this has been done, she is as contrite and sober as she has ever been; she can keep her job, but there will be no more childish pilfering of pretty shiny things that don’t belong to her…she is a grown-up now!

Jessica provided an entertaining description of Scarlett’s turn, on the 22nd:

And so it was that in those times, St Nicholas, with his trusty sidekick Schwartzer Peter came to London. St Nicholas was laden with presents for good children and Schwartzer Peter had his trusty willow switch for bad children. It was decreed that Scarlett DW had been a bad girl and thus deserved 22 strokes of the willow switch to celebrate Spankvent. These were duly given and laid on well. And now Scarlett is truly repentant and promises to be a better girl next year!

On to the 23rd: Kaelah’s written a delightful blog entry describing the 23 strokes of the flogger then 23 with a short cane that she received from Ludwig. And the, concluding our festive fun, Alias chose the 24th, but…

… unfortunately I didn’t manage to meet up with my Daddy. We don’t live on the same continent and can’t see each other often. So I didn’t get the spanking yesterday. But if I did, it would have been with his belt. The one he wears on his jeans. He would order me to get over the bed. Then he would stand beside the bed so I could see him unbuckle his belt. He would make the buckle jingle ’cause he knows how much that turns me on. He would then pull the belt through the loops of his jeans and double it in half. He would scold me while taking it off. And then he would spank me. He would try to make me cry.

So, I wasn’t spanked, for real, yesterday. He did virtually spanked me though. Among other things 😉

Thanks to everyone who participated. This really has been a lovely festival of kinky friendship around the world, and its been a pleasure and an honour to co-ordinate it. Here’s to Spankvent 2012!