The Spanking Writers

“What were you supposed to remind me?” Abel said to Martha. She looked completely blank and slightly flustered. I couldn’t help her: whatever he’d asked her to remember, I wasn’t there when it happened.

“Well?” he demanded.

“I don’t know!” Martha squeaked.

“Fine,” he walked over to the arm-chair, where a couple of canes were hanging by their crooks, left over from our scene the day before. “Bend over the couch, I’m going to cane you until you remember what it was.”

I suppose, I could have been more sympathetic at my friend’s predicament, but I couldn’t help giggling. In a horrified sort of way. Martha, growing more and more flustered, bent over the arm of the sofa. “Hold her hands,” Abel told me – and I did. More to offer her comfort than to hold her down, because she’s a brave girl, and doesn’t leap about during a caning anything as much as I do.

“Can you remember what it was yet?” asked Abel, tapping the cane across the seat of her jeans.

“No!” she moaned. “Was it about… er… No, I can’t remember!”

“Let’s see if I can remind you.” He aimed, drew the cane back and delivered a single, solid whack.

“Oww!” Martha squeezed my hands tight. “Ouch! Binoculars! You wanted to remember to take binoculars when we go out tomorrow!”

“Good girl.” Abel sounded delighted. “See? See how the cane focuses your mind?”

We all laughed, and he departed into the kitchen, while Martha and I shared a commiserating cuddle.

“From now on you could use ‘binoculars’ as the answer to anything,” she said. “Anything you ever forget. ‘Do you have anything to say, young lady?’ ‘Binoculars’!”

I think it’s as good an answer to the main question of life, the universe and everything, as any.

Unfortunately, I have a feeling that Abel has now received practical proof that to get the answer to life, the universe and everything is to give somebody a good old whack with the cane.

The email I got from Abel a few days ago (copied also to our friend Martha, who is coming up for the weekend):

School notice – [Name of our village] Academy

Girls are notified that there will be a full uniform inspection by their housemaster at 4.30pm this coming Saturday.

Any recent misconduct reported by other masters at the school will also be discussed at this time.

Hmm, my bottom is twitching just a bit…

Haron took a pretty hard thrashing from a friend recently.

Actually, strike that. Haron took quite the hardest caning I’ve ever seen her get. Stripped, tied in position, an improbable number of strokes laid on in rapid succession at full strength from a hard, experienced, unforgiving player

Whilst I stood silently to the side, and watched.

Interest experience, that, observing one’s beloved taking such a severe, relentless whacking. The flogging had been long-anticipated: her sentence pronounced by email, the date fixed, the event anticipated with dread curiosity.

My natural instincts, of course, were to rush to protect my girl – especially once she started to struggle. To really struggle.

Yet I didn’t. I just watched. Saw her writhe, heard her cry out. Observed as he took her into a deep, dark, beaten place.

And then – soon, yet an eternity after starting – he finished: the binds came off, and I could comfort her. Tell her how beautiful she’d looked, how brave she’d been. Held her especially tight. Re-assured; soothed; admired her stripes. And before very long she was bouncing around as usual, a quite spectacular set of marks and a wincing reluctance to sit down the only visible evidence of her recent ordeal.

Inspecting my girl after a recent scene, I traced my fingers gently (and then not quite so gently) along the raised weal made by a rather high whack of the cane.

She’d been playing with someone who’s an uncannily accurate administrator of severe strokes. “Oh well,” I commented, “even the most experienced players have to be allowed the occasional miss.”

This provoked debate, as you can imagine. I’m personally horrified when I lay the odd stroke astray – a little high, a little low, wrapping a little too far round. But it does happen, from time to time. And, of course, every girl has her own definition of ‘accurate’. Woe betide anyone who stripes Haron’s thighs, for example – whereas one dear friend simply loves to receive cane strokes there.

But what’s an “acceptable” ratio? What’s par for the course? Two inaccurate strokes in six of the best would be well and truly out of order: even one stray strike in a half-dozen would feel a little high.

Here’s the thesis, then… The best we could come up with was the ninety per cent rule. That is: unless you’re playing a scene in which the caning is deliberately (and by agreement) wild, at least nine strokes in ten must be entirely accurate. Any views, from either end of the rod?

Haron’s a clever little minx. We’d been staying in a hotel out near Heathrow; as we finished breakfast, I checked that she’d brought her Oyster Card with her. (Those of you not familiar with London might need to know at this stage that Oyster is a pre-paid smartcard for public transport, which roughly halves trip costs).

She hadn’t. Again. And the previous time it had happened, she’d been left in no doubt as to the consequences of future forgetfulness.

She fluttered her eyelashes, held my hand. To no avail. So she embarked on a long discussion of alternate ticket types on the tube – the pros and cons of travelcards, single tickets, buying a new Oyster card.

