The Spanking Writers

Proof, if needed, that the loveliest spankings don’t always need careful preparation, planning, discussion… Don’t need huge amounts of time. Don’t need roles or scenarios.

As I mentioned last weekend, Emma Jane‘s been staying with me whilst recuperating from an op. Spanking play – indeed, anything much by way of kinky conversation – really hasn’t featured much as she’s recovered day by day. Nice lingerie has, mind: a girl needed cheering up in the middle of the week, so a short break from her house arrest to walk into town to choose some treats.

Amidst the lovely, elegant, frankly damned hot items was a less overtly-sexy choice: a pair of blue checked pyjamas with (and this is crucial in my pj fetish!) long trousers – in which the young lady concerned looks utterly adorable.

It was in these that she wandered into my study yesterday morning. It was in these that she came and bent over my lap. It was in these that she was spanked, not too hard at first, then more painfully once those pj trousers had been pulled down and her bottom bared.

It was so lovely to see her kink re-emerging – a sign of how much better she’s feeling. And by the evening? Well, hand spankings had given way to straps, tawses and 24 hard strokes of the cane…!

I’ve always rather resented the way the History teachers at school failed to capture my imagination. Despite my fascination with historical events (and not just as a source of kinky inspiration), teenage me dropped the subject as soon as possible. As such, I lack a degree of context when it comes to times past: I’ve read lots about individual periods, but lack structure – how one thing led to another; how everything fitted together.

David Starkey’s “Crown and Country: A History of England through the Monarchy” is about the best thing I’d read to provide an overall span of our history – despite my anti-monarchist tendencies. And last week, despite a self-imposed book-buying ban until Easter, I couldn’t resist picking up a small volume by Judy Parkinson, entitled “Remember, Remember (The Fifth of November): The History of Britain in Bite-Sized Chunks”:

The concept’s simple: one page on each of 150 key events or periods that have shaped our nation. It’s quite brilliantly executed – a true joy to read. And, needless to say, it sparked my kinky imagination. My most recent school roleplaying at Lowewood Academy last week was marvellous as ever, and part of the fun of the event is that it’s relatively light-hearted – from the initial uniform inspection onwards.

In the Rev Jenkins’s Religious Studies class, I made the girls identify former popes (including several dissolute ones, and the bizarrely-named St Hilarius), study how popes are chosen, then elect one of their number to the papacy. Later, in Latin, I asked the class to share any Latin phrases they knew (“to help the new pope as she needed to know the language”). I taught them various useful words (think “school”, “pupil”, “cane”‘, “tears”). And we finished with a verbal test in which said pope was caned for each wrong answer from her classmates. Delightful; funny; enjoyable; a genuine privilege to be invited to take part in such a wonderful event.

Yet it also left me craving far more serious school play, of the sort that “Remember, Remember” could inspire. Girls set homework before the class, made to study (say) ten pages of the book. A test, taken in silence, asking detailed questions. Papers marked in front of them, as they read the next pages of the textbook. A high pass mark: say 17 out of 20, for this would be the top class in their year, whose work lately had been disappointing. And a sound caning – a dozen stripes of the dragon cane – for any pupil who failed.

Or it could be a set text to be used in Detention, at the end of a school day. A hand-caning for each girl would start the hour’s punishment; they’d be given pages of the book to copy, bringing them to me once each was completed. If their work was untidy, the girl’s hands would be caned again and she’d be sent to re-do the work. And if any girl failed to finish transcribing the full number of pages by the time the bell rang for supper, another hand caning would be duly administered.

Time for a strict school, methinks. The sort in which no girl would dare wear her uniform scruffily. In which classes would be academic, traditional, quiet, focused, well-behaved. In which the prospect of being sent to her housemaster would genuinely leave a girl quaking. In which being beaten publicly in assembly by the headmaster would leave a girl truly ashamed. I wonder how, with whom, when. And isn’t it one of the joys of roleplaying that we can devise such different variations on a theme, and love them all?

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!

Back on 1st December, the dawn of advent, a group of us on Twitter collectively conceived a little scheme called ‘Spankvent’. Kinky folks around the world selected a date between 1st – 24th of the month, and agreed to do something spanking-related that was appropriate to the day in question.

It’s been wonderful following accounts of what’s happened, on Twitter, by email and on participants’ blogs. And here, to celebrate Christmas, is the first selection of accounts of what went on…

Spankvent started with Ellen May taking one hundred strokes of the cane on the first of the month, before the virtual baton passed to Eliane. Arriving late in the evening on a visit to Liverpool, she ended up being whacked twice by Sarah in public, in front of La Tasca restaurant.

