The Spanking Writers

Dare I post my weekend dream? Oh, go on, then… Even if it was a bit rude. Sorry, very rude…

A drawing room. A group of men, in smart suits. And a girl standing before them, naked, crying, covering herself as best she could.

“Are you learning your lesson?” A lesson taught over their knees; touching her toes; bent over furniture. With their hands, their belts. With the cane.

“Yes, sir. Please… Let me go”

“See, I’m not sure. Gentlemen: would you place your visiting card in the bowl on the table…” And when they had done so, he held it out before her: “Now, close your eyes. And choose who’s going to fuck you.”

It would be academic, of course. For once the first of them had forced her roughly into position and taken her, the rest would take their turn. And then they’d beat her again, “for being a whore”, before leaving the now-broken girl to sob, curled up in the corner of the room, whilst they enjoyed their cognac and cigars…

I’ve always rather resented the way the History teachers at school failed to capture my imagination. Despite my fascination with historical events (and not just as a source of kinky inspiration), teenage me dropped the subject as soon as possible. As such, I lack a degree of context when it comes to times past: I’ve read lots about individual periods, but lack structure – how one thing led to another; how everything fitted together.

David Starkey’s “Crown and Country: A History of England through the Monarchy” is about the best thing I’d read to provide an overall span of our history – despite my anti-monarchist tendencies. And last week, despite a self-imposed book-buying ban until Easter, I couldn’t resist picking up a small volume by Judy Parkinson, entitled “Remember, Remember (The Fifth of November): The History of Britain in Bite-Sized Chunks”:

The concept’s simple: one page on each of 150 key events or periods that have shaped our nation. It’s quite brilliantly executed – a true joy to read. And, needless to say, it sparked my kinky imagination. My most recent school roleplaying at Lowewood Academy last week was marvellous as ever, and part of the fun of the event is that it’s relatively light-hearted – from the initial uniform inspection onwards.

In the Rev Jenkins’s Religious Studies class, I made the girls identify former popes (including several dissolute ones, and the bizarrely-named St Hilarius), study how popes are chosen, then elect one of their number to the papacy. Later, in Latin, I asked the class to share any Latin phrases they knew (“to help the new pope as she needed to know the language”). I taught them various useful words (think “school”, “pupil”, “cane”‘, “tears”). And we finished with a verbal test in which said pope was caned for each wrong answer from her classmates. Delightful; funny; enjoyable; a genuine privilege to be invited to take part in such a wonderful event.

Yet it also left me craving far more serious school play, of the sort that “Remember, Remember” could inspire. Girls set homework before the class, made to study (say) ten pages of the book. A test, taken in silence, asking detailed questions. Papers marked in front of them, as they read the next pages of the textbook. A high pass mark: say 17 out of 20, for this would be the top class in their year, whose work lately had been disappointing. And a sound caning – a dozen stripes of the dragon cane – for any pupil who failed.

Or it could be a set text to be used in Detention, at the end of a school day. A hand-caning for each girl would start the hour’s punishment; they’d be given pages of the book to copy, bringing them to me once each was completed. If their work was untidy, the girl’s hands would be caned again and she’d be sent to re-do the work. And if any girl failed to finish transcribing the full number of pages by the time the bell rang for supper, another hand caning would be duly administered.

Time for a strict school, methinks. The sort in which no girl would dare wear her uniform scruffily. In which classes would be academic, traditional, quiet, focused, well-behaved. In which the prospect of being sent to her housemaster would genuinely leave a girl quaking. In which being beaten publicly in assembly by the headmaster would leave a girl truly ashamed. I wonder how, with whom, when. And isn’t it one of the joys of roleplaying that we can devise such different variations on a theme, and love them all?

An interesting meeting earlier in the week with someone in a vanilla context. The subject of poly came up; they seemed unfazed. Dare I mention the subject of kink? And then they asked:

“So, your poly relationships: were they vanilla?”

…and relax… Because if someone uses the word ‘vanilla’, then it’s a sure-fire thing that they understand what “not vanilla” means, right? And so it turned out.

I wonder if there are any other innocently non-kinky expressions that signify interest or understanding in the same way? Mention of the Leveson inquiry, for example, might hint at knowledge of past invasions of kink-community privacy. References to Secretary (much as I have reservations about it) could indicate interest in certain aspects of the movie’s plot. Bemoaning the closure of a certain coffee and cake shop near Covent Garden might work with the London crowd who frequented CCK.

Can you think of any more?

Those of you who’ve been enjoying the redesigned “Abel’s Spanking Stories” site might like to know that I’ve just added new school story, called “Second Time Around”. Enjoy…!

PS hope you’re finding some fun reading on the new site – and thank you to those of you who’ve posted kind comments on the stories.

