The Spanking Writers

It’s funny how my spanking personae – in scenes, in fantasies – seem to split into two pretty even camps.

There’s “nice me”. Not that nice, you understand, as I’m thrashing girls and hurting them. But my character’s calm, rational, restrained. The schoolmaster slippering a girl at the front of the class, the housemaster caning her in his study? The butler administering punishment with a carpet beater to the miscreant maid? A guardian, removing his belt in the library? A prison officer with a birching to administer?

In each case, there’s a clear formula. Rules broken, consequences clear. A finite (or logical) duration or number of strokes, administered hard – but with an abiding sense of compassion for the girl, of doing it because she deserves it. Ultimately, it’s for her own good and – in an exemplary sense, in terms of upholding the rule of law – the good of others. There’s a connection between my character and the girl with whom I’m dealing. If she suffers, cries even, I’ll doubtless feel sympathy: punishing her may not be easy.

And then there’s “nasty me”, usually well hidden and (frankly) usually less at the heart of my kink. The gangmaster who’s just bought a girl who needs taming. The mafia boss who’s been disobeyed. The gaoler taking a girl he particularly likes to the punishment cell, just because he can. The punishment officer merciless as he flogs the newly-sentenced lass, quite immune to any sense of sympathy, knowing he’ll never see her again. The businessman taking his pleasure from a girl who’s been sent his way. The gentleman in the country house, whose female staff live in fear of their all-powerful employer.

Harsh, heartless, cold, pitiless. Abusive, even. Beating girls, rather than punishing them. A  side of my kink that’s perhaps too deeply suppressed. Somehow I feel the need to inflict a little more cruelty…

So, here’s the question….

You’re in the Headmaster’s office. Two girls were spotted committing some grave offence (truancy, perhaps). You were caught: your friend escaped unrecognised.

The Headmaster ponders the situation. “On the one hand, you fully deserve to be caned – but so does the other girl involved. On the other, one might argue that it’s unfair for you to take the punishment if your colleague gets away with it scot-free.”

So he proposes a solution: “double or quits. I’ll toss a coin. Heads, and you walk away. Tails, and the six strokes I’m going to give you will be doubled to twelve, so you take the punishment for both girls.”

What would you choose? (And would your decision vary according to the number of strokes – for example, if you’d originally been due a dozen, but the wrong call would increase that to 24?)

A friend happened to mention the other day that Google Translate now includes the most useful language of all – Latin. Useful, that is, for pervs like me who want to create imaginary school mottos.

Take “Through the book and the whip”, say. That becomes “Et per librum verbera”- surely the sort of phrase that should adorn a school crest

“Discipline and knowledge”? “Disciplinam et scientiam”. “Knowledge through the whip?” – “Scientia per flagella”.

The site’s far from perfect – for example, “the girl was severely whipped by the master” translates to “puella acerrime flagellare a magistro”, then converts back to “a girl going on most vigorously by the master of whip on”. But I haven’t had so much linguistic fun since I memorised every spanking-related word in my Harrap’s English-French dictionary at school.

But here’s the challenge – over to our lovely readers to create their own school mottos, and post them in Latin in the comments!

Some art galleries really don’t cater for the likes of us, do they? I mean, we were in the Guggenheim in Venice during our holiday, and wandered over to Giacometti’s wonderful “Woman Walking”. It was displayed pretty much from the angle shown in the following photo:

Behind the sculpture was the wall. Indeed, it was so close to said wall that it took a fair amount of craning to see the rather lovely “Buttocks of Woman Walking” – which, sadly, I can’t find anywhere on the web to share with you.

What a waste! After all, the sculptor had clearly gone to so much effort to craft one of the most delightful bottoms imaginable – and it’s lost from view. Something should be done. Anyone fancy contributing to a fund to donate a revolving pedestal on which it could be placed?

All of this flying lately’s got me thinking. See, in these days of ever-tightening security for hand luggage, and ever-reducing weight limits for checked bags, it’s not easy for a gentleman to carry approporiate implements with him as he travels the world.

Every problem, however, creates opportunity for those with entrepreneurial spirit. So here’s the solution. Picture an arrivals hall at an airport. There’ll be a coffee shop for those waiting to greet folks flying in; doubtless a bookstore or newsstand; a taxi office; a tourism bureau. And then add in the latest addition, my bright idea: the implement store, offering a range of accessories to meet every disciplinary need.

I can picture it now, flexing their canes, swishing their straps through the air, weighing up the paddles, admiring the local varieties (martinets, camel whips, sjamboks?). I’d select a few, conscious that a queue would be forming behind me – young ladies standing nervously to one side as their guardians perused the stock, newly-wed brides blushing as their husbands stocked up for the honeymoon… And, the secret to commercial success for the new enterprise: one would return the items at the end of one’s stay, having paid a daily rental fee. (Naturally, there’d be a penalty charge payable in the event of one breaking an implement whilst thrashing a girl, but I’d never do that. Oh no).

Needed: investors. Who’s going to chip in the first pound?

At about four this morning I was awakened by the sound of loud cane strokes coming from my study. Now Haron’s back home for a week, no-one else is here to keep me company, and I was pretty sure that the cat hadn’t pulled a kinky girl during her nightly rambles through the neighbours’ gardens and dragged her back in through the open window to play a scene. Cue mild panic.

