The Spanking Writers

Last weekend, I was lucky enough to be a guest at the latest of Lord Fawcett’s wonderful annual house parties. As ever, I invented a new character for the weekend-long roleplay:

Sir Abel Sheraton’s textile mills dot the landscape of Lancashire. Since taking the helm from his father – and assuming his baronetcy – the operation has grown considerably in size, and is now reportedly the largest such in the country.

Despite his use of the latest technology, such as Cartwright’s power loom and Johnson’s dressing frame, the mills continue to employ many thousands of women and children. Indeed, Sir Abel was an influential figure on the committee that set up the Factories Act in 1802, fighting hard for the rights of employers.

His home life, however, is far away from the strict and harsh conditions of the northern mills, which he visits rarely. His fine Oxfordshire seat is recognised for its parties and its wine cellar, as well as his collection of unusual books from the continent.

His recent marriage to the younger sister of the Earl of Pembroke took many by surprise, perhaps including his new bride herself, given their not-inconsiderable age difference. Sir Abel takes great delight in showing off the beauty of his youthful new spouse, and radiates pride from the attention that she is invariably shown by all around. Yet it is rumoured that, behind closed doors, he is just as strict with her as her governess was back at Pemberly before their wedding.

Sir Abel and Lord Fawcett have met at a number of events in recent years, but an invitation to a Fawcett Hall house party came a something of a surprise. No doubt his Lordship is interested in learning more of the textile industry, as well as making the close acquaintance of the young Lady Georgiana.

To stay in character pretty much non-stop for 48 hours is a remarkable experience – especially when surrounded by such beautiful ladies, looked after by a wonderful chef and hard-working staff, and in the company of a group of gentlemen whom I like and respect immensely. The event’s a tribute to the organisational skills of the Archduchess, whose passion for creating such an amazingly authentic and detailed experience – and ensuring its smooth running – never ceases to amaze me.

Aside from the great company, there was some lovely play over the weekend. Lady Georgiana received a sound six of the best before dinner on Saturday evening; I loved teaching Miss Bennett lessons in how to behave in company and on the need to focus on finding a good husband. And gambling with two of the gentlemen as to whether the ladies for whom they were ‘champions’ could take twelve full-strength strokes of the cane without crying led to two very intense scenes. (One honourable draw, if you’re wondering, with victory for the other young lady – who then broke when I gave her another six straight afterwards).

Such a great weekend. So many thanks to all who were there, and especially to our two wonderful hosts.

So, how many readers of my blog here have also sneaked a look at the Spanking Writers Tumblr site, which I’ve been enjoying updating with rather surprising regularity? If so, do you like it – and what types of images (from the 600+ I’ve posted so far) do you enjoy?

I’m provoked to ask as a result of an email exchange with my lovely, long-standing friend F. In three consecutive emails during a morning discussion last week, she commented as follows:

I got in trouble for looking at your pretty pictures (tumblr) when I was supposed to be working from home. He seemed to think that recreating certain acts from the pictures would be a fitting punishment…

He has now banned me from looking at the pictures when I’m meant to be working, which is of course just making the whole thing even more tempting… *sigh*…

It *was* rather hot getting in trouble for looking at the pictures, especially the line ‘not so fun when it’s happening to *you*, is it?’… mmm…

Mmm indeed. Given how adorable the young lady in question is, as a person and to play with: mmmmmmmmmmmmmm, even. The thought of her “getting into trouble” as a result of me posting naughty photos is just *so* hot – and actually, rather fun, too!

Two lovely play dates last week underlined for me how my kink’s evolved in the past couple of years.

For a decade or so, everything was about roleplay – my character punishing my play partner’s character. Last week, there were no roles per se. In the first, I took a switch to Kami as she knelt up on the bed: twenty hard, slow cuts followed by a pause, then twenty more hard and fast.

In the second, another lovely friend was tied over the end of the bed, and given her first-ever birching – a dozen strokes with an authentic reproduction Manx birch, made from tightly bound hazel rods.

