The Spanking Writers

A dark little mini-story idea that distracted me one morning when I should have been packing for my move last week!

–

He sits at the end of the room, on a comfortable chair. The girl stands before him, her wrists held tightly by two of his men. “I trusted you,” he tells her, “and now you’re going to learn the cost of betraying me.” He clicks his fingers; they begin their work as he sits silently and watches.

One holds her as the other strips her, touching her, commenting as he does. She writhes in protest, but they are too strong. She shouts at them to stop – at him to make it stop; they slap her face, hard. It silences her. They bend her over the end of a table; bind her with rope. Take spray birches from the bucket; thrash her with them – a minute’s punishment, a minute’s rest, a minute’s punishment, repeated.

When they let her stand, she pleads apologies. He says nothing; they silence her by forcing her to her knees, unzipping their trousers, thrusting themselves into her mouth in turn. Then they tie her again, her hands high about her head; the whip cracks through the air and across her back, raising welts each time.

She screams. She begs. They talk to her, about her, in a language she doesn’t understand. He sits in silence. Even as they rape her. Even as they push her back over the desk, strap her down once more and cane her, alternating strokes (one left-handed, one right-handed).

She whimpers. They each take her arse.

They untie her.

She stays in position, silent, awaiting the next form of abuse. And he clicks his fingers once more.

They bring her to him, holding her up. “You were the best of my girls. I’m sorry it came to this. Now take her away…”

I spend much of my time between London meetings in a rather fine Pall Mall establishment. It’s a great place to hide away and catch up with emails – or to stop for an hour or two and allow myself time to think more creatively about work issues and opportunities.

The other day, I found myself in town for two relatively informal meetings. I was more casually dressed than usual, so had to steer clear of the usual grand clubhouse in favour of its more casual near-neighbour. After all, it struck me, one wouldn’t want to be accused of being “improperly attired”.

And oh, how that phrase set my mind wandering. A young lady was visiting a private club, for tea with an older, somewhat strict gentleman of who she was becoming increasingly fond. She’d not realised quite how formal the place was: her casual clothes were quite out of place.

Other members frowned in her direction; the club’s secretary had a quiet word in the gentleman’s ear, and then spoke directly and courteously to her: “Madam: it’s a pleasure to see you today. We do, however, have a dress code in here. Whilst you are very welcome as you are as our guest this afternoon, might I ask that you take a moment to consult it before any future visit?”

That second visit ended up arranged at short notice. He’d called, hopefully optimistic: “I’m at the club. I don’t suppose you’re free to join me for a cocktail when you finish work?”

Happily: “That’d be lovely.”

Caringly: “That’s lovely. It’ll be so nice to see you. Are you dressed appropriately, though, after last time?”

Confidently: “I’ve been at work, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Whilst they were sipping their drinks later, the membership secretary appeared once again – this time with two uniformed staff. “Might I disturb you, sir?” “Of course.” He turned to her and asked her to stand.

“We spoke last time about our dress code, I believe, Miss…”

“Susan.”

“Miss…?”

“Oh: Jackson. Susan Jackson.”

“And did you get a chance to read the document in question before today’s visit?”

“I… I came from work. I assumed this would be fine.”

“Indeed? I thought we had an agreement that you would study the document in question.” He turned to her friend. “May I deal with the matter, sir?”

“Naturally.”

The club secretary turned back to the Susan, the other members now watching and listening intently. “Miss Jackson, had you shown the necessary diligence, you’d have known that this…” – her low-cut blouse, with a button too many open – “… or this…” – the hem of her skirt, above her knees – “never mind your bare legs, all directly contravene our rules. And that’s before I conduct a more, shall we say, thorough inspection. And if girls insist on being inappropriately attired, we have to teach them a lesson.”

“I am sorry, sir, I… No! Please! Stop!” The two staff had seized her hands; the club officer was unbuttoning her blouse. “A lesson, Miss Jackson, that they won’t forget.”

She looked to her friend, pleading, but saw that he was fully complicit in events. Stripping her was done expertly, quickly, without any heed for her protests. The official addressed her as she stood naked before the room – still held tight, unable to cover herself. “We uphold traditions and high standards here, Miss Jackson, as you need to learn if you’re to be a regular visitor. Now, Mr Jenkins: would you care to deal with the matter here, or in private?”

“I think we’ll deal with it in private, thank you.”

“Very good, sir. If you’d care to use the private dining room, you’ll find the necessary items in the sideboard.”

And so it was that she was led, naked, through the corridors, and shown into a fine room with a large oak table, overlooked by stained-glass windows. So it was that he spoke to her firmly about his disappointment in her; about how he expected more from a young lady of her calibre.

