The Spanking Writers

I’m busily taking notes on this lad’s solution to the pain from a military school birching (found on the history pages of the Duke of York’s Royal Military School):

The Commandant nodded and the birch rose and swished down six times – once for each stolen stamp. At each stroke, the assembled throng expected to hear Flippant cry out in pain. But he never did. Even after the punishment was over no sound escaped his lips. The Sergeant-Major untied him and shook his hand. The Commandant declared how courageous he had been and gave him a half-crown… Speculation ran rife as to how Flippant had taken his punishment so well. Had he managed to cheat somehow?

He hadn’t cheated, of course. The six red-purplish weals were there plain to see and the next day he was racked with the pain of it all. But on the morning of his punishment, Flippant had managed himself very well. … The punishment had been in December when the temperature was below zero…

From the time Flippant got up until the time of his punishment he had taken his trousers down and sat bare-bottomed on the freezing lead. After an hour or so he began to lose all sensation in his buttocks. He persisted and continued to sit there until the very last moment just before noon. When the punishment was administered, Flippant felt nothing because of his self-administered local anaesthetic.

This all sounds very clever, until you remember that a spanking (or, indeed, a birching) hurts much more on a cold bottom. So if you don’t freeze your bum for long enough to lose all feeling, you’re in for an even worse punishment than what you’d originally get.

I wonder, how long it would take to anaesthesise myself that way?

I wonder, how do I come by a sheet of lead I could keep in the freezer without Abel noticing?

“The Observer” writes today about young women in Britain going bankrupt at the speed of wired money, drowning in credit card debt and all that – because they want to have the look at the lifestyle of the so called WAGS (wives and girlfriends of the millionaire football players; such as Victoria Beckham, pictured below having her bum grabbed):

According to “Observer”, there are enough of these women

… sinking into debt-ridden despair to give pause for thought. So what to do: should Gordon Brown invite the lead Wags to Downing Street to administer a good Calvinist spanking for inspiring such spendthrift ways in the nation’s womanhood?

Gordon Brown is the Chancellor, in case you didn’t know. This is him, below.

Please don’t let him cane anyone. Please.

I don’t often get the chance to listen to Chris Moyles, the entertaining-if-slightly- outrageous breakfast show host on BBC Radio 1. This morning’s long drive reminded me what I’m missing.

Within fifteen minutes of starting the show, he was fantasising about being an elderly billionaire and hiring a cute nurse so that he could “smack her bottom regularly”. “Like you do to Jocelyn,” one of his co-presenters commented…

Later he moved on to torturing one of his female assistants live on air, until she was shrieking in discomfort and begging him to stop. OK, he was only tickling her until she read out various untrue confessions, and tickling isn’t my kink – but the very idea was rather nice. Is this sort of thing allowed? (Presumably so. And perhaps that’s why he has over six million listeners every morning).

In “Shaman’s Crossing” by Robin Hobb, young Nevare looks back at his tutors:

One was a wizened old man with severely bound white locks and yellow teeth, who taught me tactics, logic, and to write and speak Varnian [...] all with the liberal use of a very flexible cane that never seemed to leave his hand.

This isn’t much of a startle – we’ve all seen more explicit caning references – but it sent me into a little daydream. “A very flexible cane” – is this better or worse than if it were less flexible? Would Nevare have preferred that?

I doubt it. In my experience, stiff implements (paddles, rulers, wooden spoons, stiff canes) are this much more painful than something supple and whippy. I’m sure there’s Newtonian physics involved in this.

…On the other hand, a less whippy cane might have broken, where this very flexible implement was able to continue doing its work. And of course, a sight of a cane flexed in the tutor’s hands – until its crooked handle meets the tip – is heart-stoppingly terrifying. A stiff cane just isn’t as dramatic.

It hurts more, though. Or does it?

Any thoughts?

Wandering round central London earlier, killing time before a meeting, I stumbled on my new favourite wine bar: “The City Flogger”.

Honestly. It’s in Fen Court, if you don’t believe me.

It describes itself as a ‘traditional’ place, which sounds about right.

Yes, the subject line really does say “spankometer”. As in, a machine to measure your spanking frequency.
Yes, you can get one. From the product description:

Keep a year long record, it records time taken, number of strokes and use as part of your diet as it records the calories used.

Oh, great, I thought reading this, so now spanking will be encorporated into Abel’s exercise routine? And I’ll have to go along with this, because it’s a matter of his physical well-being? Gee, that’s just grand.

Luckily, the product is *actually* meant for the activity known as “spanking the monkey”, which just makes it overall less ominous. I don’t know whether you could adapt the thing for proper spanking. Because, who wouldn’t want to do that?

Anyway, maybe you can. After all, the up-and-down arm motion should be quite similar.

No wonder spankers rhyme with, ahem.

Have a look at the awesome science-fiction startle Chris has posted over on his Firehouse. It’s not just any old SF whipping, it’s consensual kinky play, portrayed in a positive light:

“For a brief moment, Victor gave thanks that Thandi Palane enjoyed being sexually submissive. If she hadn’t, he’d probably be a corpse. ‘Dominating’ her had been like a mortal ‘dominating’ a goddess – a feat which was only possible because the goddess willed it herself.”

From “Crown of Slaves” by David Weber and Eric Flint

And then there’s more…

Grrrrrr: back at work, swapping sun, sand, sea and some spanking for the same-old manic lifestyle.

Holiday startles? Perhaps the best was flicking through the local TV channels, and catching a marvellous ditty entitled ‘Hello Spank’, the theme music for a cartoon of the same name. If anyone knows where to download the tune as a ringtone, I would love it on my phone.

And then there was the fascinating conversation with one of the lasses working in our hotel’s executive lounge, discussing low crime rates in the area. Misbehaviour is rarely reported to the police, it seems, but rather to their fathers, to be dealt with at home. You can doubtless imagine the whispered fantasies that *that* provoked every time we walked past one of the local cuties…

Yesterday I needed a book to last me on a long train journey, and I picked up a fantasy: “Firethorn” by Sarah Micklem.* And what do I find on Page 8?

The girl called Luck is a servant in a manor house:

They gave me simple tasks: sweeping and scouring, combing the fringe on carpets, emptying slops. I was always running off and leaving things half done, always distracted. Na would make me fetch a willow wand for the beating I was due. Afterward she’d soothe me and call me her own little Luck.

Short and sweet, and made so much better by the little things like having to go fetch the rod, and the hugs in the end.

It’s not so hard to make a perv like me happy, really. Just one paragraph usually does it.

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* I don’t know whether I recommend it or not yet: I’m only about 50 pages in. It’s not the greatest work of modern fantasy, but it’s nice enough.

Apparently, this little advert comes from a vanilla site. Those vanillas are out of control! Thanks to Bobby for emailing it to me.