There was no attempt in either case to act out a scenario, to find an ‘excuse’ for the floggings. The participants? Us, not hiding behind imaginary characters. Play, not punishment. Because I enjoy inflicting pain on lovely people who ‘enjoy’ being beaten; because I love watching their reactions; because I love their vulnerability – and the strength they show in taking the thrashings; because I enjoy what comes next…

I still love formal roleplay; I get a kick from that (done well, properly planned, duly anticipated, played in the right headspace) that I rarely get from anything else. Actually, I crave more of it. But I am loving having a second string to my spanking bow.

Back in the mid-80s (LOL before some of you were born, dear readers), I went to a play in London’s West End with my then girlfriend. “Breaking the Code” starred Derek Jacobi, and told the story of World War 2 codebreaker Alan Turing – and his subsequent persecution for his homosexuality, his prosecution and tragic suicide. Aside from being perhaps the greatest piece of acting I’ve had the good fortune to witness, the evening changed my life.

I’d not long left a boys public school, where tolerance of diversity was non-existent and homophobic language sadly all-too-common. The play rescued me, I’m sure, from the narrow prejudiced world view that had dominated my upbringing and enabled me to understand, to embrace, to celebrate differences. The evening’s one of the more memorable ones in my life. And so a visit at the weekend to the rather chaotic, ramshackle museum at Bletchley Park, where Turing worked, was truly special; seeing his office – preserved as it was in the war – was really a very moving moment.

And then, of course, there were girls to spank. Yes, friends, even in a trip that resonated so very deeply on a personal level, I managed to spank girls around the site and (memorably) behind the bike shed, make them lift their skirts for a photo under a tree outside some of the wartime huts, and come up with numerous mental takes on how the ‘Bletchley girls’ would have been punished during the war.

In an era in which ‘careless talk cost lives’, young ladies overheard discussing anything of their work in the local village would, surely, have been punished most thoroughly. I pictured two such, taken before the site’s Commanding Officer. He’d listen carefully to what had happened, then lecture them so gravely on the importance of security and his disappointment in them that they’d be in tears even before he pronounced sentence: “Take them to the Military Police, and have them both birched.”

My Sunday finished in even better style, with a lovely scene with Eliane (who’d arranged the day out). Anne, a maid who’d been caught frolicking with one of the stable hands, was brought before the butler. The result? To her considerable embarrassment, she was stripped and made to explain what the boy had done to her, before being tied down and whipped most soundly. It was such great play – pushing her hard, and leaving her looking so beautiful with vivid marks across her backside, thighs and back. A perfect end to a pretty perfect day, really.

From time to time, I receive notes seeking advice from readers who are considering making their first tentative forays into the world of real-life spanking play. It feels a little strange that, by dint of having written incessantly on a topic for a number of years, I’m somehow seen as trusted, an expert. But it’s very flattering, always welcome – and that Haron and I have managed to help a few folks through this blog over the years is a source of great pleasure and pride to us both.

One such note arrived recently from a female reader who was seeking tips from me on safety prior to her first meeting with her first potential top, who she’d met online. I conferred with Haron on our response, and – whilst the following thoughts will seem like stating the obvious to our more experienced readers – it struck me that they might be of interest more widely:

1. Obviously, don’t disclose personal information such as your real name, home neighbourhood / address, or where you work / study.
2. Get to know the person online first. Email, email some more. Then perhaps it’s time for a few more emails or instant messaging conversations.
3. Ask them what interests them, and the things that don’t. Let them know what works for you, what doesn’t really – and what really doesn’t. See if you do actually connect enough, and have similar enough tastes, for this to be good, comfortable and fun for you both.
4. Read anything they’ve written online: they may have profiles on sites such as FetLife or Informed Consent; they may comment on blogs you also read, or post to bulletin boards; they might even blog or write stories themselves; perhaps they tweet…
5. …and share anything you’ve written – even if that just means getting them to follow your kinky twitter account, if you have one.
6. If you can, mindful of confidentiality / discretion, ask if other folks you know / trust have come across the person concerned and speak well of them. [And don’t presume that meeting 1:1 is always be the best course; can you meet them instead at a munch, or through mutual friends, or with someone else around?]
7. Chat to them by phone (if at least one of you is happy sharing a phone number; you might even want to set up a kink or anonymous account from which to Skype).
8. Be a little paranoid. Actually, be a lot paranoid. Meet them in a public place – preferably one without alcohol: a coffee shop rather than a pub! And have a safe call (someone you trust, who you can call or text a little while after meeting to say you’re OK – plus an agreed phrase you’d use if you’re not, and clear plans for what you’d want them to do if you didn’t make contact by an agreed time).
9. Don’t play the first time you meet – and let them know beforehand that this will unequivocally be the case. [Being frank, I’ve not always followed this one myself where I’ve chatted a lot to someone beforehand – but it is usually the case for me, and I’d certainly think it’s a sensible plan for any bottom meeting a top].
10. And if you are going to play… be as clear as you can be about your preferences; be specific about hard limits; specify any safeword(s) and make sure it’s clear what their use must mean (whether “take it easy” or “stop, now!); and have the courage, no matter how hard it might seem, to stop things right there and then, safeword or not, if you’re at all uneasy with how it’s going.

