The Spanking Writers

Some time ago, I found myself in a rather unusual restaurant in Bucharest, called Bordello’s. As you might recall if you listened to my SpankingCast before Christmas on “Perverting Reality”, the establishment had enjoyed a shady past – before being tastefully converted from brothel into bar.

It inspired an evening-long scene, which we played with a small group of dear friends last Friday evening. I thought you might enjoy seeing what we devised.

First came a newspaper clipping:

From “The Home Counties Gazette”

In this age of austerity, there are many girls – even from good families – who fall on hard times. The workhouse is, for many, the last resort. However, despite its offer of a bed and (meagre) food, this is a much-feared option: the work is tough, and conditions harsh. And few girls, once tarnished by having been a workhouse inmate, will ever again succeed in finding respectable employment.

Yet in rural Oxfordshire an enlightened local benefactor, Mr Abel Jenkins, has established a scheme to rescue young women even as they seek to enrol at the local Workhouse. Notified by the Admissions Clerk of a potential candidate, he gallantly rescues the prettiest lasses and takes them instead to “Fine Prospect”, his delightful villa overlooking the town.

There they are well-trained, receiving education in a disciplined environment in the skills necessary to keep gentlemen entertained and happy. Indeed, the approach has been so successful that the proprietor’s initial batch of recruits have all moved on to grand homes around the country, their new hosts making extremely generous donations to further Jenkins’ good work. As a result, he has recently taken in and trained a new batch of girls, who are soon to be introduced to a selection of gentlemen of note.

The girls, in their corsets, received a letter from the proprietor:

Girls,

I am delighted that you have all done so well in your training at “Fine Prospect”. You will be pleased to know that I have invited a small, select group of gentlemen to join us for supper, and more particularly to meet you all, on the evening of 11th February.

It goes without saying that these are very important guests – and likely to prove generous in their support of our little establishment. Indeed, being wealthy individuals, some of them may even be interested in offering you future opportunities in other parts of the country.

No doubt the gentlemen will expect you to be polite and compliant during the evening, and forthcoming in satisfying and submitting to their needs in the ways in which you have been trained during your time at “Fine Prospect”. I require you to behave impeccably and with perfect manners throughout, and I do not need to spell out the penalties should you prove to be insufficiently hospitable. I expect my guests to be kept company at all times; please be obliging and accommodating in ensuring their comfort.

This is an important evening both for our establishment, and for you individually. Do not let me, or yourselves, down, or there shall be consequences.

A. Jenkins

The gentlemen were asked to wear black tie:

You will, of course, wish to be aware of the rules of the house. You will find the girls to be most willing and co-operative company – yet, of course, they should be treated with the utmost respect. However, should they step out of line at any point, it would be entirely appropriate for you to take them in hand and remind them of the need for discipline.

If you wish to discuss our approach here with the girls in private – or indeed in small groups – the upstairs boudoirs will be open throughout the evening. Do make sure that doors are closed should you not want your conversations to be interrupted by others.

The living room was duly draped in red velvet and heart-shaped cushions; red lightbulbs replaced their usual plain counterparts throughout the house; our beds were strewn with rose petals; the bubbly flowed freely, as did the vintage wine and port. My girls looked stunning, as did our guests. It was one of the most enjoyable evenings I’ve had in a very long time – even if, perhaps especially because,  it was far less depraved in reality than the outline might suggest!

I suspect I often drive my loved ones mad by being overly-protective. They’re all independent, successful, strong characters – and I have a natural tendency to worry and fuss. (Not heard back from a text for a few hours? Some tragic accident must have befallen them! Off to the dentist? I don’t want them to be hurt. Playing scenes with mutual friends – whether spanking-related, or edgier experiences such as the forthcoming session that Emma Jane discussed across at A Painful Awakening yesterday? What if they’re unhappy, or a scene goes wrong, or they end up upset?)

In a scene context, it’s certainly not, when I analyse it, about wanting to be controlling, or about being jealous. I take great delight (‘pervy pleasure’?) when my girls play hot scenes with other people. I like the thought of them being spanked, enjoying scenes, exploring their interests and limits. Control and jealousy  don’t fit with how being poly works for me, and any sense of exclusivity these days is purely my own lack of interest in doing anything particularly (ahem)  naughty with anyone other than my loved ones.

Now, I’m very willing to confess that this over protectiveness is a character flaw (failing, even). It’s something I’m acutely conscious of – and try (struggle) to overcome. But it occured to me recently to wonder whether this is a natural state of mind for a top in a close kinky relationship – where seeing a loved one hurt, sometimes vulnerable during a scene is par for the course. That’s just not a facet of a vanilla partnership.

