The Spanking Writers

Realism matters, when it comes to role-play: one has to be able to able to relate to (and feel confident in) whatever character one’s assuming for the scene. In school scenes over the years, therefore, I’ve always played a Housemaster – in my thirties, it would have been unrealistic to yet occupy the Headmasterial chair. (And yes, Smudge, I am now getting to an age where promotion could probably beckon).

Now, today, Haron’s heading off to play a scene with friends. A prefectorial scene. Which also wouldn’t work for me at all. Although I was a prefect at a public school myself (’back in the old days’!), and the group who are playing includes many dear friends, I can’t reasonably relate to the character of an 18-year-old schoolboy. The beard doesn’t add to my credibility in the role either. (And, in any case, I shall be delightfully otherwise engaged during the day).

So Haron will be dressed neatly in her school uniform; called before the prefects; dealt with most severely. Twenty miles or so away, I shall be thinking of her during the day – wondering at what point my girl is being disciplined, deriving vicarious pleasure from the thought of the cane strokes that may be being applied at that very moment.

And then she’ll return to the hotel. Where her guardian will be waiting. He’ll quickly realise that she’s been in trouble at school. Will be astonished and disappointed to hear that she’d been so badly behaved that corporal punishment had had to be imposed. Will send her to get ready for bed. Will expect an explanation, before reminding her: “You know the rules.”

And she will: that a caning at school inevitably results in a thrashing at home. His belt will come off; she’d lift her nightdress and bend over the end of the bed. He’ll observe her marks, before adding his own…

… hard…

… before we flick out of character, and my girl is back, and we hug while she spills out her secrets from the day’s scene.

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Abel’s been shopping for implements on his US trip. He wouldn’t say what he bought, and only teased, and hinted, and promised a tasting menu of everything at once, as soon as I got home.

His grand idea for the event was that I would receive a number of smacks with an implement, and then blog my impressions right away. He prepared the computer and the implements (I still had no idea what they were, and even how many of them he’d bought) and told me to bare my bottom and get over his knee.

The resulting review is below, underneath the picture of the whole lot. (There were six, by the way, and I was sentenced to six strokes with each.) The reviews got shorter as my distress grew, but I decided not to expand them, and post the authentic first impressions just as they’d been typed up.

The Josephine (aka the leather mini carpet beater thingy) - was used OTK. Stings like the devil, but used lightly would be quite pleasant and sensual. I wish.

Rope paddle - I was bending over the bed for this. There was a weird scratchy sensation when it touched my bum, and it’s a stingy little bastard. Leaves a lasting burn.

The Grand Josephine (aka the big huge carpet beater) - used while I was kneeling on the bed on all fours. Felt like a fist punching your bum. Even a light tapping produces overwhelming pain. Really thuddy. Probably my favourite of the lot, if only Abel could bring himself to use it even lighter.

Plastic cane - used touching toes. I safeworded after 3 strokes. Feels more like a knife, never again.

Loopy whip - also used touching toes. Just really stings, a pretty scary implement.

The rope and suede flogger - used lying flat on the bed. Heavy, soft, delicious, though can be stingy if used harder. More a reward than a punishment implement. And it’s so pretty!

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After my return from a month’s exile, it didn’t take Abel too long to remind me that life isn’t all shopping trips and drinks in the pub. No sooner than we made it back from the airport and had some food, he innocently said:

“Do you like my new belt?”

I looked. And closed my eyes, to see if the monstrosity would go away if I blinked. And then I looked again. The belt was still there: the thickest, widest strip of leather I’ve ever seen, liberally decorated with massive metal studs. With a belt like that, Abel would have been welcome at a hard rock festival. He was clearly delighted at having sneaked in a purchase like that while I wasn’t looking.

I honestly told him that the belt suited him very much. And that I was sure it was purely decorative.

For a short while I even believed it to be so. He sat on the bed and invited me over his lap, he reminded me what a spanking felt like. (A note, in case I ever actually forget: at first it feels kind of warm and lovely, and then he gets into the swing of things, at which point it hurts like hell and you begin to wonder what you’re doing in the same room as this monster, never mind being married to him.)

After my bottom felt like I had accidentally sat on a bee hive, Abel sternly ordered me to bend over the bed. I cautiously looked around the room, wondering whether he’d brought anything from home to use on me, and saw to my dismay that he’d picked up the monster belt.