I’m sure I’m missing stuff. And that’s really the point of posting it: from your experience, do you think what I said constituted sound advice? What advice would you offer for a safe and successful first meeting with a friend that someone’s met online?

Many years ago now, I wrote a story that combined many of my favourite fantasy flavours: a school setting; the headmaster giving a deserved punishment to a girl he liked and trusted; a particularly hard, formal caning. It’s called The Punishment List, and I like it enough that it became the title of the collection of my stories that was published a couple of years back. It holds a very special place in my authorial heart.

Lately, after our most recent play together, I encouraged Kami to dust off the copy of my anthology that I’d given her a while ago. I’d hoped she’d enjoyed it; I hadn’t expected to receive an email shortly after, in which – to my surprise and delight – she asked (perhaps, demanded!) to play out the title story. A date was set; emails were swapped: harsh as the story is, Kami didn’t want me to go at all easy on her, and I gave her my word in reply that I wouldn’t – specifically, in addition to agreeing there’d be no warm-up (as there isn’t one in the story), my reply read:

I want to beat you just as hard as the girl I wrote about. *Just* as hard.

The scene duly set, my revision began: how many times did I re-read the script, wanting to get it right? Nerves set in: I knew Kami wanted an intense scene, and I wanted to get it right for her. And it’s a special story for me: I wanted to do it justice if I was going to play it out.

I shifted furniture around, deciding that this shouldn’t be played in a space I’d used before. A sofa was moved between rooms, rugs put in place, a table moved so that, as in the story, the crook-handled senior cane could be resting on it when the girl walked into the library. Ah yes, the senior cane: only my heaviest dragon cane would do. I practised: my poor pillows took it courageously.

The punishment book – old-looking, leather-bound, as in the story, was dusted off. The fountain pen with which the details would be recorded… damn: neither of mine would work; a quick run into town was called for, as nothing else would fit. The punishment list itself, pinned in the story to the main school noticeboard, was designed and printed and taped to the door.

Kami was picked up, and driven to school…

There’s that interlude before a scene in which the transformations take place: jeans give way to a suit and gown; comfortable everyday wear to school uniform and tie. Friends, to characters. And then I walked downstairs, closed the door, became the headmaster and waited for a girl’s knock.

It’s rare for me to cane a girl when she’s touching her toes; rare for me to cane a girl with no mercy, with such a heavy implement. Each stroke raised a fierce weal; each was followed by a long pause, until the head prefect could murmur the count and her “thank you, sir”, and then more of a wait as I made her anticipate the next cut.

One of the features of the story is that Alice receives extra strokes for not holding her position, on top of the eight which have already been awarded. I’d wondered if this would play out in reality. It did.

A girl’s cowering on the floor, sobbing, clearly struggling. It’s evident that the caning is proving to be a dreadful ordeal. What does one do? As a headmaster: wait for her to compose herself, then carry on. As a headmaster-who’s-really-a-top-playing-a-scene-with-a-friend? Have a moment of doubt, a fleeting crisis of conscience, then recall your clear agreement: hard, no mercy. And wait for her to compose herself and carry on.

Alice’s hands were shaking so badly as I made her sign the book after her tenth stroke that she could scarcely hold the pen. And that was only half the story, for any girl would have received that number of strokes: the punishment for the head girl would be doubled. The next batch were again as hard as a school caning could be – and then it was over.