So I wonder whether, perversely, the very act of inflicting pain in a kinky context actually inevitably makes one more protective towards a partner?

Or is it just that, deep down, I have a vulnerability fetish? Or is it simply an inevitable part of being in love?

Amateur psychologists out there: get to work on me! And I’m fascinated to know whether others feel that kinky folks are in some way naturally more protective.

I was just about to start undressing for my shower, when I noticed that the blinds were up and the window was wide open. Abel was standing next to it, looking smug.

“Would you draw the blinds, please?” I asked.

He smirked, walked up to me, and started to take my t-shirt off, while dragging me towards the open window, despite my protestations that I really didn’t want to flash the entire neighbourhood. My squeaking didn’t make any difference until Abel decided to stop of his own accord – a metre away from the window, which he then finally shut.

I finished undressing and started walking towards the shower.

“Wait there, young lady,” he said. “Flashing the neighbours? Unacceptable behaviour! Bend over and put your hands on the desk!” He grabbed the first thing that was to hand – a plastic ruler.

Giggling and yelping, I took a couple of dozen swats, which were crisp, sharp and warming. I was laughing too hard to apologise for my behaviour, which had appalled Abel so much.

When I switched the shower on, I let cool water pour over my freshly spanked bottom. And I giggled for rather a long time.

Last weekend our friend Martha and her boyfriend invited us, along with a group of other friends, for a day of kinky chatter and some play. There was a fair crowd of us there, and although not everyone wanted to play, we had a fairly large group of girls in Saturday detention suffering in the hands of three teachers.

The ingenious touch was that the teachers let us fill in our own detention slips out-of-character, and so all the girls could signal by the severity of their offence how hard we wanted to be spanked. In a group where not everybody knows each other very well, this was a good touch. I also liked it because I could join in with the scene even though my pain threshold at the moment is very low.

I resurrected my character from many years ago, Rosemary Sheridan, who seems to end up in reformatories all the time. This time, in St Anne’s Reformatory, she was a meek little creature who was in detention for nothing more audacious than letting somebody copy her work during a test. The other girls had characters of varying degrees of naughtiness, from incorrigible rebels to docile (though still naughty) lambs.

First we were made to stand in a semi-circle and read out our offences in front of everyone. Shy little Rosie nearly died of shame having to go through this, but she was even more appalled to be paired up with a hard-case named Lucy Plackett and handed over to Mr Winchester for a warm-up spanking. This was our punishment for ending up in detention in the first place. The other girls were also spit into twos and threes and whisked away by other teachers. Over the course of about half an hour we were thoroughly spanked, and then handed to the next teacher to continue the warm-up.

I must admit this in writing: the spankings and slipperings were absolutely delicious, just hard enough to be a little bit of a challenge, and yet not so hard that I regretted even starting. When I was being spanked by Mr Jenkins, I must admit to having a wholly inappropriate reaction of a warm and slippery kind; I think Rosie has a crush on that teacher, or something.

The serious part of the punishment came around quickly enough. We had to go into the staff room in groups of two to receive a designated number of strokes for our main offence. Rosie was sentenced to three strokes of the cane from each teacher. As they crowded around me, serious and official in their suits and ties, I felt about five inches tall, and quaked in my black school shoes.

I was bent over the arm of the staff room sofa, and braced myself for the nine strokes. It was amazing to me how different the licks from each teacher felt. Each volley of three hurt, but in a different way: thud, sting, burn – similar, slightly scary sensations, building up to a layer of warmth all over my bottom, and making Rosie a very punished girl.

I think other girls may have got their licks with straps or paddles, but I was very glad to have got the cane, because it’s an implement I most identify with a Saturday detention like this one.

There was some more play later, but after the teachers dealt with the queue of girls, it was the end of detention for us. I wasn’t as sore as I’ve been after other play experiences, but it was a thoroughly satisfying scene, made better by the company of my fellow schoolgirls, so different from their everyday selves, and yet so familiar.

Last week Abel undertook a frightening, but necessary task: he decided to count and sort our implements. It was frightening because there were piles of spanking toys crammed into every box and drawer in our bedroom and study; it was necessary for the same reason.

With our toys sorted into little heaps on the floor, we did an inventory, and tidied them into suitable boxes, umbrella stands and drawers, and were about to breather the sigh of relief when Abel went under the bed for something else and emerged with an uncounted strap.

“Trying to hide it?” he thundered, with a glint of a smile behind his eyes. “Bend over!”

