The Spanking Writers

Once more unto the Percy Anecdotes from the 1840s, this time to explore the flogging of a female convict in Russia:

The knout whip is fixed to a wooden handle a foot long, and consists of several thongs, about two feet in length, twisted together, to the end, on which is fastened a single tough thong of a foot and a half in length, tapering towards a point…

When the philanthropic Howard was in Petersburgh, he saw two criminals, a man and a woman, suffer the punishment of the knout. They were conducted from prison by about fifteen hussars and ten soldiers. When they had arrived at the place of punishment, the hussars formed themselves into a ring round the whipping-post; the drum beat a minute or two, and then some prayers were repeated, the populace taking off their hats.

The woman was first taken, and after being roughly stripped to the waist, her hands and feet were bound with cords to a post made for the purpose. A servant attended the executioner, and both were stout men. The servant first marked his ground, and struck the woman five times on the back; every stroke seemed to penetrate deep into her flesh; but his master thinking him too gentle, pushed him aside, took his place, and gave all the remaining strokes himself, which were evidently more severe.

The woman received twenty-five blows… ‘I (continues Mr. Howard) pressed through the hussars, and counted the number as they were chalked on a board for the purpose.’

I don’t actually know any Russians, but Ukraine is next door. Haron…

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Abel called me in great agitation the other day, having discovered the existence of “High School Musical”.

He wanted to know whether there London staging included a paddling scene. I had to tell him I had no idea, but probably not.

He didn’t sound too disappointed, and shared an idea that any future director of this play - or actually, any play that may conceivably involve a paddling of a character in the ensemble - may appreciate.

The role of the punished character should be given each night to the actress who had performed the worst the night before.

The decision would be announced to the cast just before the play is due to start. Thus, any girl who felt she hadn’t danced or sang as well as she could have done, would have a rather unpleasant sleepless night before the following day’s performance.

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A reader, who wishes to remain anonymous, kindly sent us a piece of their writing recently. We thought you might enjoy it, so with their permission we present possibly the finest spanking poem I’ve read:

The Brush

He sat down squarely on the red settee.
The lass, amazed, was hauled across his knee,
Her heels in air, her nose against the plush,
And from her hand he plucked the antique brush
Which, while she needled him with jibes and mocks,
She had been pulling through her auburn locks.
Now, with her bottom perilously flaunted,
She wondered if she ought not to have taunted.
She thought he might be thinking to remind her
She should have put such childish spite behind her,
And as things lay she felt that her behind
Was all too likely where he would remind.
But she was much too dear for him to hurt,
And he too kind - then, oh, why did she blurt
“You wouldn’t dare!” and watch, with widening eyes,
His hand, reflected, and her hairbrush rise.

Now with his left arm firmly round her waist
He felt that he and she were better placed
To bring the spat she’d started to an end.
Her posture showed her ready to attend
While he expressed his full and frank response,
A task he thought he’d best begin at once.
Thin cotton slacks, but tauter than a drum,
Revealed each pliant contour of her bum.
With petulance she wriggled her trapped hips
And then that fateful phrase escaped her lips.
He sensed a thrill, a tremor down her back;
Her bottom winced beneath the pending smack.

“All right, my girl,” he said, “enough’s enough.
Or did you think I wouldn’t call your bluff?
You little minx, it’s time you were controlled.
I told you plainly once, you’re not too old
To spank, like daddy should have done before.
And no brat ever needed spanking more.”
(Too true: the strap or rod that should have taught her
Had never striped the misbehaving daughter;
The spoiled young princess never touched her toes
To have her pert bum printed shades of rose.)
“Your time has come, young lady, and now you’re - ”
And down he brought the hairbrush, hard and sure -
“About to get the paddling you deserve - ”
And down against the other gorgeous curve.

(How sweetly were her smooth and tender flanks
Upraised for him, to be adored with spanks…)

The swift effects of ten such sounding whacks
Against the tight, light fabric of her slacks -
Her bucking buttocks and her kicking heels,
Her cries of “No!” and piercing, outraged squeals -
Sent rays of warming gladness to his heart
(For her, a different warmth, another part),
Confirming that his instinct wasn’t wrong
To give what she’d been asking for so long.

So back to work. He dextrously undid
Her sleek, chic pants, and down her thighs they slid.
The sheer white briefs were clearly all too brief
To lend her well-warmed roundness much relief,
But since again she blurted “Don’t you dare!”
Her pink posterior was quickly bare.

With shrinking fear, and yet with odd elation,
She knew her rear faced one fierce flagellation,
Indignities her person never knew.
Her nightmare, and her dream, was coming true:
Bent over, quite uncovered, tightly held,
She held her breath, she trembled - then she yelled.

