Paddled at school

Abel Other stuff 5 Comments

The denizens of countless vanilla discussion boards pass the time swapping anecdotes, opinions, advice. But sooner or later, one of the residents posts the inevitable – sparked by some passing comment, a particular date on the calendar, the sight in the shopping mall of a certain of her former teachers: “Did you get whacked at school?”

One such debate recently brought forth an outpouring of recollections, as the (largely female) community confessed their shameful secrets: yes, they had been called before their principals to be punished.

One young lady from Carolina clearly winced at the memory. Towards the end of her school career, she’d been required to get a parental signature on some form or other. Although she was a good and bright girl, she forgot, being rather absent-minded. So too did some of her friends, so their teacher gave them a second chance – but warned that anyone forgetting this time would be paddled. And when she arrived empty-handed the following morning, the teacher was as good as his word, and despatched her to see the principal to be punished – and this in a school in which the paddling of girls was almost unknown.

The real-life me feels sorry for her, of course. Kinky me can’t help but be fascinated by the example of a good girl in trouble.

Sensitive to spanking references

Admin Startles 17 Comments

Yet again I marvel how little it takes to set me off when I happen across a tiniest spanking reference.

I’m reading a novel I’m getting awfully fond of, “Vita Nostra” by Marina & Sergey Dyachenko, in Russian. This book actually has plenty to keep me happy without such mundane thing like spanking scenes or anything. I mean, it’s set in a college, and the theme is “fear” (of teachers, by students), so really, it doesn’t *need* direct references.

I was, however, unduly excited when I read this teeny tiny paragraph (from a teacher, to a student, whom he’d just slapped for putting herself in danger):

Forgive me for striking you. But you need to be struck more than this. I would thrash you if I could.

This isn’t much, but it made me so, so happy. It would be ridiculous, if it didn’t feel so good.

Now calling at Correctional Institute

Abel Perverting reality 4 Comments

Alighting from the Victoria Line at Green Park recently, it struck me that the Queen must be a forgetful old dear. After all, the announcer greets each train with, “Change here for Buckingham Palace,” presumably in case Her Majesty (a) happens to be on board, and (b) can’t remember the way home.

Helpful tube announcements could extend to other stations, now I think of it.

Take that little-known stop on the Metropolitan Line: Correctional Institute Station. “Alight here for the Royal Disciplinary Service”, the tannoy proclaims. Passengers peer curiously from the windows at the scared girls who disembark, heading towards their punishments – to be replaced in the carriages by the latest batch of freshly-flogged young ladies who, tears in their eyes, refuse kind offers of a seat.

Punishment in an English orphanage

Admin Historical punishments 0 Comment

Charlie Chaplin, in his memoir “My Autobiorgaphy” dedicates quite a few pages to his experiences in Hanwell School for Orphans and Destitute Children.

Of particular interest to me was, of course, the description of the punishment ritual:

For major offences… punishment took place every Friday in the large gymnasium… On Friday morning two to three hundred boys… marched in and lined up in military fashion, forming three sides of a square. The far end was the fourth side, where, behind a long school desk the length of an Army mess-table, stood the miscreants waiting for the trial and punishment. On the right and in front of the desk was an easel with wrist-straps dangling, and from the frame a birch hung ominously.

For minor offences, a boy was laid across the long desk, face downwards, feet strapped and held by a sergeant, then another sergeant pulled the boy’s shirt out of his trousers and over his head, then pulled his trousers tight.

Captain Hindrum, a retired Navy man weighing about 200lb, with one hand behind him, the other holding a cane as thick as a man’s thumb and about four feet long, stood poised, measuring it across a boy’s buttocks. Then slowly and dramatically he would lift it high and with a swish bring it down across a boy’s bottom.

…The minimum number of strokes was three and the maximum six… Boys would advise you not to deny a charge, even if innocent, because, if proved guilty, you would get the maximum.

I like the added nuance of the mock trial. We should play it out some time. I won’t even insist on dressing as a boy at the time, though that would be nice too.

The rulers

Abel Spanking accessories 5 Comments

Q. Why do you obey a plank of wood?A. Because it’s a ruler.

My father’s jokes aren’t always the most sophisticated, but I was reminded of this particular witicism when buying a wooden ruler for Smudge recently.

Not just any old wooden ruler, you understand. Oh no! See, one of its sides lists kings and queens, with the dates of their reigns.

And that makes it interesting. For Smudge will face a little test the next time I visit her at University, with the questions drawn from the very implement that will thwack her oustretched palms should she get her answers wrong…

The tawse in a school play

Admin Startles 3 Comments

When I was at school, I often had the responsibility for writing the play for our yearly fair. I tried very hard to get some sort of spanking reference into each one. It didn’t always work out like I wanted to, but writing and spanking and theatre were all fused together for me; if one component was missing, it just wasn’t as much fun.