Sarah took her own turn the following day:

I was so lucky to finally have my own home full of wonderful kinky friends and we’d decided that three strokes from three people using three different implements would be rather fun with me on the receiving end, again, lucky me!

So up to my bedroom/schoolroom I went and happily bent over my school desk while Irelynn flexed the chosen cane before getting down to the job in hand. Three perfect stripes later and we were both rather pleased with the result.

We trooped back downstairs and proudly showed off her handiwork before it was back up the stairs with Masterretep. Little did I guess what he had hidden away! Out of his trouser pocket came his strap: he said that with a mere three strokes he was going to make them count, and he most certainly did!

The final three were due to come from Eliane, but she was happily settled on the sofa with champagne so kindly passed the baton to Sixotb. By baton, I mean carpet beater, a ridiculously ouchy implement I wasn’t even aware I owned (silly me!). Laid across the bed with two pillows underneath to raise my bottom high, those three strokes were so hard and painful they took my breath away before a hug and a kiss made it all better and it was back downstairs for the third round of showing off my various marks.

Many more spankings went on that evening but it was such fun to get the ball rolling with spankvent, a great idea which I hope will become a tradition.

I hope so too, Sarah!)

Ronnie had selected the 4th – but had actually been caned hard enough on the 3rd that she decided that would have to suffice! You can read about her 24 strokes here.

Next, Alyss Abyss:

I chose the 5th because it is mine and the bear’s wedding anniversary… I got ready for bed and sat waiting for B to come up. Nerves were starting to flood me and when he lined up his favourite toys on the bed, I just sat there cowering, hugging my legs under the duvet. Waiting for him to be ready felt like an eternity.

I was to take four strokes with five implements of his choosing from the selection. One for every year of our marriage. To count in years and to ask for more after each set. I knew they would be with force. He wasn’t going to let me off lightly.

A strap and a selection of canes followed. There’s a lovely post about it at Alyss’s blog.

And on to Irelynn:

I picked the 6th of December as my spankvent day because I knew Stephen and I would be holed up in a hotel in Amsterdam that day. I’d left it up to him to decide what to make of that number ‘six’, and he decided that six strokes of the cane per minute, for six minutes, starting at 6pm on December the 6th would be appropriate.

Unfortunately he forgot to remind me to pack a cane to take to Amsterdam with me (although he would undoubtedly tell you that he did remind me – while I was half asleep in bed the night before we were due to leave!) so he used his belt instead. Just before 6pm he had me undress and lie down on the bed, and a minute later our spankvent began! He swapped sides every minute so that my whole bottom got to enjoy being strapped, and afterwards there was lots of lovely cuddling. So a good day all around.

Quai chose to give his sub seven minutes of belting for day seven.

I told her to bend over the end of our bed at the foot and stretch her arms out in front of her head. She rested on pillows for plenty of support. I decided that the first 40 strokes (20 from each side to keep it even) would be her warm up. The rest of the belt spanking would be at full ‘playing’ severity (as opposed to punishment severity).

Again, there’s an excellent blog post in which you can read a fuller description.

Toby joined in on the 8th. There was a webcam involved, and a wooden spoon. The rest can be left to your (and my) imagination!

Judy bagged the 9th:

I knew I was due a birthday spanking from R, so on the evening we were to meet, we were on the phone discussing dinner plans, etc., when I added, “By the way, I’m going to ask you to give me nine with an implement of your choosing. I’ll explain later.” He was confused but happy to oblige.

After my birthday spanking was duly delivered (and I discovered he thinks I turned about 130) I explained about #spankvent. He seemed delighted to participate and practically skipped off to select an implement. He returned with a well-worn belt in his hand and a gleam in his eye. Over the armchair I went and he quickly laid the first three licks before I called time due to the belt wrapping and landing on the exact same place on my upper right thigh. An adjustment in positioning solved the problem and the remaining hard six landed quickly and efficiently. As R is a switch, I was delighted when he agreed to let me return the favor with nine of my own.

Miss Swoons took the 11th. Again, there’s a lovely post on Alyss’s blog. “Eleven hand spanks, to be counted down, in German” followed by “another eleven for me, bare bottomed this time” – and then an IKEA shoe horn. “Two Spankvent sessions, two partners and two very different experiences; one very happy Alyss.”

