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Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

Month

March 2017

I really love your stories– I like visualizing spankings. But, the interesting thing is, I’m not actually a fan of it in my real life sex life. Thoughts? xEM

That’s the great thing about fiction, you don’t need to love everything that goes on in make-believe. Murder mysteries, thrillers and spy novels are hugely popular genres, but in real life their readers would be horrified by the kind of violence those books regularly describe. And that’s fine.

Likewise, it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to act out every sexual fantasy that turns you on. I think we all agree, spankings in real-life should be between consenting adults only. Yet stories of non-consensual spankings can be hot. Just as stories of murder can be exciting.

Erotic fiction is just make-believe with fewer clothes. A medium where we give ourselves permission to imagine things that in real-life we might consider dark, shameful, transgressive or even painfully uncomfortable.

That’s why we have such powerful imaginations, why ever since the dawn of culture we’ve loved stories and bards. Never be embarrassed by what you project in the theatre between your ears.

asajones2:

Spanking Theatre inspired me and my little slut slave to play today.

He writes beautiful stories, and I set Kate some homework. She had to read part two of ‘The Sit Down Dance’ and come back with her idea of how to portray it.

She came back with an idea, and this is the result. I took a few photos, and more will follow…

But for now, read this excerpt, and then go to his site, to read it all. I highly recommend that you do.

_   _  _

Alice reached down to Lola’s ankles, pulling up her panties carefully, ensuring the gusset parted Lola’s puffy wet lips, and was snug against her clit. Then she took Lola’s hand and lead her back to her chair, on top of which were a couple of cushions. Lola took her seat, and Alice knelt behind her, tying the waistband of Lola’s panties to the back of the chair with a shoelace, then tugging the cord until it was quite tight.

Now Lola obediently placed her hands behind her back, on either side of the middle slat of the chair back, allowing Alice to slip a cuff onto each of her wrists. These were improvised too, two old tennis sweatbands sewn together. By having their hands bound behind them they were putting themselves completely under their Mistress’s control. And it kept wandering fingers well away from naughty places.

And that was Lola, ready to dangle. Her white panties tight against her slit, a wet spot already visible between her legs.

Addison was summoned across Alice’s lap next, she was a petite girl, with skin so fair it resembled fine porcelain, something that gave her the appearance of an old-fashioned doll. She wore her honey-coloured hair in long tresses, but the most physically captivating thing about her was her eyes, little green orbs that danced bright with impish amusement. Addison was one of those people who laughed regularly, with a rich and infectious giggle.

Addison was the kind of girl quite determined to never take life too seriously, and whose natural expression was a subtle crooked grin, as if she’d just pulled off some particularly entertaining mischief and was just dying for someone to find out. That propensity for mischief had lead to many visits to the Punishment Room, where she’d met the other members of their little spanking gang, finally discovering three new friends who shared her  nefarious mutual interest.  

Twelve spanks later, Addison found herself sitting beside Lola with her panties tight against her aching clit, both squirming as they watched Penny’s cute little bottom turn pink. And then there were three; three naughty girls ready to do the sit-down dance.

“Lift up, girls.” Alice announced.

In response, the seated trio braced their heels on the frame of the chair, lifting themselves up from their seats slightly. Alice then moved between them, whipping away the top cushion from beneath each, then reaching down to take their feet down from the chair and onto the floor.

Suddenly, there were gasps and squeals.  

As each girl dropped onto the lower cushion, her panties were sharply pulled upwards, dragging harshly against her bottom hole, and burrowing into her weeping slit. At first, they can’t help but squirm, but gradually their movement diminishes, as they realise it’s only making their predicament worse. Clenching their fists bound behind them, all they can do is moan, tormented by the burning strip now running between their legs. Alice could recognise that ragged breathing from her own recent time on the Bench, those short gasps that accompanied the incessant upward tugging friction against her twitching clit…

Asa

Many thanks to Kate and the wonderful @asajones2 for staging this scene from The Sit-Down Dance Part 2.

For the curious, this is what a panty-pulling chair looks like, with the sitter’s panties tied to the back of the chair with shoelaces, and both cushions since removed, so she now sits with her panties pulled tight between her legs. Perhaps this delightful depiction might inspire your erotic inventiveness, and you’ll create a chair of your own

I’m desperate to have someone who will instruct me to spank myself red and sore, any recommendations? Unless you yourself would like to take your hand to me? (I couldn’t dm you for some reason)

You’re not alone in your desperation, dear reader. I’m asked this question often enough that I’m sure I could run classes in self-spanking. I would be a very strict teacher.