His wooden weapon went from cheek to cheek
And each return she greeted with a shriek.
Its form was flat and stiff, hers soft and plump,
And sternly it addressed her blushing rump.
It said hot things about her fits of pique;
It made its case against her naughty cheek.
Too many times her crimes had gone uncaught:
For every crime she earned a smart report.
Too many times she’d flexed a waspish tongue:
For every word her writhing backside stung.
She gasped in anguish at the fires he lit
And fed with well-placed strokes. How would she sit
Again upon such throbbing, tingling flesh?
She cried that if he’d stop she’d start afresh,
But plead and sob and promise all she might
He plied that wicked brush with no respite.
His aim was steady and his will was firm;
Her fate was but to redden, weep and squirm.

For fully half an hour the ceiling rang
With echoes of the sorry song she sang.
For fully half an hour he took great care
Her precious seat was spanked both ripe and rare.

And here our household scene finds happy ending:
When she’s released at last from her down-bending,
One soundly punished girl, one happy chap,
And she’s sat - gingerly - upon his lap,
And one hand’s found, while in his arms she blubs,
Her buttocks’ glowing places, which she rubs,
With kisses warmer than those flaming hills
She shows appreciation of his skills,
The master’s brushwork painting for his wife
A rosy picture of their future life.

- Anon, 21st century

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In a rather fat volume “English Juvenile Courts” by Winifred A. Elkin (pub. 1938) I found a great passage that compares corporal punishment at home or school with court-ordered birchings.

Over the previous pages I’d got the impression that Ms Elkin didn’t like judicial corporal punishment very much, but with these few paragraphs she mad me wonder.

The conditions under which birching is administered in the courts are so different that no comparison with the results of birching by parents or in schools has any value.

If a boy is birched by his father, the punishment is carried out by someone for whom he may be presumed to have affection and respect… If he is birched at school, he may accept it as part of the discipline of an institution to which he feels he belongs and to which he recognises his responsibility. If neither his affections nor loyalties are involved, birching may perhaps cow him or make him more careful… It will not in any case effect any real moral improvement.

When it does good, it is not because the pain involved acts as a restraint against future misbehaviour, but rather that the punishment is taken as a sign that he has offended against the code of an organisation or of an individual whose standards he accepts and admires.

But it is a different matter when a boy is birched by a police officer by order of a court. Here it is certain neither his affections nor loyalties are involved… At the best, he will take it as an entirely impersonal business. If it restrains him in the future, it can only be because he fears its repetition.

Hang on, I thought as I read this. What she’s saying is, the only effective judicial birching is a really hard one, so flog ‘em till they scream. She can’t be saying that. She’s a nice lady, Ms Elkin, right? Well…

It is actually not unknown to find boys who express a preference for a birching rather than other methods. Clarke Hall said that he had known on several occasions boys who asked to be birched rather than to be sent away, but that he had never known the converse…

If the pain of it is reduced to vanishing point, it is hard to see what good can be expected of it from a punitive standpoint.

Yep, flog ‘em till they scream.

Actually, what the writer is doing is arguing ad absurdum: a moderate birching is no good, but no decent person would want to give a youngster a really hard birching, therefore we may as well get rid of judicial CP altogether.

However, I can just hear Abel pontificating along the lines of that last quoted paragraph. “If the punishment doesn’t hurt, young lady, it isn’t doing any good from the punitive standpoint.”

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I did feel just a tad sorry for the girl I dreamt of the other night. She was standing before the Chief of Police in his office; he was lecturing her sternly. “Quite fair and reasonable punishment… A mischievous complaint, totally without foundation in law…”

Earlier in the day, it seemed, she’d presented herself at the local police station to complain. She lived in the big house, she explained (a daughter, a ward, a maid?) and had been soundly whipped that morning for some misdemeanour. “And it’s not fair, and it wasn’t my fault, and they shouldn’t have the right to do it.”

The constable had taken her into a cell and made her show her marks: six frsh stripes, vivid, neatly and expertly laid-on. And then he’d taken a statement, and recorded the details, and summoned the butler from the House to give evidence. (”Yes, officer, all of the girls in the house are well aware that misconduct will result in a thrashing”). Forms had been filled in, a report filed.

The Chief was most unimpressed. “Wasting police time – a most serious offence,” he continued, explaining that they had mentioned the situation to his Lordship, who was in complete agreement with the proposed course of action.

“Constable?”

Snapping to attention: “Sir?”