He considerately folded it the soft side out, with the metal bits safely covered up, and asked me how many strokes I thought were appropriate for the occasion. I bit my tongue on “none,” and suggested six. And you know what? Even folded - and even used quite lightly - that belt is a good candidate for a charity give-away some time when Abel isn’t looking. I did get one really hard stroke - the final one, aimed across the tops of my thighs - and it made me question whether I was still into spanking at all.

Five minutes later, however, the sharp pain turned into a comfortable glow, the smacks turned into hugs, and I knew I was home again.

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There are those in the scene who struggle to take six of the best; there are others who are disappointed if the tally comes to less than 60. One of the tests of a good top is therefore their ability to tailor the scene and the whacking to the preferences of their play partner. Give the “6″ girl 60, and she’d rightly scream blue murder. Give the “60″ girl 6, and she’d wonder why a light tickling was now classed as a thrashing.

Our friend Cath falls into the latter category: only a really hard, sustained series of strokes will do. One evening earlier in the month, she and I played a scene in which I gave her 50 with a new, particularly mean cane, and she took it remarkably bravely. (Until stroke 42, hey, Cath?).

Cuddling afterwards, and admiring her stripes, my Machiavellian side came to the fore. “So, young lady: that concludes the first part of your sentence.”

See, when the courts sentenced a girl to 150 strokes, the prison’s punishment officer would only give her 50 on the first evening. That’d be enough to punish the girl severely, to make her realise how painful a flogging could be – and to spend the night dreading the remaining 100 (twice as many again! over existing marks!) to be administered the following morning. Thus, rather than one painful whacking, over in minutes, the ordeal would be drawn out over hours.

We concluded that she’d been caught tearing down The Party’s propaganda, replacing it with her own subversive posters. Her thrashing would serve both to punish her, and to make an example of her to others who may have contemplated undermining the authority of their government.

The pained look on Cath’s face every time she sat down the following day was delightful to behold – even if each wince quickly gave way to a big grin! I, on the other hand, seemed to develop a mild form of Repetitive Strain Injury from the experience, the pain in my right wrist for days after making typing at work remarkably painful.

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My darling wife’s due home before very long: she’s been acting as a Florence Nightingale looking after her parents, and I can’t wait to hold and hug her. Oh, and to spank her, of course.

I’ve been toying with ideas for the “first scene back”. Much as I want to upend her over my knee for an OTK hand-spanking, it seems a shame to waste the comparatively rare opportunity of her having a bottom that’s gone unwhacked for quite so long.

So I’m picturing a schoolgirl, in a renowned college where corporal punishment is very much the last resort. Housemasters and Housemistresses can and do cane, but it’s a comparatively occasional occurence. And those rare canings are more ceremonial than cruel: it’s the very act of bending over to be caned (a maximum of four strokes, across a girl’s skirt, with a light cane) that punishes more than the pain.

It’s the Headmasterial canings that are truly to be dreaded. He always gives six strokes. Always on the bare. Always with a senior cane. But only one, maybe two girls per term find their way to his study. And Haron could be one of them…

Or it’s the end of term. The three sisters know the tradition: they line up outside Daddy’s study on the first evening home, and one-by-one are called in to hand him their school report. They watch as he reads, crave his praise, dread his disapproval. He reads nice comments aloud: “I’m so pleased with Mrs Watson’s comments about your hard work in Geography this term.” And he raises an eyebrow, and asks for an explanation of any misconduct or shortcomings.

The end of every discussion is marked with a hug, and a “lovely to have you home”. Only on some occasions, where a girl has fallen short of the high standards that she and he would expect, that hug is prefaced by an instruction to “take down the cane from the top of the bookcase”, and a carefully-administered, loving correction.

Haron’s always been the good girl of the three: the one who comes top of her class, who shines even more than her ever-so-clever sisters. She’s listened over the years as the two elder girls have gone in before her. She’s learned to worry for them if the conversation has started to drag on for much longer than usual. She’s heard the whacks, the sobs; participated in the cuddles afterwards. And, as the youngest, she’s then gone in last - to be praised. Always, to be praised.