This happened to be a fairly light strap that I really like, so I leaned over the foot of the bed with not so much trepidation as fond anticipation.

Abel began my licking with some detectable glee. “Do you know how many you’re getting?” he asked.

“Ow! Ouch! No?”

“Eighteen. One for every ten implements we own.”

I ruefully braced for my proportional comeuppance, and suffered it with only minimal carrying-on and hardly any giggles at all.

I’m glad we found that strap, and not, say, a ginormous wooden paddle or something…

At a party not long ago, I was chatting to a fellow top about some of the rituals associated with spanking roleplay. Some are obvious – setting up the room, selecting implements, thinking through the scene ahead.

For me, though, there are two very specific details that always tell me that I’m about to play. The first is putting on a tie: I simply don’t wear them in daily life, and the act of knotting one it is a sure-fire signal to me that a spanking is to be administered. (For, after all, who wants their housemaster or headmaster in an open-necked shirt?). It’s like the very acting of selecing a tie from the wardrobe jolts me into character, into the right state of mind.

The second is polishing my shoes. Whilst this is something that, obviously, does feature in my regular vanilla routine, it’s become a habit of mine to buff my shoes shortly before playing. After all, if a girl’s bent over my knee, she surely doesn’t want to see dirty shoes* – and, indeed, has the right to know that the person spanking her is immaculately turned-out.

So, I wondered – does anyone else have any specific, detailed things that they do before a scene, that clicks their mind into kinky gear?

* The friend in the conversation (@HelloMrAllen on Twitter) immediately conjured up a time-saving variant on this – that the girl might usefully be made to polish one’s shoes whilst being spanked – but we decided that that was probably not really the done thing!

A few days ago I was painfully yearning for a spanking. Luckily for me, Abel was due to come home from a work trip, so there was hope of a spanking actually happening. I expressed my wishes to him via Twitter, and he immediately told me to go and wait in my room for my guardian to come home.

When I heard the front door, I was in my pyjamas, cocooned in blankets, restless with trepidation. My guardian took his time coming into my room, and I listened to his every familiar home-coming noise, straining to hear his footsteps on the stairs.

When he finally entered the room, he looked like he was just about holding in a whirlwind of fury. He demanded my explanations: why were the neighbours complaining of so much noise from our house in his absence.

None of my excuses would cut it. I only had a few friends over, we did nothing more than play a shooter on the Xbox, the alcohol we drank was only Bailey’s, which is like condensed milk. None of this was good enough. I was ordered out of bed and over his knee with my pyjama bottoms down.

What followed was exactly the spanking I wanted: pretty painful, but not so atrocious that I had to wriggle and pull away. It felt like it went on for a long time, and I was keen to offer my apologies and promises of good behaviour. These were not enough, though, because after he finished spanking me, my guardian told me to go to his office and bring the clothesbrush that was sitting on his desk.

This was the beautiful brush that Abel had brought home recently, when I was too sick to try it. I was thrilled that now I would find out what it felt like, but there was also a tingle of apprehension: it’s a very thick, sturdy implement. I handed it to my guardian and returned over his knee.

My fear had been justified: the brush burned. I knew Abel was putting hardly any force behind the smacks, but it was, nevertheless, quite an ordeal. He gave me ten, in quick succession, and I just about succeeded in not levitating off his lap.

After the scene was over, and I’d had my cuddles, Abel thought it would be a great idea to give me one full-strength smack with the brush, probably so that I fully appreciated how lenient he had been. While this wasn’t strictly necessary – I know what a thick polished chunk of wood feels when wielded with great strength – it did make me particularly happy that my entire spanking wasn’t like this. (And wouldn’t ever be, of course. Of course.)

Thus was my craving for a spanking temporarily sated, and I could go to sleep with my skin deliciously, tantalisingly warm.

Spontaneous spanking is returning into my life as my body is finally restoring itself after nearly two full months of annoying illnesses.

This morning I committed a heinous crime of walking past Abel while naked. He was dismayed by this behaviour, and ordered me to bend over the edge of the bed. I pouted a little bit, just enough to be told off for making faces, and leaned over the low iron foot-board.

Abel grabbed the first implement that caught his eye: a belt curled up on the floor. He shook it out, doubled it over, and measured it against my bottom.

I tensed up, expecting it to hurt on top of the spanking I got the previous night*, but when the belt struck, the licks felt warm, luscious, thrilling. My reactions went something like this: “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch, this is really nice! Ow!” Abel may have been disappointed.