I stumbled out of bed, opened the study door – and found a spanking video playing.  Now I’d watched the start of said movie yesterday evening on my ever-so-clever new touch screen PC, before swapping to the much-less exciting Prime Ministerial debate. And, being rather tired, I’d forgotten to turn off the PC before collapsing in bed.  But that it had brought itself to life and starting playing? Weird, I thought, assuming that there’d been some bizarre technical glitch. I stopped the video, and headed back to sleep.

A few minutes later… yet more whackings and cries. I went to investigate more closely. And there, fluttering around in front of the PC, was a small insect. I’d describe it as a mosquito, but that’d be flattering it. Said flying thing was bouncing along my screen, perhaps attracted by the light and heat, and every time it brushed against the surface the computer was following its instructions. One of which seems to have been, by colliding with the open Real Player window, to play the spanking video…

Interesting, I reflected as I dozed back off – the PC switched safely off – to contemplate others who may have unexpectedly overheard thrashings of girls unknown over the years. The prison guard, disturbed by a whipping in a cell along the corridor. The schoolmaster, teaching a lesson to echoes of cane strokes from the adjacent classroom. The gentleman hearing the butler administering the carpet beater to a penitent maid, or said butler hearing said gentleman spanking one of his daughters in the drawing room.  So I’d hereby like to thank said “not quite a mozzie” for providing such lovely inspiration.

With spring upon us, one’s mind turns naturally to the abundance of fresh growth on birch trees everywhere. Whereas my springtide thoughts last year were of gambolling lambs and flowering daffodils, this year I’ve been toying with a rather darker scenario.

The setting’s a punishment cell within a prison. A girl – freshly showered – has been stripped and strapped down by two gaolers over the flogging block. Five neatly-tied sprays of freshly-cut birch rods lean ominously against the wall.

But here’s the thing: the officer who’s to inflict her sentence only enters after she’s bound in place. Arched over the wooden frame, wrists and ankles bound tight with leather straps, the offender has no means of looking back to see him – or possibly her. All is silent: no words are spoken. For the remainder of her sentence, the inmate will have no idea whatsoever which of her guards is the one to have administered her thrashing.

Five birches: each used for ten strokes, then discarded in favour of a fresh implement. She’d take the first batch bravely; she’d break on the second. Before the final ten, she’d be begging for forgiveness, vowing never to reoffend, pleading for clemency. But mercy would be in short supply, and the final flurry would be the cruellest of all, before the disciplinarian turned and left the room…

I was right to worry about the implements Abel had bought on his trip away. We got to test them out and… ouch.

The wooden spoon has a remarkably long handle, which makes it more of a ceremonial implement than your normal rapid-fire spoon. It’s almost a paddle. And it hurts like the blazes.

What really made me howl, though, is the new olivewood brush. It’s tiny, probably smaller than the palm of my hand, and looks deceptively benign. I wasn’t too worried about it – and what a mistake! The first stroke made my eyes water, and the second (and all the subsequent ones) had me howling. This being a test spanking, Abel probably only smacked me a dozen times, but I was as sore and wrung out as if I’d had a lengthy punishment.

“Wow, your bottom is so red,” Abel marvelled when he let me up. He sounded very surprised.

Yeah… my bottom had kept colliding with wooden household items.

I’d like to share a very modest proposal, written in a book of”Essays in Socialism” back in 1907 by one E. Belford Bax. The author opens by stating the general principle that “equality before the law, as it is termed, is the first condition of liberty”.

However, he finds the judicial system to be remarkably biased in favour of women, quoting various examples in support of his proposition:

“From the beginning of the nineteenth century, of course, whilst flogging, the tread-mill, and other brutal forms of punishment have been retained for male offenders, they have been abolished for females…”

–

“Mr. Labouchere made it his business in Truth to hunt up every obscure case of girl-flogging in the country, and to trumpet it forth in his journal as though it were a crime compared to which common murder were a venial affair. But now, had Mr. Labouchere one word for the brutal floggings of boys, not by private individuals, but in national institutions, such as reformatories and training ships? Not one. What he expressly denounced was not flogging, but girl-flogging.”

–

“A little while ago fifty women refused to carry out an order made by the Governor of Wormwood Scrubbs for bringing coke into the laundry. If men had refused to obey any regulation they would most probably have got the lash till they yielded. But what was the lot of these women. The Governor at once politely cancelled his regulation and ‘order was restored’!! Such is the farce of penal discipline in the case of women.”

And so, he demands equality for all.

“I am met by this argument – ‘Are you not in favour of abolishing all forms of brutal punishment?’ I say yes, in common with most Socialists and Democrats, I am… It is then argued: – ‘But surely the abolition of these things in the case of women is better than nothing’; it is at least a step. My answer is that in the first place it is not a step, but generally a shirking of the whole question.”

Indeed. And how refreshing to read such a forward-thinking feminist tract!

In my dream I was a new cadet in a Star Fleet academy. I was recruited into the IT section, and was never going to pilot a spaceship, but at the induction I was shown a video that included a section on discipline all over the academy.

While training was rigorous in all departments, the future pilots, it seemed, had the harshest discipline of all, and were subject to frequent floggings. The video included a clip from a public caning, so that new recruits had complete understanding of the sort of trouble their friends from the pilot training course could get into.

I had never before then wanted to be a pilot, but at the moment when I saw the induction video I was painfully envious of their strict regime. I resolved to see if a transfer was available, and if not, I decided to misbehave so badly that the instructors would simply have to resort to caning me as well.

I don’t know what on earth I was thinking, but apparently, my dream self was a very pervy young woman.