Half-way through the Spankvent season of spanking goodwill to all women – and men – we reach the 12th, and Simon Jenkins, whose name Amy Hunter kindly (?) put on the list:

She decided we were going to do a memory game based on the twelve days of Christmas. So for day one, I got twelve strokes of the ruler, day two was twelve hand spanks and twelve strokes of the ruler to the hands, followed by the twelve strokes of the ruler.

Day three was then twelve strokes of three more implements and then I head to remind Amy of days one and two. Day four was then four sets of twelve, and then I had to remember days three, two and one… And so on.

We got up to day ten, and then I got eleven sets of twelve followed by twelve sets of twelve without the countdown. The total I got was around 2500 strokes – had we completed everything planned it would have been 4368! The strokes weren’t just confined to the bottom, but also the back, hands, front and back of thighs and feet. It was very intense session!

Thanks to all of the above for entering so wonderfully into the spirit of the season. More to follow from the rest of the communal celebration! Merry Christmas to you all…

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…”

“Brutal”. That’s the word that keeps coming to mind, as I try to marshal my thoughts about yesterday evening. Murmured by Emma Jane, as she curled up with me after we’d beaten her. The only word she said for several minutes.

That comes to mind. And “trust”. And “love”.

You’ll know, if you read the blogs that Emma Jane, HH and I write, that real-life discipline is very much part of her and his dynamic – and not really a feature in her’s and mine. And yet it felt so right that both of us beat her last night. Hard. Very hard. As hard as could be.

The lines she’d written for him some time before had read: “I must learn to communicate in a more appropriate manner.” Her lesson hadn’t been learnt.

HH had her remove her knickers and lift her dress high. We placed her over pillows on the bed. We took the most severe of my tawses; HH administered six of the most searing strokes imaginable as I held her hands, tight.

Tears. Hugs. Words – firm and kind.

Six from me. Full strength.

And then the prison strap – wide, thick, heavy. Six more from each of us, without mercy, our girl crying, struggling, taking them so bravely.

HH returned to the tawse: six more. I took a cane, paying particular attention to her thighs, each stroke intended to hurt as much as possible.

And then, perhaps the cruellest moment: we lifted her higher, on more pillows, and HH asked me to continue with another six strokes – as he wanted to finish the session with the slipper. I know about the slipper: I know how much E J dreads it; know how much it forms part of their deepest disciplinary and punishment scenes. Taking my antique XH Lochgelly, I knew our girl’s mind would be skipping ahead to what was to come next; I determined to make sure she focused back on her strapping. It’s an incredibly thick, dense implement that I scarcely ever use to its full potential; I lifted it shoulder high each time. And then HH and I changed places, and I held her hands as she sobbed through those final savage strokes with his slipper.

We held her close afterwards, our beaten girl. Caring; comforting. Proud of her. In awe of the whipping she’d just taken: 48 strokes in total, with much the harshest implements in my collection, as hard as they could be used.

Brutal. Trust. Love.

Sometimes spankings form part of carefully-planned scenes. Sometimes they’re serious, severe. Sometimes they’re just… well, silly.

Kami stayed at my place recently after she’d done a spanking shoot; she was far too tender for us to play that evening. The following day, she wandered into the living room to say hi shortly before I was due to start presenting by video-conference to some French clients. I glanced at the clock, and pulled her over my knee. “I don’t have to turn on the camera until the participants sign on for the event,” I explained, “and there are five minutes before it’s due to start. I’m going to spank you until the first person shows up.”

Now, I think it’s fair to say that the French aren’t always the most punctilious of time keepers, so the chances of them arriving early were fairly limited. One showed up a minute before the advertised start time, meaning the spanking lasted for four full minutes – quite painful, it seems, on a well-caned and well-birched bottom!

This weekend’s been a quiet one – a chance to re-charge my batteries after an eventful few weeks. Last weekend, though? Now there’s a tale to tell…

It’d long been one of my ambitions to book a large house and invite friends to stay and play for a few days. After a fair amount of research – and many, many months ago – I finally found the ideal place. The property that became known as “Kinky Towers” is hidden away in rural England; parts of the building date from the fourteenth century. It’s an important enough place to feature in a well-known guide to England’s 1000 best houses.

Our pattern of lazy morning / wonderful lunch out [thanks to Simon for the research!] / lazy afternoon / informal dinner in the rather lovely dining room was mixed in with some wonderful play.

To use a phrase with the historical resonance appropriate for the location, Harriet found herself ‘privately whipped’ – the chaise longue in the bedroom being put to good effect. (She does whimper more adorably than perhaps anyone I know!)

