Posted at 14:30 on 25 Oct 2006 by Pandora / Blake
Last weekend I went down to the South Coast to film for Spanked Cheeks, who have a truly impressive collection of original uniforms. I was lucky enough to be the first girl to wear their latest acquisition - a complete 1970s Girl Guides uniform, including pale blue shirt with badges, neckerchief, toggle, belt, beret and dark blue knee-length skirt.
It pushed buttons I didn't even know I had. When I was younger I was a Brownie, a Guide and a Young Leader, and I have to admit that my experiences of Guiding were never wholly innocent. I fell in love with one of the other girls in my unit, and the main reason I kept going to meetings was in hopes of catching her eye, or being paired with her for the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation parts of the first aid courses. I loved the discipline, the uniforms, the inspections, the parades. Our Guider was a captain in the TA who took her role very seriously. Strangely enough, however, until the moment last Saturday when I put on that uniform, I'd never made the connection between Guiding and spanking.
But think of the possibilities! I have, especially at night before I go to sleep. My favourite fantasy so far takes place while camping. Each Patrol shares a tent and is responsible for keeping it neat and tidy, with an inspection taking place each morning. The leader of this particular Patrol is disorganised and scatty - she forgets to clear up her own mess, less alone keep control over the younger girls. She slept in this morning and was late for her stint on cook duty; when she returned she tried to hastily organise her Patrol and tidy the tent, but she ran out of time. The girls line up outside their tent as the inspection starts. The younger girls are giggling and nonchalant; the eldest are anxious, surreptitiously trying to tidy up their uniforms before the Guider arrives - but she comes to their tent first. The bedrolls aren't rolled up correctly, the lashing on the gadgets is coming loose and the shoerack is threatening to fall apart, the torches are lying on the grass inside the tent rather than being tied within easy reach of the entrance, the wellies are muddy and not lined up neatly on the pegs outside, someone has used the guy ropes as washing lines, and they forgot to roll up the walls to air the tent.
The Guider is stern and implacable. She paces through the tent, picking things up and putting them down, testing knots, pulling their uniforms straight, keeping a tally. The punishment is decided: 12 strokes each. The six girls bend over in a line outside the tent entrance, skirts raised and knickers pulled down. The cool morning breeze snakes over their goosepimpled skin. The Guider produces a bamboo cane from the stock tent, the kind that the girls use to make storage racks and pan tidies. The Patrol Second is the first to receive the punishment. The Guider works her way down the line, taking her time with each girl. The littlest girl isn't giggling any more; she has to wait a long time for her turn, and she's frightened and crying. But the Patrol Leader has to wait until last, and when she finally trembles beneath her punishment she discovers that she is due to receive double the number of strokes, because she's failed not only herself, but all the other girls under her command.
A whole new fetish has been opened up to me, and I have Spanked Cheeks to thank for it. Next time I visit my parents, I'm going to look in the attic to see if I can find my old uniform. I think that perhaps my promise to do my best might be due for renewal ...