Good, authentic disciplinarians are rare, and are consequently rather hard to find. So my advice is to begin by just talking to people.

You have at your fingertips an absolutely extraordinary technology – a modern magic that will let you connect to
anybody, anywhere in the world instantly. Yet most people only use “social media” to talk to people that we
know. So reach out, find others who are like-minded, and make friends.

Making friends is the important bit, get to know those you talk to, see if you enjoy interacting with them. If you’re going to submit to them, and spank yourself sore at their command, you’re going to need to trust them. You might get lucky and find yourself a great disciplinarian – but even if you don’t, you’ll have fun talking about spanking, and you might even make a few friends. Both are great outcomes.

I realise the search for a spanker can be frustrating, that’s why I created the self-spanking challenges, so those without disciplinarians could play, explore and experiment in the safety of their own homes.

So, I’d recommend trying the challenges, experiment and find out what you enjoy about spankings. And at the same time, start talking to others – you might discover a great spanker, you might even discover you don’t even need one. You never know where your journey might lead. Good luck!

Continuing the new showcase of original spanking content is part of an ongoing illustrated story by the illustrious @asajones2! He not only writes particularly ingenious stories and scenarios, but uniquely, he also photographs them with his marvellous team of models, in his terrific custom decorated sets, and shares them on Tumblr without charge. For all the effort involved, I think that’s fabulously generous. He’s also graciously staged some shoots from my stories, such as this superb scene from Glimpse.  So do visit his blog, say hello and tell him how much you appreciate his work. Our little community needs more content creators like the wonderful Mr Jones…

Showcase: Asa Jones’ Inveigle Girls

Share the joy of the written word

spankingtheatre:

I’ve posted several new stories recently, making now a good time to update my list of what I’ve written. Here they are, ordered by their popularity…

I think some of those stories deserve a bit more love, don’t you? Especially some of the undiscovered gems at the bottom of the list.

Most erotic pictures routinely get hundreds or even thousands of likes, but written posts rarely achieve a fraction of that. Yet original writing is the result of a great deal of creative effort, and it needs its own champions. So, if you find erotic words arousing, perhaps you’ll share a few of your favourites?

Pride and Obedience

A Spanking Story

image

Image by Katou Kahoru (source unknown)

Regency England, 1817

Serena
raised the hem of her candy-striped skirt to her hips, and hovered over
the little ebony stool, as her Mistress looked on encouragingly.

“That’s
a good girl! Mister Cholmondeley and his wife will be here soon. You
know how proud I am to have you kneeling at my feet.”

Beneath her
elegant dress, Serena was wearing nothing else. Her underwear having
been confiscated when she’d first arrived at Althorp House. At the time
she’d protested vociferously, a bit too petulantly as it happened. A
little tizzy that had cost her all her clothes, and ended with her being
spanked like a silly little girl over the knee of her Ladyship, and
being put to bed with a very sore bottom indeed.

That first night,
Serena had wept into her own pillows, distraught at the prospect of
having to spend the summer in this horrible place. In subsequent days
she’d discovered just how seriously her hostess believed in discipline.
The house rules were numerous and byzantine, but there was only ever one
punishment for breaking them: a good hard spanking, on the bare bottom.

At
first, Serena behaved as if she had a choice when it came to following
her instructions – a delusion her new mistress had found cheerfully
endearing. But in the three weeks since she’d arrived here, Serena’s
obedience had improved considerably. When she’d first been introduced to
the stool, she’d resisted bitterly, of course. But now she welcomed the
firm deep push of its double protrusions, and would take her seat
without complaint. In fact, Serena couldn’t remember the last time she’d
sat upon a proper chair.

There was a knack to mounting this low
dildoed stool, which Serena felt she’d now mastered. The trick, she’d
found, was to straddle it, and lower herself until she felt the slick
head of smaller stem poke against her bottom hole. Then she’d allow
herself to sink ever deeper, until she could feel the bulge of its head
stretch her open and push inside her. As she sank ever lower, the
thicker bulge of the other phallus would intrude between her slit,
probing her wet entrance like an over-eager lover.

Serena
continued her slow descent to the floor, until her knees were embedded
in the lush velvety softness of the salon’s dark carpet. She stifled a
moan as the protrusions penetrated deeper and deeper, stretching her
wider and filling previously unfelt spaces. At that point Serena would
be sitting on her haunches, her bright red shoes on either side of the
stool’s tiny legs, with her bare bottom resting on the narrow wooden
platter that formed its seat.