So it was that he told her, clearly and starkly, that he was going to teach her a much-needed lesson and punish her. That she should bend over the end of the table and stretch outwards.

So it was that he fetched a cane – doubtless well-used over the years – and informed her that she would receive twelve strokes: six for her failure to check the rules, the balance for letting him down.

So it was that she cried after the third; pleaded her apologies after the sixth; fell silent other than for her sobs for the final few.

So it was that he took her back downstairs, her striped buttocks on display for all to see. Told her to dress. And then, lifting her tear-stained eyes caringly to his, asked whether she would like to accompany him upstairs to his suite…

It’s only fair that I should give my loyal readers a festive present, right?

So if you click across to Abel’s Spanking Stories this morning, you’ll find three never-previously-published pieces of writing. There’s one set in a school; there’s one very dark tale; there’s one about a well-disciplined girl. I hope you enjoy them.

Wishing all here who celebrate it a very merry Christmas.

I’m spoiling you… Aren’t I kind? See, I posted three new pieces on Abel’s Spanking Stories earlier in the month – and there’s another up there today.

Actually, I’d had the ones from a couple of weeks back sitting on my PC for a while now: I’d just not got round to sharing them. This new one – “The Riverbank” – really is absolutely brand-new: the first full-length story that I’ve written from scratch this year. And I rather like it. It’s tells the tale of a girl shamed and punished by her guardian at the end of the summer holiday. But beware: it is rather dark… abusive, even. (So steer clear if that’s not your thing: you have been warned!)

It came from a scene idea I dreamt up on a trip up north a couple of weeks back – and I would actually very much like to play it (perhaps with slightly less severity) as a scene sometime. (Volunteers?!) And with a long train journey home to fill, starting writing it seemed preferable to the work I should have been doing. Not easy, mind, to type 2000 words or so of a story into a BlackBerry; a fair amount of subsequent editing was called for!

Click across to my stories site if you’d like to read it. And do let me know if you enjoy it, by commenting either here or there.

“Well”, I hear you complain: ““Abel’s Spanking Stories” was relaunched at the start of the year, and he promised us new stories on a regular basis…”

OK, OK. I did put a couple of new ones up just before Easter. And there are three more on the site today – all brand-new: never previously published, although I wrote them a while ago. There’s “After The Summer” (a short school tale); there’s “The Casino Girl” (a rather more abusive scenario), and “Tonight” (a naughty, consensual tale about a couple meeting for the first time).

That takes the total number of stories on the site up to 52 (although one could say that, having launched originally in 1999, four stories a year is a bit meagre!). But that’s still a few hours interesting reading, if you’ve not browsed the site before.

PS the comments feature on the stories site appears not to have been working for a little while, but is now fixed, so comment away!

Back last November, I played a great scene with the lovely Lily Bolane, who comments here on a fairly regularly basis. She subsequently wrote a story inspired by our little encounter. With her permission, and rather belatedly (mea culpa!), I’m pleased to publish it here for your delectation. Enjoy!

Unrepentant

Kitty looked down at the neatly printed letter again, still wondering, several days after receiving it, how anyone had managed to find out.

Katherine Granger,

It has been determined that your conduct of late has fallen some way short of the standards that you are expected to uphold. Particularly, our attention has been drawn to the number of ‘cheeky’ emails, verging at times on insolent, that you have been sending. In addition, we understand that you have been spending a considerable amount of time reading erotic publications and websites, and encouraging others in reckless behaviours via a number of internet forums.

An appointment has therefore been booked for you with a Disciplinary Officer at 10.30am sharp on Tuesday, 22 November in Belgravia. You should report to the Victoria Disciplinary & Correction Centre five minutes before the time stated above.

You should ensure that you are dressed smartly, although please note that you may be required to remove certain garments (or have them removed) during the morning. To avoid possible confusion, you should understand that corporal punishment will be administered to you during your appointment.

Please confirm receipt of this note by return. Tardy responses or ones with an inappropriate tone may result in an increase to the tariff already being considered for your correction.

Yours faithfully,

A. Parks

HM Disciplinary Services

South-East Division

Kitty frowned at it again as she pushed open the door to the Disciplinary and Correction Centre, then put it back into her pocket. Someone must have snitched. It was the only explanation. Time to figure that out later. For now she just had to get out of here, take it, and escape. She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done, and she wasn’t going to let the fascist bastards break her down.

A dried up looking matron –type pointed her too a hard wooden chair in the foyer, and picked up the phone. “Mr Parks will collect you shortly.”