I played a lovely scene on the Saturday afternoon with Cath, who was punished and disciplined by her tutor for poor work with 36 severe strokes using my two thickest canes.It was lovely to play again, after too long a gap.

During that tutorial discussion upstairs, Emma Jane had led a scene downstairs with the rest of the group; later in the evening it fell to HH and I to take EJ out of her toppy headspace, both beating her seriously harshly with an assortment of implements, witnessed by the two people she’d whipped in the afternoon. Harriet too found herself being held down for hard punishment during the scene: watching the two girls hug afterwards (chastely, I might add!) was truly lovely. Simon too was whacked – in a weekend where I develop rather a liking for tawsing his hands (only my second experience of M/M play).

On Sunday? A very different experience, holding EJ’s hands as HH punished her – mentally, for me, by far the most intense part of the weekend. And then an evening scene: a Manx birching of twenty strokes each for Cate and Cath, using two of Mr Allen’s wonderful authentically-reproduced implements. And finally a severe hand-tawsing for Cath from HH and myself – the last few whacks commuted (?!) at her pleading request to more with the birch.

I can’t thank my fellow house guests enough; this really was one of those weekends that will stick in the memory for many years to come. Wonderful friends + great venue + total trust between the group = remarkable play. That’s about as good a kinky equation as I can think of.

Oh, how I love Twitter and the inspiration it brings. As a result of tweets exchanged there this morning, I’m proud to unveil this month’s festive spanking game – Spankvent (a phrase coined by @bandreesub and used with her permission).

Participants wanted… see below for how to play.

It all started with an exchange about advent calendars, involving @marthalinton, @tobywednesday, @sarahlrh, @hellomrallen, @nickymontford and myself (and what a nice group to chat to, I must say).

Sarah explained that she had an advent calendar with numbered felt pockets for each day; I mentioned that I’d long wanted one such with a different implement per day; Nicky suggested that the spanking should somehow match the day number (for example, one minute’s hand spanking or spray birching on the 1st; 12 strokes on the 12th).

So that’s the game. If you want to play, comment and claim your date (not selecting a date that’s already been claimed by someone else), between 1st – 24th December; if you want to share your plans, please do so; and I’ll collate some tales from all who’ve participated and publish Tales from Spankvent here on the blog at the end of the festive season.

Ready? Set? Go…!

–

Edited a few hours later – here’s the final list of who’s playing: thanks so much to you all for joining in; this is such fun:

1st – EMDifference

2nd – Eliane

3rd – Sarah

4th – Ronnie

5th – Alyss

6th – Irelynn

7th – Quai

8th – Toby

9th – Judy

10th – Mr Wrath

11th – Miss Swoons

12th – Amy Hunter / Simon Jenkins

13th – Nicky Montford

14th – Leia Ann

15th – Tepees

16th – Poppy

17th – FawcettHall

18th – Abel

19th – Cate

20th – Emma Jane

21st – Bandree

22nd – Scarlett

23rd – Kaelah & Ludwig

24th – Alias

Earlier in the year, with much helpful encouragement, I went on a diet and exercise regime. The results were rather successful. In the past few months, however, I’ve slacked somewhat, for various reasons. (Some might note the word ‘reasons’ here, and translate it as ‘excuses’. You might say that. I couldn’t possibly comment!).

We were discussing this the other evening, and I noted that this was precisely the sort of area in which some people find a disciplinary regime to be of use. Before long, the suggestion was made that Emma Jane could be my whipping girl – punished were I to breach the rules I set for myself once more on food and fitness.

However, we hit on a very obvious problem – aside from the impracticality of any such plan: that, as EJ rightly pointed out, I’d not be able to bear it were she to actually have to be beaten on my behalf. I can watch her take the hardest thrashings; I can whack her (in the right circumstances) harder than anyone else. Yet were I to have to watch her being dealt with for me… No, I just couldn’t. it’d be unbearable.

Now, there are some who’d say that that means that the whole scenario would be absolutely perfect: it’d absolutely guarantee my good conduct. So I fully intend to corrupt it somewhat – my entirely imaginary whipping girl being deployed to keep me focused and to help me to motivate myself once again…

Interestingly, it made me think of princesses in days gone by. I’d never previously have imagined that such a young lady would be in the least worried were her whipping girl to have had to take a punishment. Now, it rather makes me smile to think how upset she’d actually be, and how she’d want to make it up to her after the event.