Concocting schemes for punishing girls, during a ‘Lowewood’ school roleplay at the weekend, I proposed a candelit caning. Picture a row of candles – say, six of them – on a table at the front of an otherwise-dark room. A schoolgirl bends over, takes a stroke, and then blows out a flame – each extinguished candle marking progress towards her misbehaviour being fully dealt with. The number of candles, and the number of strokes for each, could be readily varied according to the gravity of her offence.

Anyone spot the flaw in the plan, though? Yep, when she blows out the final candle, the room would be left in pitch darkness. And whilst that might create the potential for taking-advantage-of-a-girl fun in some scenes, it really doesn’t seem right for a school… But still the idea intrigues!

It’s rare that I post  images here, but this one made me laugh aloud and I just so want to share it:

Found on the “Make It Hurt Please” Tumblr page; originally posted by “Cut Out And Keep”. LOL neither link is safe for work, but both are rather lovely.

On the Northern Line, after a work dinner on Wednesday evening, I found myself sitting next to a smartly-dressed gent who was studying handwritten notes from his English language classes. I couldn’t help but wonder what they’d been teaching him, and glanced at the words neatly listed against their Arabic equivalents.

Here’s the extract that caught my eye:

Pretty bad

Very bad

Awful

Utterly disgraceful

I rather liked the idea of the next class, in which he’d doubtless be taught the implements and number of strokes that apply for each level of misbehaviour.

I read a review a while back a marvellous-sounding tome about women in ancient Rome. Sadly I’ve lost the article, so can’t recall the book’s name, but there must surely be a chapter on ‘Discipline and Punishment’?

Take the case of the slave girl, near-naked and chained in the marketplace, who bit a potential new owner as he carefully inspected her. As a senator, he’d take up his right to administer her whipping himself – in full view of the other traders, customers and girls.

Or the case of the emperor’s daughters. He’d hire a new tutor for them, and would tell her to be strict with his girls if they erred. She’d teach them well and they’d study diligently; she’d spared the rod as a result. Yet the emperor would learn that his girls had played truant one day, going to watch some procession in the Forum. “How many strokes of the birch did you give each of them,” he’d ask of the tutor. “They’re good girls, sir; I scolded them and they seemed very penitent,” she’d reply. Needless to say, once the emperor had whipped his daughters, he’d give the tutor the same number of strokes in total as the two girls had taken.

The men in each story, would of course be in positions of absolute power: the senator who’d bought a girl from the market (for he’d surely take her home after whipping her); the emperor ruling without challenge. And in each case, that offers further potential for one’s imagination to run riot – for there’d be little that the slave or the tutor could do were their master to close the door and decide that the flogging was a mere prelude to the pleasures they wished and intended to take…

Perhaps it’s a good thing I didn’t track down the book. I fear the reality might have disappointed, rather…

I closed the bedroom door firmly behind me: “I thought I told you to face the wall with your hands on your head?”

She started to mumble an explanation, but I interrupted: “No excuses. I shall punish you for your disobedience, after I’ve dealt with the issue we were due to address.”

Soon, she was over my knee, skirt lifted, the spanking far harder than she would ever have expected the first time I punished her. I talked softly but firmly, expressing my disappointment in her.

I pulled down her knickers, baring her; tears fell as the punishment continued – bottom, thighs, bright red now. No pause for breath; no mercy; this was deserved.

Afterwards I bade her hand me a cane and bend over the end of the bed: “And now you need to learn the consequences of not following instructions.” Six strokes, hard, marking her, making her howl. And then a hug, holding her tight, the events that had caused her to be punished now forgiven if not yet entirely forgotten.

I like my dreams sometimes…

A large hall: oak beams, rafters. To the side, four girls. Naked. Tied from the rafters with thick rope, their wrists tightly bound, stretched high above their heads.

A gentleman would walk over and untie one of their number. He’d lead her across the room to his colleagues, and her punishment would begin – in plain view for the other girls. When they’d finished with her, she’d be led back, re-tied. The next girl would be selected.

Only, they wouldn’t work in a strict rota. No girl would know when it would be her time to be chosen – she might wait out for three turns, or she might watch just one of her friends being beaten before she was led forward again. No girl would know what would befall her when she was selected – they’d all be caned, be whipped across the back, be tied to the table to have the fronts of their thighs striped, be strapped to the punishment horse to be birched. But not necessarily in the same order.

When each of them had been subjected to each ordeal, their eyes would be covered, blindfolded so that they were quite unable to see. And the screams of the first of their number from whatever was being done to her across the room would fill the others with dread, before she was brought back, sobbing, and tied amongst them whilst they paused and decided who to take next.

–

I think my imagination’s getting darker, you know. I think it’s a rather good thing: I hope the trend continues during the year  ahead!