This time it’s different: the first year she’s been alone in the line, her sisters now at University. And it’s the first time she’s known that her report she’s held in her trembling hands would disappoint, her lack of self-discipline in the run-up to the exams reflected in a series of unacceptably low marks…

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“I’m going to have a bath.”So how could I resist? I waited until Haron was undressed and about to step into the deep, warm, bubbly water, and stormed in - cane in hand. “What on earth do you think you’re playing at, young lady?”

She giggled, and tried to look serious. I thought I’d better explain. “Did I not tell you very clearly that you were to report to your Housemaster straight after the game? And yet I find you’ve ignored me and come to get washed and changed.”

She was trying hard not to smile, as she yes-sirred me.

“Now get into the bath, and stand with your hands on the wall.”

“But it’s hot….”

“Well more of you will be hot in a moment. This will teach you to get sent off playing hockey.”

Six strokes followed: quite nasty little cutting ones. On the fourth, my backswing msy have been at an odd angle: the trajectory of the cane made it catch a glancing blow on the shower curtain on its way down. She squeaked with surprise at the odd impact that resulted. “Quiet girl: that will have hurt the shower curtain far more than it hurt you.”

Somehow we avoided collapsing into peals of laughter before the final two had been administered. And then I left her in peace, to sit down in the hot bath on her freshly-hot stripes.

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All this talk of people being suspended from school is detrimental to the state of my bottom.On Friday Abel was working in a customer’s office all morning, while I stayed in the hotel, typing away on my own writing assignment. He called me to make a lunch date, and then said, “Do you think Daddy had a call from school to say his daughter had been suspended? So he has to leave work early?”

My husband makes a really frightening Daddy. I was already wincing in sympathy with the suspended girl, but of course I agreed.

And then promptly forgot all about it as I got back to work.

The reminder of my imminent fate came as a breaking wave as I heard the door lock buzz open. Yikes, I’m in trouble! squeaked a little voice inside my head. It didn’t make a slightest bit of difference that we were playing; when Abel - Daddy - walked into the room, a thunderous glare on his stony face, my heart was doing somersaults.

“I’m so sorry!” I blurted out before he could say a word.

But ’sorry’ wasn’t good enough, of course.

A stern interrogation followed. Thinking on the hoof, I admitted to having been rude to my teacher, screaming at her in the middle of the lesson. She sent me straight to the Headmaster, who was scandalised enough to send me home.

“Has he caned you?” Daddy asked.

Small voice: “No…”

“I see. He must have left it for me to do.”

My hands crept behind, as though I could hope to protect my bottom this way. “No, Daddy, he didn’t say anything about that!”

“I don’t need to take my cue from him. Take down your trousers.”

I unbuckled my belt; pushed down my jeans together with my knickers. He grabbed me by the upper arm and, sitting down on the bed, drew me over his lap. I heard myself give a high whine, like a frightened animal.

Smacks began to fall right away, shockingly loud in the big hotel room. I held on to the leg of his work trousers. Abel’s hand is a fearsome implement: some days I would rather take the cane than endure a hand-spanking from him. This time he wasn’t hard enough to make me levitate to the ceiling, but each smack felt like he was touching a hot iron to my bum. I yelped and apologised, and worked hard not to struggle too much, and very nearly succeeded.

“Get up,” he said finally, and I scrambled to my feet. “Sit at the desk and write a letter of apology to the teacher you insulted and to the Headmaster. Now.”

I shuffled to the desk, but about half-way there I heard a giggle behind me, and that’s when I knew Abel was finally back. I whipped around and bounced straight into his arms, and the fire in my bottom was suddenly a good thing.

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I’ve broken three canes during scenes in recent months. The girls concerned will no doubt be wincing as they read. (Or not, as the case may be: they’ll probably have big smiles on their faces).

I blame faulty manufacture, of course. I’d never whack a girl so hard as to break the cane across her deliberately…

… honest…

Although it presents me with a dilemma which I am unable to solve to my satisfaction. A Headmaster is caning a girl; she’s committed a particularly grave breach of school rules, and her attitude has been entirely unrepentant. Only the hardest six, of the very very best, could be appropriate.

He makes her count. One, two, three… and on the fourth stroke the cane breaks. He leaves her in position while he fetches a new cane from his cupboard. With the next stroke, she counts “five”.