It was an amazing scene, that couldn’t have worked without the clearest communication, deep trust – and a great partner to play with. Thank you, Kami: you made a truly wonderful, amazingly brave Alice. I was so delighted that you asked to play it. I was proud of you for taking it. I loved every moment of it.

–

You can read the original story here (or in the book to which it gave its name), and you can read Kami’s account of the scene on her blog (together with photos). Hope you enjoy!

The late-night caning I gave Emma Jane recently when we caught up on one of my rare visits home between back-to-back business trips was, for me, such a perfect piece of play that I’ve been struggling to capture it in words. Yet the mental images of it are so, so clear that they make me smile whenever I permit myself the distraction of looking back.

We’d had a lovely evening, curled up close on the couch. Bedtime drew near – actually, it being a school night, bedtime was probably long past – and EJ was clear: “I want a caning.”

I picture her bending over in front of my cane rack, hands on her knees, her pyjama bottoms pulled down to bare her backside for the strokes. Six with each of the six canes: hard but not brutal. Picture her: vulnerable to the caning, yet utterly empowered, being beaten because she wanted to be (and, mutually, because I so wanted to do so). Picture her: so beautiful. Picture her: increasingly striped and red. Hear her: discussing the relative merits of each of the cane. Not punishment; not roleplaying – but personal, connecting, loving. Fun. Painful.

Once she’d chosen her favourite of the six, she positioned herself tight over the end of the bed. The twelve strokes that followed were much harder than their predecessors, leaving delightful weals. And then, as we chatted and hugged and as the camera came out, she suggested that the pale gap between the highest stroke and the one below needed filling in. It took another dozen to colour her perfectly, making sixty strokes in all.

For me, it was perfect: lovely, spontaneous, intense and trusting play with a girl I adore. I count myself a very, very lucky man sometimes.

A few months back, I decided that it really was time for me to have a set of custom-made canes, to adorn the wonderful whip rack that Cath gave me last Christmas, which hangs in pride of place in the bedroom.

I did a fair amount of research before placing my order, wanting something special, and finally settled on an American company, Prysm. Their website was intriguing:

We use only top quality Indonesian (lunchi) Kooboo rattan for our handcrafted canes. Kooboo rattan is the most consistently sized and has the best flex available. The rattan has been left in its natural state, with the bark intact.

What makes our rattan canes the ultimate? Our PATENTED Oil Filled Process. You can expect excellence in appearance, flexibility, and overall superior quality performance with an extended life distinguishing them from common water processed rattan canes.

Item received may not look exactly as shown due to the inherent nature of being a handmade natural material/product.

So, I wrote:

I wondered if you could confirm a price for a set of six canes, all with a black braid handle, one in each thickness from junior up to the 16-17mm size, each 30 inches long, shipped to the UK. (Having them all the same length is really important!)

After a friendly correspondence, the order was placed, and soon after they arrived. Slightly strangely, customs hadn’t asked for their usual import fees: perhaps they realised that there were girls out there needing beating, and waved the package through accordingly.

I gave Haron one whack with each cane when they first arrived – and, memorably, bruised my own left hand with the heaviest one when I tried to assess their weight! All six are beautifully balanced and perfectly weighted; just the right length, and (much as they’re less conventional in school scenes) I do prefer straight-handled canes. The lightest one is remarkably whippy; the thickest two are really only for those who enjoy more thuddy implements.

They came into their own last Friday, on the eve of my current sojourn in Egypt… My really rather lovely play partner for the evening was stripped naked at the foot of the staircase, then taken upstairs and made to select a cane from the rack for her beating. She (rather bravely) chose the third heaviest; I decided that we’d better use the one either side of that in weight, too, to make sure she’d made the most appropriate choice, and made her bend over the end of the bed.

Before the evening was out, mind, all six had been used – hard, enthusiastically – and her backside and thighs (both front and back) were beautifully striped. Oh, and the XH Lochgelly and a slipper or two may have made an appearance in the midst of proceedings, too! (The effects apparently lasted well into the following day, when a DM revealed that it was hurting to sit on even the soft seats that she’d chosen in a pub for lunch!). It was truly lovely play; I hope it’ll be repeated as soon as my travels permit.

