Today is a special day; one I've been awaiting for months. The Spanking Writers, Abel and Haron, are launching their anthology collection of spanking stories by twenty bloggers and writers, the proceeds from which will all be donated to cancer research. It's an ambitious, generous project, and I know they've both poured huge amounts of time and energy into it.
It's also personally exciting to me, because they were kind enough to invite me to contribute a story, and the opportunity prompted me to write my first ever piece of 'proper' spanking fiction (blog posts don't count).
This weekend I had the not inconsiderable pleasure of March Middleton's company. We enjoyed a stimulating evening together, during which March developed a liking for Tom's vicious little pocket-tawse, and demonstrated her ability to spank really quite hard when she knows she can get away with it. There was a lot of giggling (I do like sleeping with people who are inclined towards laughter during sex) and once my bottom was pink and tingling, we turned our attention to other pursuits which were just as satisfying.
The prefect/schoolgirl dynamic from the story she wrote me (now completed - and I not only have permission to include it in the members area of my site, but she's mulling over the possibility of appearing with me in an accompanying photoset...) persisted. At one point, as we sat facing each other crosslegged on the bed, winding down some conversational thread or other, March quipped, "Well, what should we tuck into first, the sardines or the fruitcake?" If I hadn't wanted to film a school dorm midnight feast scene before, I do now.
A couple of hours previously, by way of settling down to things, she showed me the "rude book" which was the star of her story: Miss, the 1912 (I think) novel by "Sadie Blackeyes" (otherwise known as the French author Pierre Dumarchey). I haven't read it, but skimming through it assured me that I wanted to; if anyone wants to buy me a Christmas present, the hardcover edition would be lovely. Mostly, though, I was distracted by the pictures - selected illustrations from various editions, many of which were beautiful, compelling and hot. I wanted to borrow it the next day to scan a couple of them in to show you, but we didn't get a chance; it'll just have to wait until I possess a copy of my own.
I'll leave you with another snippet from the story which kicked it all off, by March herself:
March's aim seemed devilishly accurate. The arc of the brush finished, again and again, on exactly the same spot. The hollow sound of the impact was startlingly loud in the quiet house.
Twelve, March! Pandora muttered, teeth gritted. If only she hadn't been such a fool as to move this might have been the last stroke. But there were two more to come and March seemed to be hitting harder every time. Why had she agreed to this?
March brought the brush down again, putting greater force into the stroke and matching the impact exactly to the red rectangle on Pandora's left buttock - a companion imprint graced the right-hand cheek. Thirteen, March!, she heard, in something that was almost a wail. The last stroke, then; March raised the brush and slammed it as hard as she could into the trembling girl's right buttock.
Fourteen, March! cried Pandora, and burst into tears.
Here's a treat to kick off November. This "fragment" by Casey Morgan, Georgie/George may be a tantalisingly short story, but it has everything. Country houses, public schoolboys, simmering bisexual tension, private tutors, unruly young aristocrats, calligraphy lessons, girls dressed as boys...
She cant write?
Not that one can decipher.
Delahays face assumed the expression of a professional who knew his work: In short, she is intelligent but undisciplined.
Delahays gaze drifted to the fire. It does sound a desperate case, he said. Unfortunately, I am a tutor of boys.
One thing I love about this story is that although it has all the tension of an unequal power dynamic, the relationship - and therefore the punishment - is made explicitly consensual. It's hard to get that right, particularly when the story isn't about an adult erotic relationship.
It's a spanking story, so of course it also contains some corporal punishment. But I loved the restraint with which it was described. The hottest images of all are evoked rather than shown in the ending, which arrives far too soon, but some of the turns of phrase along the way push my buttons as unerringly as if it had been written for me.
I said sorry! she bellowed, wriggling uselessly.
Perhaps Ill be able to hear you once you demonstrate proficiency with our first lesson, he said, concentrating now on the tops of her thighs. She struggledwith his arm and with her pride. It carried on painfully, until she lost to the former and defeated the latter.
Click here to read the full story. And thankyou Casey for such a deliciously hot read!
