He canes her – long pauses allowing each harsh stroke to register fully. She counts them, bravely, right up to the final, searing twelfth.

He dismisses her: “You deserved that: I hope it’s made you think about your future behaviour. I don’t want to see you in here again. Now, get dressed and go straight to your bedroom. Leave the light on and the door ajar: I may look in on you later when I check the dorms.”

But what would happen later? Would he, perhaps, not appear at all – leaving her fretting in bed, unable to sleep, awaiting a visit that would never come?

Would he put his head around the door, check she was in bed, and simply tell her to turn off the light? Might he, more kindly, offer some brief words of comfort: “Bravely taken… now get some sleep.” Might he come and perch on the bed, ask how she was?

Might he pull back the duvet, and ask her to show him her marks? Or, rather, simply pull down her trousers himself to inspect?

Might his hands stray as he ran his fingers over her weals? Might she respond by arching herself against his touch: “Please…” Or might he simply tell her that she’d better be a good girl and keep quiet, as he climbed on top of her and punished her still more…?

Anyone spot the omission? Yeah: damn: they forgot the “Galloping Foxley” stamp. Dahl’s account of public school life – featuring a savage prefectorial caning – was one of the earliest accounts I read of school corporal punishment. Indeed, in many ways, swapped mentally to an M/f scenario, it still shapes much of what lies at the core of my school kink.

I’ve never actually recreated the exact scene, though – with me as the prefect, caning a younger girl: it really rather sounds like something I should try to arrange… although finding somewhere with space for a run-up might be challenging!

As I mentioned last weekend, Emma Jane‘s been staying with me whilst recuperating from an op. Spanking play – indeed, anything much by way of kinky conversation – really hasn’t featured much as she’s recovered day by day. Nice lingerie has, mind: a girl needed cheering up in the middle of the week, so a short break from her house arrest to walk into town to choose some treats.

Amidst the lovely, elegant, frankly damned hot items was a less overtly-sexy choice: a pair of blue checked pyjamas with (and this is crucial in my pj fetish!) long trousers – in which the young lady concerned looks utterly adorable.

It was in these that she wandered into my study yesterday morning. It was in these that she came and bent over my lap. It was in these that she was spanked, not too hard at first, then more painfully once those pj trousers had been pulled down and her bottom bared.

It was so lovely to see her kink re-emerging – a sign of how much better she’s feeling. And by the evening? Well, hand spankings had given way to straps, tawses and 24 hard strokes of the cane…!

I don’t often post links to drawings, this being a literary blog, but occasionally I think it’s worth making an exception to the rule. In this case, it’s for a fabulous little illustrated spanking novella by Ian Hamilton, at his “Graphics Spanking” blog. It’s called “House of Correction 1894″, and you can read the two parts at:

http://graphicspanking.wordpress.com/2012/01/20/house-of-correction-1894-part-1/

http://graphicspanking.wordpress.com/2012/01/27/house-of-correction-1894-part-2

So good to see such high-quality original spanking artwork; hope you enjoy it.

It’s a process that’s controlling, shaming and aesthetically pleasing. What’s not to like? But I’m given to wonder whether it has an impact on the effectiveness of the punishment, too. Does being caned on a soft, freshly-washed skin hurt more… And what about after the beating: would a shower on fresh weals be especially cruel? Any thoughts, experiences to share?

In contemporary parliamentary ranks, one individual stands out – Tom Watson, the Labour MP whose dogged work on phone hacking has been brave and important. It therefore amused me no end when entirely inappropriate thoughts were triggered when I read a BBC news article about him the other day. His intern, it seems, had written what was seen to be an inappropriate comment on Watson’s Twitter account, whilst the MP was in a meeting. She then tweeted again, saying sorry, before her boss returned to add:

“I sincerely apologise for the recent tweet. A lesson learned for a young intern. She’s also very sorry. I will deal with the matter offline.”

Dealing with the matter? A lesson learned? Very sorry? I’m sure a conversation was enough, but (much as I feel sorry for the young woman concerned) I did rather smile at other less realistic possibilities…!

Now, a girl with a swollen, bruised nose, who’s not allowed to leave the house for a fortnight for fear of infection? I’m afraid, despite a total lack of any real-life kinky feelings about events, I simply can’t control my dreams. For there she was, standing in my housemaster’s study, having been caught fighting a girl from an opposing school on the games field: punches had been exchanged. Immaculate in her school blazer, she’d been sent to me to be caned.

My mind shifted gear… a girl who’s not allowed out for a long period, hiding away in bed? “Grounded”, in other words – something which must surely be accompanied by other punishments?

Neither brief image – remembered oh-so-clearly when I woke – actually involved any spankings. But here’s the thing – I’m really quite glad. The reality is entirely different: it’s about supporting her as she recuperates. Beating a sick girl doesn’t come into it – so much so that I actually feel guilty about my subconscious attempt to pervert the situation…

Still, that’s without me allowing myself to meditate for too long on her own phrase for her confinement: “house arrest”. Such a lightweight punishment by the courts, I’ve always thought, unless preceded by a very sound judicial whipping – or unless the punishment officer visits her at home to deal with her every few days. And as for the concept of a girl locked away for a period of time in a large Edwardian house, unable to escape its sadistic gentleman occupant… But, you know, there are times when caring takes over from kink.

Here are the two comments that took me aback:

“It’s believed that the… beating and back massage stimulate Tash…”

followed shortly by:

“Having mated with both males, she’s not sure just who goes with who right now…”

She makes her choice and before too long, “they’re at it again”. (Oh, and did I mention the rape scene?)

Anyone care to guess the context?

I picture a girl having been sent from the dinner table to her room, in disgrace. Her parents had scolded her, perhaps, or laid down some new rules to which she’d objected; she’d lost her temper, shouted at them. They’d sat calmly until she fell silent, and would then have sent her to await her fate.

Her parents would leave her to reflect for a while; it’d be her mother who’d appear at her door. She’d carry a hairbrush, which would be soundly and adeptly applied to her daughter’s bare bottom. “I’m too old for this,” the girl would protest through her shrieks. “Indeed: you should know far better by your age than to behave like that towards us.”

Part of me wants to leave the fantasy there; the rest can’t resist the thought of her then being sent on to her father. But would it be to his study, where he’d be waiting with a cane – or to the living room, where she’d lower her jeans once again and bend tightly over the arm of a sofa, as he unbuckled his belt? Whichever, I know she’d be a deeply apologetic girl even before he started to beat her, and that her thrashing would be accompanied by gentle and caring words: how their advice was only offered for her own good; how much he regretted that she had had to be punished; how much he hoped she’d learn from it; how much he loved her.

He pushes her over the side of the bed, smacking her. The blows intensify in pace and strength, until his hand probes between her legs. “We’ll deal with that in a moment,” he tells her as she squirms under his touch… and he unbuckles his belt.

“Are you a good girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

And he folds the belt double: “Yes you are.” He steps to the side, and cracks it across her, hard: “A very good girl.” More strokes: “I like it that way.” The whipping intensifies, until she’s crying out: “Such a beautiful girl.” More severely still: “So brave…”

–

And then my little fantasy got still ruder: the girl being made to reach back and touch herself, before he made her truly ‘earn’ her pjs in the most intimate ways – then held her very, very tight. But I’m a little too shy to actually write that part!!