After the belt, he picked up one of our new toys from Maui Kink, the “bloodline cane”. It’s actually a pretty fierce, rigid stick, but used lightly, with the curve in its body aligned to the curve of my bottom, it gives a gorgeous even burn. A few smacks with it on top of the belt licks left me buzzing, happy and pleasantly sore.

A few hours later, and I’m still sore, and very pleased with my life.

*More on that later

Some of the girls who attended this weekend’s wonderful Lowewood school day have already shared their perspectives online in extremely enjoyable posts. But I thought a master’s view of proceedings might also be of interest, so asked Haron to fire her six-of-the-best questions at me about my experience of the day:

1. Did you enjoy teaching your lessons?

Yes – very much so on this particular occasion. I do put a lot of thought into designing lessons that I think will be interesting – with topics usually having some mischievous twist, like these ones on geography (rattan farming) and RE (satanic orgies). And I like to give the girls enough rope with which to (proverbially) hang themselves – the lessons or tests I put together usually and deliberately allow pupils the chance to exercise a little creative naughtiness (mental or otherwise), or to behave impeccably, as they feel fit.

2. How do you keep from laughing at the funny come-backs – or do you just let yourself laugh?

I do sometimes find it hard to keep a straight face in class – and, particularly, in assembly. After all, some of the girls’ comments and antics are genuinely very funny indeed.

But I don’t think the best teachers need to be that straight-laced: a sense of humour in the classroom is surely a good thing, provided one maintains an ultimate slight aloofness and overall control over proceedings. After all, educating girls is a serious business, and I want my pupils to get the best from their schooling and to grow up to be responsible adults. (Ahem…)

3. Does misbehaviour ever genuinely annoy you?

Sometimes, yes – if I think a girl’s being genuinely and unnecessarily disruptive. I don’t get angry – just very frustrated if someone’s behaviour, despite warnings, actually risks spoiling other people’s enjoyment of the lesson. That strikes me as disrespectful to their fellow girls – and also, to an extent, to me (as in real me, not my in-class character) given the work that’s gone into preparing the lessons.

But it’s times like these when I’d tell a girl to leave the room, or insist that if they don’t co-operate I’ll stop the lesson – rather than whacking her in anger or frustration.

4. Do you try to make sure you play with every girl during the day?

Not consciously, no. In fact, quite the opposite: there may be girls who don’t want to play with me for whatever reason, and I’d hate to make them feel forced into doing so.

That said, although I wasn’t keeping tally, a quick calculation afterwards revealed I’d whacked eight of the nine girls present during the day. These fell into four camps:

1) Classroom whackings: those moments when a girl in class misbehaves, and the recording of mere negative house points on their report cards doesn’t seem sufficient as punishment. This tends to be for more wilful behaviour – outright cheek, ignoring warnings. For some reason, the slipper seemed to be my default implement this time, despite the tempting rack of canes. I love the spontaneity of these summary punishments – very much ‘in the moment’ rather than pre-planned; brief; not overly severe.

2) Punishment slip scenes. Two girls were sent to me during the day for serious past misdemeanours – somewhat twisted versions of real life events. There’s just enough veracity to give a master a genuine excuse to punish – and just enough incongruity in a schoolgirl being dealt with for her real-life vanilla actions to keep the whole thing slightly surreal and rarely too serious (albeit on occasion, these ‘pink slip’ scenes in the past have actually been very intense). Certainly, whacking girls for their drunken antics at Eliane’s wonderful New Year’s Eve party, at which I’d actually been encouraging some of the livelier antics, had an amusing side.

3) Detentions. All of the girls were given detention for group misbehaviour during the day; two of their number came my way after classes were finished. Over my knees they went in turn for hand spankings before six of the best for each of the girls rounded of the school day. Aside from the actual punishments, I really enjoyed the dynamic in the room during this scene – and loved watching each girl stand, bottom bared and red, during her friend’s caning.

4) Private play. By the end of the afternoon, I’d not actually whacked either Haron or Catherine, and that clearly needed addressing! I caught Haron first as she emerged from Detention: suddenly I was not only the chaplain but also her guardian. She clicked immediately into the newly-thought-up situation, as I led her back into the punishment room. “Can you imagine how embarrassing it is for me, as a member of staff, when my girl comes bottom of the class?” A hard hand-spanking followed, and then a whacking with the slipper – a lovely little impromptu addition to the school day. (Note to self – be careful with backswing, lest the slipper end up flying back into a most painful part of one’s anatomy).