Read the rest of this entry »

Sometimes dreams are just so hot that you have to get up and write them down, even at 4.30am…

–

… and, after dinner, the Duke would despatch the ladies to the their allocated rooms… He’d leave them time to undress; the maids would come and take their fine clothes and hang them neatly. Two items would rest on the bed: a fine mask, which the girl would put on, and a thick leather strap.

She’d take her designated position: face down down on the soft bed, forbidden to touch herself on pain of punishment. And then she’d wait, wondering which of the gentlemen would own her for his evening’s entertainment.

Last time, it had been the Duke himself, behind his mask. Rough, forceful, brief – using her, as he pressed her into the sheets with no thought to her pleasure. Tonight…?

She knew it was her lover without looking, from the moment he walked in. His footsteps. His scent. The sleeve of his expensive jacket, brushing her skin. His hands, touching.

She wondered momentarily if the Duke knew their secret; wondered who else knew; perhaps, wanted it to be known – fearful as she was of her father’s likely reaction and of the whipping she would doubtless receive.

His voice: “Let’s see if I’ve been given an obedient girl.”

He’d step away, walking over to the chaise longue. “Come here.” And she’d walk to him, suddenly shy, the mask making her even more conscious of her otherwise-nakedness. He’d drape her over his knees; caress her; spank slowly, gently at first, building up until she writhed. And his hands would stray, and touch, and go back to inflicting such pleasurable pain.

“Now, kneel down.” Between his legs: she’d need no guidance as to what was expected of her. She complied – hungrily.

He’d take her back to the bed; make her kneel; pick up the strap. “It seems the Duke wants us to beat our girls this evening.”

“Yes, sir…”

The strokes, across her bottom and thighs, would be unforgiving – as they always were from him when she deserved it or wanted it.

“Touch yourself for me.” An instruction, not an invitation.

“Yes, sir….”

She’d reach down, feeling his gaze upon her. And he’d hold and touch too, his hands and hers together. Surprisingly quickly, almost breathless: “May I have permission, sir…” And it was granted, and she cried out, shuddering – and then felt him pushing her down, forcing his way into her tight arse.

Afterwards, they’d hold each other tight. Kiss. Kiss more. And then he’d adjust his mask, and stand up: “I believe I’m expected downstairs by the Duke, for a cognac. It’s been a pleasure, young lady, whoever you might be…”

She stood before the housemaster, for the third time in a week. He opened the punishment book:

Monday: repeated talking in the library during prep; insolence to the librarian: three strokes

Wednesday: fighting in the corridor: four strokes

“And here we are on Saturday evening, and Mr White catches you unpacking bottles of vodka in the dorm…”

“Please, sir… I.. I mean, girls have parties occasionally, right?”

“And schools have rules. And punishments… I think you know the procedure by now.”

And so she bent stretched out over his desk, knickers removed and skirt lifted. “I’m sorry, sir…”

“We’ll see. I don’t think it would be a good for a girl to have three entries  in such a short space of time in the records. So we’ll deal with this slightly differently.”  He closed the punishment book, and slid it back into his desk drawer. “No set number of strokes. I’m going to cane you until I’m sure you are sorry.”

She tried not to count, and lost track of the tally anyway after the fourth. She tried to be brave, yet tears soon flowed. And once she was sobbing, the oh-so-hard strokes were accompanied by his hard-to-hear words about his surprise and his disappointment in her.

“Six more strokes.” Pushing her to the limit, beyond. And then his calm instruction: “Stand up, get dressed.” She did so gingerly; he continued: “I don’t want to see you back here in these circumstances. If I do, then I shall send you to the headmaster with the suggestion that he cane you in assembly, in front of the other girls. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir. I’l try, sir. Really…”

“Let’s hope so. Now: off you go…”

If you enjoy my “Abel’s Spanking Stories” site as well as my blog, I’ve just posted a brand-new piece across there. Entitled “Beyond imagination”, it describes a young woman’s first foray into spanking play. As with all of my stories, it’s free to read.

I’ve also put a school yarn across there that appeared a while back here on the blog, but which wasn’t on the stories site itself – called “The Mobile Revolution”.

And if you”re feeling naughtier this Sunday, then I’ve added lots of updates to my tumblr site in the past few weeks. Enjoy!

Those of you who’ve been enjoying the redesigned “Abel’s Spanking Stories” site might like to know that I’ve just added new school story, called “Second Time Around”. Enjoy…!

PS hope you’re finding some fun reading on the new site – and thank you to those of you who’ve posted kind comments on the stories.