Whilst ogling a particularly cute young lady the other day, I started to wonder: what do vanilla people get up to in the bedroom?
I mean, for spanko couples, a romantic night in behind the closed bedroom door might start with the partners discussing kinky ideas. The girl might end up over one’s knee, being warmed up with an initial spanking – gentle at first, then increasing in intensity. There could well be some role-playing next: stern lectures to set the scene before (say) a measured caning.
There’d be cuddles after the whacking – calming a punished girl, applying soothing creams – before moving on to intimacy (even then, perhaps, allowing time for the odd pause to tie an occasional rope).
But vanillas? I guess the whole process is just accelerated: shut the door, and move straight to cuddles (without even the need to rub in some arnica). It must be so boring. I guess they must just fall asleep earlier at night…
One of our Sunday newspapers mentioned a website specialising in that item so coveted by the Head Teacher or boss in all of us… Antique Desks.
Here, for example, is a pedestal desk that we wouldn’t mind having in the study…
I can just imagine it covered with neatly stacked books and papers.
“The Headmaster will see you now, young lady.” Still at the door, I see him move his antique inkwell out of the way, onto a nearby filing cabinet.
I tremble.
I have a persistent dream in which I’m forced to return to school. It’s the real me, at my real age, after getting my real degree. I get a letter that says I’ve been missing lessons, and unless I want my parents to be arrested, I should come to school.
Last night I had to sit a history test. (It was helpfully written in Latin.) The teacher kept lecturing me that, just because I’d spent ten years in higher education, I wasn’t too special to obey the law and go to school.
I woke up from the nightmare paralysed with despair of failing the test, and tried to calm myself with how I wished the dream would have gone if I could have directed it.
Instead of taunting me, the teacher would have been sympathetic. Of course, it was hard to become a schoolgirl again, to obey the rules imposed by grown-ups when you’ve been a grown-up yourself for a while.
It was hard, but I still had to obey the law; to come to lessons when I was told, to do the homework, to keep my cheeky remarks to myself. He would help me as much as he could. But if he thought I was being obstinate…
Here he would pause significantly, and flick a look into the corner of the classroom, where one of my friends would be standing with her skirt up, her spanked bottom facing the class. “I won’t enjoy doing it, but I will, if I think you need it. I will spank you, for your own good.”
But the dream didn’t go like that. Maybe next time. If I have to tread the dreamland as a schoolgirl again, I might at least have a spanking to make up for it.
Haron and I went to the theatre with our dear friend Martha last week: the lead actor in the production had an air of menance that set my mind wandering. It took a few days, but this is what popped up as a result:–
“It was a dare. I’m really sorry.” A moment’s miscalculation, an outbreak of misplaced bravado, a bonding experience now gone horribly wrong as they stood in the miserable storeroom above the cafe.
The second girl spoke up. “We can pay for our drinks; of course we can. We really didn’t mean to run off.”
Their inquisitor’s silence continued as he watched the young ladies squirm before him. Eventually, he spoke, his voice scarcely louder than a whisper: “Girls who steal deserve to be punished. Severely.”
“Please, sir, we’re sorry” mingled with “Please don’t call the police.” It was the latter that caused him to laugh loudly.
“Do you know who I am?” They didn’t. Until he told them his name, and they realised that their local coffee store was just one of the business interests of the notorious local mafia chief. Not a man to cross, feared by the local community – and yet they had just stolen from him.
He had his assistants strip them and tie them over the chairs, but he himself wielded the cane. Hard. No ‘six of the best’, this: twenty each, powerful, punishing, until they begged and pleaded and fell silent save for their sobs.
And then he allowed them to compose themselves, to dress, and sent them on their way with dire warnings – and a request for them to hand over the cost of two cappuccinos to the coffee shop’s manager on their way out…
Sometimes a mere photograph of a book cover can generate hours of daydreaming. Mind, not any old book, but the Punishment Book used at Llandeilo Workhouse in Wales from 1878-1907:
One example: three young inmates who…
… instead of going to school absconded and walked to Llanelly where they were seen wandering about by the Police and locked up”. The Master retrieved them the following day, for which he “applied 6 strokes with a birch”.
Drum roll…Curtain opens…
My Lords, Ladies and gentlemen… (and the rest of you 😉 )
We are delighted to announce…
For the first time ever…
“The Spanking Writers”, our book!
Yes, folks, it’s true. We’ve finally made it into print. We’ve just taken delivery of our own copies of the anthology which brings together the highlights of the first two years of our blog (that would be 2006 and 2007). And it looks wonderful: hardback, a lovely dust jacket which you can remove if you want to read it in public, and so many fond memories as we read through the entries that we love the most.
If you fancy buying a copy, you can get it here. (It should be on Amazon before long, but we get to keep more pennies if you buy it from our own store. Not that we’re ever going to be millionaires, mind, but it’d be nice not to lose money on the deal). Happy reading!
Fiona Locke, the best-selling author of “Over the Knee” has this to say about the book:
“Discipline has never been sweeter. Quite simply some of the best spanking erotica you will read anywhere. The authors are imaginative, literary and above all, genuine.”
(Should we say something like “great gift idea – buy early for Christmas”? Or just “why not treat yourself to a little relaxing reading before falling asleep…”)
Here endeth the commercial break.
So, teachers’ union was on strike the other day. Apparently, one school in three was closed around the country. The parents were complaining a lot about having to arrange childcare, but the students didn’t look too upset about missing a day of school.
I imagined a pair of schoolgirls, best friends or maybe sisters. Their school is on strike, but Mum and Dad don’t have to know, do they? The girls get ready for school in the morning, walk out of the house, neat in the uniforms. Except, in their backpacks there are jeans and trainers, and they’ve broken their piggy-banks to get a fare to the nearest mall.
…Of course the parents find out.
What do you think the punishment would be?
I must stop dreaming of reform schools. The latest? “Reformatory Idol”.
Yes, dear readers, the entire synopsis for a game show series revealed itself in my slumber. A dozen girls, competing for early release and a prized post on the staff of some distinguished aristocrat. Each week, a different skill to be mastered: folding linens, setting tables, ironing… all of the essentials for a well-trained maid in a good household.
Each week, one tearful contestant would be eliminated. The coverage would show the week’s instruction, the contest in which they demonstrated their newfound skills – and footage from the girls’ lives in the reformatory.
No doubt one unfortunate would earn herself a caning during the week. The camera team wouldn’t be allowed to film the punishment itself, of course. Rather, we’d see the girl waiting outside the master’s office; we’d hear the sounds of each stroke (clearly audible through the door); we’d watch as she emerged, wiping away the tears.
Mr Cowell? I have a proposal for you…
One little phrase in an item reproduced from a newspaper’s archive really caught my imagination recently. In a story from the start of the last century, of a young criminal “sentenced to 14 days’ imprisonment and 10 lashes”, the Salmon Arm Observer commented that:
It is interesting to note that it was necessary to send to the coast for a lash, this being the first time such a thing has been required.
Oh, the anticipation…