A reader has alerted me to an item on a Hungarian news site, according to which a S&M film studio was raided by the police after a model complained that her treatment went further than she had consented. Three people were arrested.
The article doesnt name the producer, but both Mood Pictures and Elite Pain appear to be offline.
There's some expansion on the story in the comments, but nothing is clear yet. Mood Pictures has been offline for four days now - those of you who have emailed me to ask why, this is the best I have to offer.
Tears formed in the princess's eyes, but the queen was unmoved after nineteen years of coddling the slatternly ingrate. "You will be punished, and you will be married to the first suitor who will take you."
The princess had not yet comprehended that she was to be married. "Punished?" She had never received so much as a swat on the back of her hand or been sent to bed without supper.
"Punished, and so severely that it will be in secret. No man will want you if he knows you've misbehaved to such a degree that you had to be bound in your chamber and whipped until you saw the sense of giving up your whoring ways in exchange for marriage." Read more
In the evening, after cocoa and biscuits, Mother went to put Cathy to bed, and Daddy turned to me and Adam.
We have something to chat about, dont we? He didnt look angry, or anything, but I could see in his face that he was going to go through with what hed said in the car. We were definitely getting it. You can clean up the dishes, and then come to my den. May I advise you not to take too long.
That last warning came just as Id resolved to lick each plate clean, twice.
When Daddy left us alone, I sighed, dragging myself to my feet. Ooh, boy, I said in a tiny voice.
Shut up, said Adam; I think, he meant for it to come out fiercely, but instead it sounded all wobbly. Even his mouth looked wobbly.
If I shut up, were still in for it, I said, picking up everybodys cocoa mugs. Daddy said I swallowed. He said it would be the hairbrush next time. Read more
Finally, those of you who used to follow the Sugasm may have noticed that it closed in October. I didn't post to it much last year, but I was sorry to discover it had gone on indefinite hiatus. Happily, a new (and very similar) sex blog round-up has sprang up in its wake: e[lust]. Here's e[lust] #6:
Welcome to e[lust]- your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether youre looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, youre going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #7? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the sites sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!
~ This Weeks Top Three Posts ~
Exposing My Self to Airport Security - I stared right at her until she looked away and called for assistance for a pat-down search. I gaped, chin dropped: holy shit, theyre gonna give me a pat down cuz Im packing a silicon cock.
Prefects Prerogative - When I neglect this duty, or dont perform it to his satisfaction, he makes me light a fire in his room, and stand in front of it in just my school shirt and white socks.
The Perfect FatWhy do clothes designers assume that if youre plus-sized youre 1. over 5?9? and 2. over the age of 45 or matronly and modest? At the age of 32 I am not yet ready to dress like my grandmother.
~ Featured Post (Lillys Pick) ~
Zipless - I have some Scotch in my roommaybe youd join me? You know, in the interest of not drinking alone She smiled. Perhaps she could yet salvage the days ending.
See also: Pleasurists #61 for all your sex toy review needs. Also in recent sex news, check out the coverage of the Adult Entertainment Expo that happened in Las Vegas a couple weeks ago. Youll see videos and articles from our fellow sex-bloggers on fun things like a rodeo penis and new sex toys not even on the market yet!
I came home from a magical May weekend to discover this beautiful post by Abby Williams. She wrote a 250-word story for a writing challenge, "based on a dream I had a year ago about Pandora telling me she'd 'dreamed about the linden tree again.'" Of course I am a sucker for hearing about myself, but I would have found this story compelling and haunting anyway.
It's funny that I should be associated with the linden tree. I can't remember if Abby wrote to me about that dream when she had it, but linden has a special meaning for me. The tea is well known for its healing properties; I prefer the taste of it to camomile and often drink it at the end of the day. But mostly I drink it for the profound sense-memory associated with it, of the first weekend I played with Tom.
I was nineteen, still an undergraduate, and it was our first date. We'd ended up in bed sometime the previous year, in complicated circumstances that led to us falling out of touch for a few months. When we picked things up he decided to do things properly. My young self was thoroughly, expertly woo'd. I can still remember the tingling excitement of receiving his love letters in the college post. He dressed me up, took me out and swept me off my feet.