The Chief looked from him to the girl, and back again. “Strip her and tie her over the back of the chair, then fetch me a birch…”

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We’re going on holiday to Austria in a few weeks’ time. I can’t wait. But we have one slight problem: we’re travelling in a small group - with the “would overhear any activity in the neighbouring room in the suite” type of fellow travellers. So I can tell now that Haron’s not going to get spanked all week.

It’s made me daydream. Some grand old Viennese house: tall, imposing, high ceilings, ornate.Very Habsburg.

Haron, despatched on her own at the agreed time, “to meet one of her distant relatives who lives in the city”. (”No, it’s OK. I won’t go with her. I don’t speak the language.” Excuses, excuses, to cover the real reason for her trip).

She’s smartly dressed. She checks the address carefully, knocks on the door. A young woman opens, all blonde and neat, in a crisp uniform. “Miss Haron? You are expected.”

She is shown along a corridor, to a closed door. The maid leaves her: “You should knock at the door, and wait until Herr Professor calls you.”

She knocks.

He makes her wait.

Minutes later, a strongly-accented voice. “You may enter.”

He makes Haron stand before his desk. Looks at her, over his glasses, studying her intently as if trying to read her mind. Peers down, picks up a letter from his desk, reads it carefully. “Your husband informs me that your behaviour here in our city has been most disappointing. He has sent you to me to be punished. You understand that?”

A quiet confirmation.

“I can’t hear you, young lady.”

“Yes, sir.” Louder, voice still trembling.

The gentleman stands, reaches up to the bookcase. The implement he takes down comprises three long, straight, thick switches, tied together at one end. “I had my maid make this freshly this morning. Now undress.”

As Haron strips, shyly, for punishment, he rings a bell; the maid re-appears, almost instantaneously. (Later, he will question her; will find that she was listening at the door; will birch her).

“Miss Haron, please bend over the end of my desk. Liesel, please go to the opposite side of the desk, and hold Miss Haron’s hands, firmly. She is not to move during her punishment.”

And so the gentleman whips my wife, her cries quite lost between the thick walls of the mansion, as Liesel pins her tightly in position.

Haron dresses afterwards. Thanks the gentleman through her tears. And then the maid shows her out into the bright Viennese sunshine.

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Last weekend we were very amused by two news stories that ran side-by-side.

In the first one, one of the deputies of the Conservative mayor of London had to resign from his post for such a big bundle of reasons that I’m not sure why they actually recruited him in the first place. Queue lots of blushes from the Tories. “But we didn’t know he ate babies for breakfast!” Oh, dear, what a nasty surprise for them.

In the second story, a Tory guy accidentally let slip his party’s secret plan of dealing with any future embarrassments of this kind. “The Conservative Party believes in bottom-up solutions”. Oh, good. Flogged politicians all ’round.

P.S. Did you know there was a Tory MEP called Den Dover? I must admit, I misheard his name at first. I suspect, that’s not unusual.

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The Great Yorkshire Show is in full swing today, with all the flowers, cattle and local crafts shown off on its huge grounds.

I wonder if in years past it was customary for the great houses to enter the competition for the best maid.

The girls in their tidiest, cleanest uniforms would stand in a line on a raised stage. The judges would call up each of them by turn to ask a few questions. The winner would be determined in a secret, heated debate. Most maids would consider it an honour to be entered into the County Show, but there would, of course, be an odd sullen girl, who would have to be threatened with a switch by the housekeeper, before she could be pushed onto the stage.

“What do you like about working in Ravenwood Hall?” one judge would ask.

She would glower at him: “What would you like about getting up before the crack of dawn, fetching and carrying all day, and being slapped around by an old witch?”

(Somewhere in the crowd, the housekeeper all but explodes with rage.)

It isn’t just a switching that’s in store for her now, but a sound birching at the hands of the butler, with all of the servants present, and the master himself supervising the event.

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The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.

This Week’s Picks

Flunking A Call

“I fell silent again and tried to think. What did he want?”

Revision

“He seemed… perfect. ”

Shaving, revisted.

“I don’t do it for society, for anyone who will or will not be seeing it. I do it for me.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice

Exploitation, objectification and breaking the law…

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

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I’ve been keeping a little list for a while, sparked by a slightly tipsy conversation a little while back with our friend Martha in which we tried to devise the worst spanking story title imaginable.We rejected the gruesome, the simply tasteless. To be truly awful, the title had to be realistic - yet clichéd beyond belief, or simply fundamentally misguided.

Here are a few of suggestions:

“Paddling to her paddling”
“His rod of love”
‘The rotten rattan”
“Barely striped”
“I caned, she’s sore and conquered”
“The corporal’s punishment”
“Weal he, won’t he?”

Come on - do your worst: you must be able to add to the list…!

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