Once seated, she’d let go of her
dress, allowing her hem to fall to the floor like a finale’s stage
curtain, completely concealing the stool and its intimate protrusions.
Any visitor subsequently arriving would be completely unaware that just
beneath her pretty striped dress, both her holes were filled by dildoes.
Visitors would simply see what they expected to see, a beautiful young
lady kneeling adoringly at her Ladyship’s feet.

Once Serena was
kneeling, Lady Lydia Althorp took her place on the floral couch in front
of her, close enough for her young charge to lay her head on her lap.
She began stroking Serena‘s long chestnut brown hair, which was gathered at the back by a
vibrantly red ribbon.

“My lovely girl… such a good girl…”  she cooed as she stroked affectionately, “Serene by name, serene by nature.”

There
was a knock on the salon door, and Mary entered to introduce the
visitors. Mary was the chamberlain, the most senior of the household’s
all-female staff.

“Mr and Mrs Cholmondeley to see you, your Ladyship.”

Lady Lydia’s face lit up in an effusive smile, one that spread contagiously to all those present.  

“Mr Cholmondeley. And Jane! How delightful! Do be seated. Mary, tea for our guests please.”

The maid curtsied and closed the door behind her, as the guests made themselves comfortable on a sofa facing the lady of the house.

“Let me introduce you to
Serena. She’s staying with me this summer whilst her family are away. I
have absolute trust in her discretion, so you may speak freely in front
of us.”

Serena and the guests exchanged nods of acknowledgement, but the young lady did not rise from beside her Mistress’s lap.

“Dear Mr Cholmondeley. It is so good to see you again. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“My
Lady Lydia… I shall be frank. A delicate matter brings us here. But
you asked me to speak candidly should my darling wife and I experience
any difficulties. Or disagreements…”

Her Ladyship seemed unfazed by
her visitor’s revelation. After all, matters of an intimate nature
usually lay behind most visits to her home. She took a moment to glance
at his wife Jane, who still hadn’t said a word, and whose arms lay
folded sullenly across her breast.

“Ah yes. A period of disquiet
is natural enough when a headstrong young lady enters her new marital
home. You lament the loss of your independence, my dear?”

Jane said nothing, but her expression suggested she did not demur. Her husband broke the awkward silence.

“Yet
I can’t help but notice those in your household seem devoted to you,
without ever having taken a marital oath. Just look at young Miss
Serena, kneeling so respectfully by your lap, so well-behaved! Pray my Lady,
what is your secret?”

“My secret?!” Lydia allowed herself a coquettish giggle.

“Well
Mr Cholmondeley, let me say that he ceremony of marriage is a mere
social convenience. An oath changes nothing. Respect and obedience must
be earned. Encouraged. And when necessary… enforced.”

“Serena? I
wonder, would you help me educate this lovely couple? Shall we show them
what’s been responsible for the improvements in your own behaviour?”

“Of course, My Lady.”

“Then will you please lift your skirt to your waist?”

Serena
felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, yet she also found herself
wanting to do as her Mistress had asked. She’d been so naive when she’d
arrived here, but her Ladyship had shown her things, taught her things,
secrets she’d never known about her own body, and the intense pleasures
it was capable of. It was a debt Serena now felt honour-bound to repay with
her own unquestioning obedience.

Nevertheless, her Ladyship’s
instructions often made Serena squirm with shame, but then she’d remind
herself that her Mistress knew best, and would try to do as she was
commanded. Inevitably, she’d soon find her heart racing, her skin
tingling, and the slit between her legs becoming throbby, hot and wet.
As if that feeling of intimate excitement was her reward for doing
exactly as she’d been told.

Serena reached down to the lacy hem
of her dress that lay draped on the carpet all around her, and slowly
raised both hands to her waist. Her bright red shoes were revealed
first, then the stool she was sitting on – its four curved ebony-wood
legs, on top of which was the narrow flat seat, inlaid with black velvet
around the rim.

As she raised her skirt, Serena revealed her
nakedness to their visitors. Beginning with a glimpse of her bare thigh
and her elegant red garter, then the smooth pale globes of her unclad
buttocks resting on the coal-black platter of the stool. And in the
middle, the watching eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the thin dark
protrusions that rose from the seat and disappeared alluringly between
her cheeks.