Does he:

a) continue, applying the sixth and sending her on her way

b) correct her: “the previous whack didn’t count as the cane broke: that was only the fourth proper stroke.”

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Drum roll…Curtain opens…

My Lords, Ladies and gentlemen… (and the rest of you )

We are delighted to announce…

For the first time ever…

“The Spanking Writers”, our book!

Yes, folks, it’s true. We’ve finally made it into print. We’ve just taken delivery of our own copies of the anthology which brings together the highlights of the first two years of our blog (that would be 2006 and 2007). And it looks wonderful: hardback, a lovely dust jacket which you can remove if you want to read it in public, and so many fond memories as we read through the entries that we love the most.

If you fancy buying a copy, you can get it here. (It should be on Amazon before long, but we get to keep more pennies if you buy it from our own store. Not that we’re ever going to be millionaires, mind, but it’d be nice not to lose money on the deal). Happy reading!

Fiona Locke, the best-selling author of “Over the Knee” has this to say about the book:

“Discipline has never been sweeter. Quite simply some of the best spanking erotica you will read anywhere. The authors are imaginative, literary and above all, genuine.”

(Should we say something like “great gift idea - buy early for Christmas”? Or just “why not treat yourself to a little relaxing reading before falling asleep…”)

Here endeth the commercial break.

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One of our occasional commenters here at Spanking Writers wrote to us recently, with a plea. She’d just plucked up the courage to invest in some canes for the first time – and had realised that neither she, nor her husband, actually really knew how to apply a caning safely and effectively. Did I have any advice?

Being keen to ensure that the canes didn’t gather dust in the cupboard for lack of suggestions, I threw together a quick twelve-of-the-best tips for them to consider. I thought it’d be fun to post the list here – and to get others’ comments on technique for newbie caners:

1. Practice first: get used to hitting the target by whacking pillows. (Yes, it may sound silly, but…)

2. Give a warm-up - say an OTK spanking first: it helps to make the cane strokes slightly more bearable (even though some think it’s inauthentic if you’re playing, say, a school scene).

3. Choose the right position. It’s easier to cane accurately, at least if you’re new to it, if the young lady is lying down (perhaps on a bed with a pillow under her hips to lift her bottom up - the top can then stand to the side of the bed). If not, having you bend over something (a chair back, a desk if you have one) is easier than touching-your-toes.

4. Aim at the right spot. Be careful not to whack too high (watch out for the tail bone, particularly) or too low (the crease between the buttocks and thighs is usually seen as a sensible lowest point). Some tops mark the boundaries - the first stroke at the top of the “range”, the second at the bottom, which then it makes it easier to land the remainder on target.

5. Don’t hurry. Twenty seconds or so between strokes is good, to let the impact of the stroke reach its maximum point and level out, before applying the next one.

6. Don’t “wrap”. The worst marks come if the cane tip doesn’t land on the buttocks, but goes right round onto the hips or front of the thighs. Making sure he doesn’t stand too close will help.

7. Don’t be tempted to whack too hard, or too many times, especially the first time. I know I was tempted to give my first spankee 30 of the best. Six, slowly, well-done with cuddles afterwards can be far more intense. And the cane doesn’t need to hit the ceiling on the backswing! (Whilst getting used to wielding the cane, it may also be easier to hold it some way along, thus effectively shortening its length - that can help with accuracy until he’s confident).

8. Close the windows, and put on the TV if you’re at all worried about noise travelling. You want to enjoy it together - not have a worry at the back of your minds about the neighbours hearing and calling the police to rescue the poor woman being beaten next door.

9. Have an appropriate safeword. Sounds obvious, but “no”, “it hurts”, “owwww” and “stoooopppppp” may well come out naturally - yet you may actually be enjoying it (deep down) and wanting the scene to continue. Traffic lights work well (amber = OMG it hurts, so be careful, but keep going; red = stop now).

10. Don’t panic if the odd stroke does go astray. It may well do so - even with experienced players, the odd one does!

11. Have some arnica cream handy (if you can find some), or aloe vera if not, or decent moisturiser if not, and rub it in afterwards.

12. Don’t book a session at the local spa, or in the local swimming pool with vanilla friends, for the following morning! You may have marks that might take a couple of days to fade!

And finally - have fun!

–

So, what d’ya think? Any other advice?

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