I became quite engrossed in trying to work out the right option as we walked back to our room. So engrossed, in fact, that I quite forgot about the spanking her bit of the discussion. Perfect diversionary tactics from the young lady, I’m sure you’ll agree!

Fortunately I did then remember, and over my knee she went, but it was a close run thing!

Last night we played a quick scene, both in our pyjamas – I was a schoolgirl caught wandering the corridors at night, Abel was the housemaster who caught her.

He demanded to be told what I was doing out of bed so late. I was tempted to see if he could keep a straight face:

“I wanted to see the lunar eclipse, sir.”

Not a giggle from him: “Given the last one was in May 2006, you may have had to wait for a long time. Now, the truth.”

Obviously, I got it worse for lying. First came four crisp, firm whacks over the pyjamas for wandering about, then four more on my bare bottom – pyjamas pulled down but not right down, just to bare enough flesh to stripe.

Then we admired my stripes together, and cuddled.

“Did you like my excuse?” I asked.

“Did you like my response?” he asked back.

“Yeah, but actually,” I said, “there was a full lunar eclipse in March this year; I just thought I wouldn’t bring it up.”
“Really?” he said. “Well, you would have still got the cane.”

Funny how that happens… eclipse or no eclipse.

Interesting test of kinky etiquette last month. We were in Coffee, Cake and Kink – which regular readers will know to be our favourite London hangout…

…when I spied a familiar face. A very familiar face: a good friend who I know through work.

Haron’s copy of Debrett’s Etiquette for Girls sadly lacks counsel on the protocol to follow in such circumstances. But what to do?

Now CCK is a relatively tame place: the emphasis is on the C & C, enjoyed by kinky and open-minded people, rather than on the actual practice of pervery. But, inevitably, some customers may not want to flaunt their real names and work-related identities. (Hey, we’re fairly open here, but I don’t link to my work website, do I?)

So, “Hello, —–” was out of the question, and we studiously passed by – before swapping giggly text messages a couple of hours later, starting with my:

Either you have a doppelganger in London, or you have very good taste in coffee and cake!

By coincidence, she and I had arranged to have dinner two nights later. It turns out that neither of us would have minded a conversation at all, but better no doubt to be safe than sorry.

Royal College of Disciplinarians
Examination paper – June 2007

You are administering a caning of twenty strokes. After 12 strokes, the young lady in question asks politely whether she might rub her backside. Equally politely, you decline.

After the fifteenth stroke, she stands up and clutches her backside. What is the correct course of action? You may choose only one answer from the following list.

A. Hug her, and tell her that as it’s obviously hurting so much, you will waive the rest of the caning.

B. Make her return to her position and administer the remaining five strokes.

C. Make her return to her position and administer the fifteenth stroke again, followed by the remaining five strokes.

D. Make her return to her position and administer the full twenty strokes again from the start.

I’m fairly sure I got the answer right when faced with this dilemma whilst playing with a friend last week!

Some interesting records unearthed in the archives of past court proceedings here in the north-east of England:

Durham Assizes, August 3rd 1782

Yesterday se’nnight the Assizes ended at Durham… Margaret Walker, to be whipped. Mary Hunter and Mary Gilhespie, to be privately whipped.

Newcastle Assizes, August 19th 1786

At the Assizes held in and for this town and county, before Francis Buller, Esq; one of the Justices of his Majesty’s Court of King’s Bench, and John Heath, Esq; one of the Justices of his Majesty’s Court of Common Pleas, which ended on Wednesday last…

Elizabeth, wife of Thomas Smith; Elizabeth, wife of William Thompson; Mary, wife of John Brown; and Frances, wife of James Atkinson; severally for grand larceny within the benefit of the statute, were sentenced to be privately whipped, and afterwards committed to the house of correction; there to be kept to hard labour for the term of one year.-

Jane, wife of Walter Clark, for grand larceny within the benefit of the statute, sentenced to be privately whipped, and afterwards committed to the house of correction; there to be kept to hard labour for the term of two years….

I’m curious to know where the public whippings took place in the area. I sense the need for a historical reconstruction.

I’m in the middle of a few days post-conference break in Atlanta. What a lovely city: I’ve been extremely pleasantly surprised. A kinky friend joined me here for the weekend.

Our hotel room is up on the 63rd floor, with panoramic floor to ceiling windows. One does have to wield the cane with slightly more purpose to make a girl concentrate and avoid her being able to distract herself with the views below. I do hope that passengers in passing planes are not in the habit of surveying the city with binoculars…

PS I must apologise to the cleaning staff for the pair of handprints left on your nice, clean windows. You can rest assured that the culprit was soundly thrashed.