Later in the evening, Catherine was led upstairs for repeatedly cheeky comments. A hard dozen with the cane marked her beautifully, and her lack of remorse at the end earned her a further twelve (the first seven of which were delivered very hard in direct succession: a most effective technique). I loved this: just the two of us playing, connected, the rest of the group momentarily left behind.

5. What was the most memorable thing about this Lowewood?

That’s a tough question! I’m going to dodge the question from a spanking perspective (much as the ‘private’ spankings above were especially lovely) and pick out a non-spanking aspect of the day: the way that Caoilfhionn rose to the responsibility of being Head Girl.

Now, of course, it’s very much Emma Jane who’s a partner in real life, not Caoilfhionn (an entirely different, albeit obviously quite  closely related being). But even so, I found myself feeling genuine pride throughout the day in how well my girl was doing!

6. Do the staff gossip about the girls in the staff-room?

Nah, we just sit there drinking whisky and smoking cigars. (Joke! Actually, I suspect that was what the masters did at the school I attended in real life). We do certainly discuss the girls – what mood do you appear to be in collectively, what are the energy levels like, who’s misbehaving, who seems engaged and who seems to have switched off. It’s like the teachers are looking after each other – trying to give pointers to help avoid the unexpected and anticipate any problems. And, ultimately, to make sure each of the girls is actually enjoying herself.

Thanks to Haron for the questions: do feel free to add your own in the comments. In the meantime, huge thanks to Miss Bellend and the Headmaster for involving us in such a truly wonderful day with such a fabulous group of friends.

Yesterday was a school day for Abel and me: we had a day of play at Lowewood Academy. Teaching for him, fooling around and pretending I was studying for me.

School role-play being my favourite kinky pastime, I don’t usually need to misbehave and get spanked in order to have a good time. However, yesterday I behaved atrociously. Not in a bratty, attention-grabbing way – because attention horrifies me, unless it’s focused on my image on the screen – but badly enough to end up joint-bottom of the school. The Headmaster commented to me later that he had no idea how I managed to end up with such a huge points deficit, because on the face of it I’m not a problem pupil. I’m going to keep that a secret, though; no use alerting teachers to your know-how.

The memorable punishment of the day happened in my Father Smith Wing punishment session of the day. (This is when a girl gets called out of the classroom to be dealt with for some misbehaviour she’d been caught at outside school hours.)

Mr Brown informed me that it had come to the staff’s attention that I’d been breaking the six-inch rule with a boy, quoting a text I’d sent to one of the girls about going to stay with Jimmy. I loved being punished for that, because it gives our affair a feel of a transgressive teenage fling. I stammered a few excuses, but Mr Brown was unimpressed.

“You are supposed to stay at least six inches away from boys at all times,” he said. “How much distance did you keep between you and this boy?”

“Well, sir…”

“No inches, I would say.”

“Welllll…”

“Negative inches?”

I creased up, but quickly remembered that I really ought to be apologising. Which did no good, and I was soon bending over for six-of-the-best with the cane, which I had to count out, so that it reminded me of the rule I had broken.

That hurt more than I’d anticipated, and I genuinely thought that it would be the end of the punishment, but Mr Brown was having a sadistic sort of day. He produced a book on etiquette, and had me copy it out in my best handwriting. I grumpily complied, secretly thrilled. When I handed over the completed assignment, I was thinking that surely, this would be it.

No such luck. Mr Brown picked up a strap and hand me hold out my hand. Another six, and very stingy ones as well. “Copy out the paragraph again,” he said. “Let’s see if you can keep it as neat.”

Aha, a challenge! Gripping the pen was really uncomfortable, but I did my best to keep my writing tidy and clear. Now we were definitely finished, I thought.

Nope. We really weren’t. I had to copy the paragraph twice more, with hand-strappings in between, and the final round of copying was accompanied by a rather stinging hand-spanking. (Which did spoil my handwriting quite a bit, as I was being jolted forward a lot. That was possibly the most humiliating bit: I’m proud of my handwriting, you know.) But then it was finally over.

Throughout the day, there was much silliness and much, much laughter. I will never forget the sight of helium-filled condoms floating to the ceiling when we opened our desks in the first lesson. We also got much pleasure out of playing a theme-tune for every teacher as he entered – apparently, it’s very hard to figure out where the sound is coming from in the echoing classroom.

After the school ended, Abel morphed into my guardian, and marched me to an empty room for a sound spanking and a slippering for coming bottom of the class. This hurt atrociously, and rather struggled to take it. But afterwards, there were cuddles, and finally a change into my grown-up clothes.

Thank you to Jessica and Mr S for another spectacular, memorable day.