A couple of years ago, a rather lovely new blog was born – a spanking serial set in Winterbrook Hall, a fictitious country house, with each episode written by a different character. I confess that I rather divided in and out of it at the time, being somewhat short of time to do it justice, but greatly admired the team’s ingenuity in creating and sustaining such consistent, well-developed plotlines.

Winterbrook then (rather sadly) went into hibernation for a year or so, and I’ve been dipping in and out of it occasionally ever since, catching up on some wonderfully-evocative writing. And, to my delight, the blog’s now back up and running, with new chapters appearing on a regular basis. Maria’s post yesterday (written by Emma Jane, who also writes as Charlotte – with the other characters now written by Jon Thorn) was particularly lovely. Here’s a taste:

Turning to me, Jake slowly removed his belt. The sound of it rasping though the loops of his trousers made me shiver involuntarily. When he removed his belt I usually experienced great pleasure or great pain. I knew this was to be the former.

I glared at him angrily, frustrated by how neatly he had arranged things. He loved to beat me and to do so in front of Jenks was an added thrill for him: the more embarrassed I was, the more he enjoyed it. I resolved to give him no satisfaction at all and turned to lean against the wall, bending over so my bottom was out in readiness. I prayed he would just begin but despite my furious hissing he pulled my skirt up above my waist and parted my drawers. My face burned deep red at the thought of both of them seeing me so exposed.

If you’ve not discovered Winterbrook yet, it really is quite unique – and comes hugely recommended. And if you’re a long-standing reader who hadn’t noticed that it was back, it’s time to go and make your re-acquaintance with its inhabitants.

On the topic of other sites, why don’t I take the opportunity to mention a couple of lovely write-ups of scenes I’ve played recently – by Emma Jane (“Intern in trouble”) and Kami Robertson (“How a girl learnt not to flick other people’s noses”), on their respective blogs. I do so enjoy reading what the other participant thought of play encounters, and adore having such excellent write-ups to remember them by!

You know, it really is damned annoying to have such a busy month of travel ahead – I’ve been playing much more lately than I had done, most recently a great evening on Friday involving some very hard play that put each of my set of six new canes to good use. I’ve been loving every minute of it, and am craving more (whether non-consensual roleplay or non-non-consensual fun)!

On holiday with Emma Jane last week, we found ourselves in one of the loveliest hotels I’ve ever visited. Actually, ‘hotel’ is something of a misnomer, for we felt more like house guests than paying customers. A boot room, from which one could borrow Barbours or wellies. A falconry – an afternoon walk with a hawk clearly the done thing. Fellow guests heading off for a day’s shooting, the labradors wagging their tails excitedly at the prospect of a fun day out. A gorgeous drawing room, perfect for curling up on comfortable sofas and scoffing cocktails and the world’s best onion rings. A fabulous restaurant – ten-course tasting menu in the evening, freshly-cooked kippers for breakfast.

Oh, and a walled garden – which we took great delight in exploring. It wasn’t overly-neat, as at so many National Trust properties, but somewhat unkempt – half given over to wild flowers, to fill the vases around the house; the rest to fruit and vegetables for the kitchen.

Shortly after arriving, we found ourselves chatting merrily to a group of middle-aged ladies, who were on their way back to the hotel. I confessed that we’d sampled a few raspberries; they confirmed their complicity in such a dastardly deed.

Once they’d left, EJ threw me a coquettish look: “I’ve never been spanked in a walled garden before.” That state, I have to say, didn’t last long. And oh what a wonderful walk we had for the following half hour or so. Raspberry, spanking, strawberry, spanking, apple, photo, spanking, strawberry, spanking, tomato, spanking, photo… (Emma Jane’s posted some of said images in a very lovely post across at her blog, if you’re interested. ‘If’ – duh!)

Back in our room, a girl was brought before the master of the house for stealing from the garden. Fifty cane strokes followed as she lay face down on the bed, in a roleplay that avoided being too mean or intense verbally, whilst being rather so physically. It was a scene we both needed to play together – and is still bringing a smile to my face, a week or more on.