It’s a shame I didn’t have this play, “Thomas Edward o Banff”, to inspire me:

Note: No costumes are needed nor props, except perhaps … a school bell and a tawse or cane for the headmaster.

…

Mr Grant enters in a rage, a cane or tawse in his hand. (actual prop if available)

Mr Grant: Who has put a forkytail, I mean an earwig in my desk and a slater, …. a woodlouse in my tea cup?…. (stamp & brandish tawse) This is no accident.

Alex Black: It wis Thomas Edward, Sir. I saw him.

Mr Grant: Up to your tricks again Edward? You are a disgrace and a discredit to the school. Come with me. You have been warned.

Thomas: It wisnae me, Sir.

Isa Sinclair: It wis Alex Black, Sir, I saw him.

Mr Grant pushes Thomas off stage by his ear. 6 thrashes of the tawse and cries are heard off stage. All wince, except Alex Black who grins, having put the creatures there earlier.

What a wonderful way to inspire a young spanko’s love of theatre.

A moment of prayer

Abel Perverting reality 6 Comments

Wandering around a grand cathedral recently, Smudge and I spied a little stall covered in post-it notes. “Write down your prayer,” the notice urged, “and we’ll read it for you at the next communion at the high altar.”

Am I a bad man? I mean, is it awful to have immediately imagined girls away on some school trip over a weekend, taken on the guided tour? A few girls would see the display, and sneak off to pin up entirely inappropriate messages.

The group would be in church the following morning. They’d snigger as the bishop read out their messages – rude names hidden in the text, cruel comments about their teachers announced to the congregation (“Please pray for Dr Jenkins in his old age”).

The master in charge would turn and glare at them.  After the service, they’d return to their hostel. The culprits would be called in to see him; to line up next to one another, to listen to his lecture, to hold out their hands in turn for the tawse.

Wishing a paddling on my friend

Admin Perverting reality 10 Comments

Last night I had a vivid and colourful dream of two of our friends engaged in a rather delicious spanking scene.

It was happening in our living room, with the guy friend sitting on our sofa, the girl friend draped over his lap sans knickers. Her bottom was being rapidly reddened by his large palm. There was much squealing, and slapping, and squirming, and all those good things.

Upon waking up I felt like a very pervy voyeur, but I wished I could’ve seen more. Like maybe a hairbrush getting involved, or a paddle. I would have liked to see their effect on the girl friend’s pleasantly round bottom.

If this were in the real world, I might feel some qualms about wishing all this pain upon my friend just so that I could enjoy observing it. In the dream world? I don’t feel in the least guilty. Of course I want to see her spanked and hairbrushed and paddled. If I think about it enough, maybe tomorrow night I’ll dream a sequel.

Smack-free zone

Abel Perverting reality, Startles 7 Comments

“No booze, no sex, no smoking or smacking in the street.” So begins a column in the current issue of Private Eye, about life during Ramadan in Bahrain.

Sadly, a closer read showed that it’s “snacking” that’s banned. (OK, I was tired. Like, went to bed at 8.30pm the night before tired. Like, left my credit card in the machine at the railway station ticket office that morning tired).

But, just for a moment, wonderful images of the streets of Bahrain at other times of year had flashed across my mind. Benches at the side of every street were occupied by gentlemen in flowing white robes, as the sun shone down. Each would have a young lady, bottom bared, upended over his knee. They’d be spanking their charges with abandon. I was already mentally booking our flights…

Bridle your tongue

Admin Historical punishments, Perverting reality 1 Comment

Never passing up a chance to further my education, recently I have gone to find out what sort of punishment device a bridle was.

According to “Old Time Punishments” by W. Andrews, pub. 1890, a bridle is-

 …an iron framework which was placed on the head enclosing it in a kind of cage; it had in front a plate of iron, which, either sharpened or covered with spikes, was so situated as to be placed in the mouth of the victim.

In the old-fashioned, half-timbered houses in the borough [of Chester], there was generally fixed on one side of the large, open fireplaces a hook, so that, when a man’s wife indulged in her scolding propensities, the husband sent of the town jailor to bring the bridle, and had her chained to the hook until she promised to behave herself better for the future… I have often heard husbands say to their wives, “If you don’t rest with your tongue, I’ll send for the bridle and hook you up.”

Ouch. I suggest using soap instead: this dispenses with the need to have the wife chained to the wall, so that she is free to cook supper, clean the house, and do all the rest of her wifely duties, in silence.

That said, the idea of a punishment device being part of the interior in many houses, fixed at the side of a fire-place, as commonplace as the fireplace itself – I find this idea unbearably hot. I’d rather this was a peg on which there hangs a traditional strap, cut in a shape passed down through generations.

I also like the idea of summoning a town official to deliver a punishment.

If I were a young wife threatened with the shame of being handed over to such a man, I would be very, very good, giving in to quite a few of my husbands unusual demands…