Here's what I wrote in my personal journal when I got home:
Everything about the last three days has been almost feverishly acute, from the moment I collected my post on Friday to find a white lily corsage had been delivered for me only an hour before, chosen to perfectly complement the antique jet-beaded jacket I would be wearing that night. And then that moment when we stepped through the doors of Simpson's in the Strand wearing full Victorian period costume; the way he passed his umbrella and top hat to the cloakroom attendant with absolute gravity while I couldn't keep from grinning. And the champagne cocktails and madeira and wine and port and cigars, and the most extravagant dinner I have ever had bought for me, and not getting to sleep until 6am (at which point he had to go to Oxford to see his other partner) and sleeping until mid-afternoon in his bed that was specially built to comfortably sleep four (including provision for two of them to be tied down to it), and making myself linden tea in that huge empty house and reading the Iliad in a room smelling of pipe tobacco and sex.
And, of course, the utterly inexpressible contentment of having to sleep on my front each night so as to avoid putting any weight on the new bruises. And, then, this morning, coming back from the bathroom wearing Thomas' black silk dressing gown to find the low-backed, oaken chair arranged exactly as it had been on Friday night - white silk scarves for my wrists and ankles, a red knotted one for my mouth - and my sheer, animal terror at the thought of my already welted and swollen skin. And him sitting in the armchair with the cane resting, unobtrusively, on his lap, waiting for me.
Linden has long been "the tree of lovers". When I drink it now, I'm taken straight back to that sunny, sleepy Saturday, almost five years ago to the day. Lazing in his bed, still half-drunk with desire, drinking linden tea and falling in love with him.
I loved this story posted by Richard Windsor on Friday. Any scenario that features male and female spankees being punished alongside each other is a rarity, and I'm always glad to see it. This is the second chapter in the story, and while I enjoyed Chapter 1 well enough, these scene is the one that really got my attention.
Richard strikes a perfect balance between the realistic, frightening atmosphere of the punishment and the sexual tension between the protagonists. Introducing eroticism into a spanking story frequently ruins the fantasy for me, but this is very nicely done. As a girl who likes watching other girls being punished, I found myself identifying by turns with both the male point of view and with the female object of his affections, which is a neat trick. As a result the story is surprisingly immersive, and very hot :)
"The Fly on the Wall" by Richard Windsor
Kyle had never been spanked in his life, he felt totally vulnerable as his bottom stuck high up in the air, and while he was not familiar with the position, it made him feel a lot younger than his 19 years. Mrs. Collins took a firm grip of his waist and placed her right hand on his bottom. She looked at her daughter sternly and barked out an order Tara Elizabeth, go and fetch my hairbrush.
Tara fairly leaped up, knowing that any time that her middle name was used; her bottom would be very quickly ablaze moments later.
Just a quick one tonight - I'm completely wiped out by an evil cold, and am hiding under my duvet desperately hoping I'll feel better in time for my shoot on Friday.
I made a new friend in the pub last weekend - a fabulous lady called Jacqueline who writes erotic fiction for a living. We had a long chat about the erotica industry, the role of kink in mainstream erotica and bi visibility. She has a website - Writing in Shadows - which is well worth taking a look at. I particularly enjoyed this F/m spanking story about a rather unconventional librarian:
Three Simple Rules
I pulled the now-whimpering man to my side office, but I didn't close the door I didn't want to leave my readers alone for too long, and besides, I wanted everyone to see what happened, when they disobeyed the three simple rules in my library.
As soon as I crossed the threshold, my hands tugged at his expensive leather belt, using the momentum to draw him into the room. His smart blue pinstriped trousers came down in smooth folds fine quality wool and silk will do that for you. His boxer shorts were blue too, with little paisley swirls dotted all over. He smelled of old-fashioned cologne, and cherry sweets guilty sod.
"Up against the desk mate."
"Believe me miss, but I wasnt doing
Ooh, he spoke like a merchant banker too. Nice. However, his voice was cut off by the first slap that landed on his skinny backside. The resounding crack made him shake, and he gripped the desk with white knuckles.