Jane was the first to realise the significance of
what she’d seen, and gasped. Her husband tried to show more decorum, and
merely gawped.

A keen eye might even have seen the faint pink
blush of Serena’s early morning spanking. Her Ladyship believed in
waking her charges with a well-smacked bottom. So Serena knew that when
she heard the knock on her door in the morning, she was expected to
leave the cosy cocoon of her bedcovers, and bend over the rail at the
bottom of her bed.

When her Ladyship entered, 30 seconds later, she expected to see Serena
with her nightgown raised above her hips and her bare bottom presented
to be spanked. Lady Lydia found a dozen spanks cleared even the
sleepiest of heads. It meant in her household, no one was ever late for
breakfast.

Her bedtime routine was very similar. After washing
and toileting, Serena would bend over the bottom of her bed with her
nightgown raised, and wait for her Ladyship to arrive and inspect her.
They would then discuss her day’s behaviour. Being a good girl, one who
was attentive and obedient, often had very pleasurable consequences.
Whereas being naughty meant being put to bed with a sore bottom, with a
leather chastity belt over her nightgown, its thick strap passing
between her legs and buckled around her waist, to keep wandering fingers
at bay.

Serena continued lifting her skirt until her bottom was
completely revealed. She could barely believe she was exposing herself
like this, no gentleman had ever seen her so compromised. But
accompanying the shame was another feeling, an ecstatic thrill that
surged through her veins, making her whole body tingle. Showing herself
felt so liberating – and, contrary to all her expectations, incredibly
exciting.

“Good girl! You may stand up now Serena, and let our guests see what you’ve been sitting on.”

Serena
let the hem of dress fall, and rose from her haunches, holding onto the
sofa with her nearest hand to help steady herself. The two protrusions
slowly slipped out from within her, until only the uppermost bulges
remained. Her bottom hole stretched one last time, almost reluctant to
lose the intrusion that had filled it. Her dress muffled the faint
squelching sounds of their exit as she rose to her feet, feeling her
groin ache with longing for what she’d just lost.

Once she was
standing upright, Serena gathered her dress to her knees and took a step
to the side so her little stool was fully uncovered. Its twin
protrusions were now exposed in all their lurid detail, sticky and
glistening with her juices. Each stem was carved with a spiral, a design
that enhanced the sensations of the sitter as she slid down its length.
At the top of each was a helmet-shaped bulge of rubber, carefully
crafted to mimic the glans of a penis.

“My Goodness!” exclaimed Mr Cholmondeley.

“This… is Serena’s Obedience Stool…” Lady Lydia announced proudly.

The
visitors stared at what had been revealed in silence. Its purpose was
shockingly explicit, but what surprised them most was that they’d both
been within touching distance of the young lady who’d been
sitting serenely upon it, yet neither had suspected in the slightest the secret
that lay hidden beneath her pretty pink dress. She had literally been
fucked in both holes, right before their eyes, and they’d never even
noticed.

The edgy silence was interrupted by a knock on the door,
as Mary and another maid arrived with trays of tea and scones. Mary
caught Serena’s eye with a knowing smile when she saw the stool by her
feet, in a way that suggested she’d spent some memorable times sitting
upon the same device herself.

As Mary closed the door behind her, the silence
was replaced the sound of clinking china and thoughtful supping. The
tiny stool remained the elephant in the room, dominating the minds of
all those present, but mentioned by no one.

Lady Lydia could see
Jane was squirming awkwardly on her sofa. She wondered if her guest was
imagining sitting on the stool herself. Whereas her husband seemed to have a
bulge in his breeches. She did not need to wonder why.

Meanwhile
Serena was calmly sitting on the floor by her lap, cradling her warm cup in her
hands. She seemed to prefer kneeling to sitting on the sofa now, and
Lydia was most impressed by her level of devotion.

When the tea had been enjoyed, it was Lydia who broke the long silence.

“Were you embarrassed, Serena? To show you’d been sitting on such intimate protrusions?”

“Why yes, Mistress.”

“You’ll notice, Mr Cholmondeley, how Serena obeys despite her humiliation.”

“An attitude that does you credit, Miss Serena.”

“Stand up, Serena. That’s a good girl. Now lift your dress and show our guests your bare little slit.”

Serena
felt a buzz of energy surge through her body. She’d grown up being told
to always keep herself covered, to never ever expose herself. But now
her Mistress was teaching her all those old rules no longer applied. She was
a grown woman now, in an adult world, venturing into a strange new realm of
intoxicating experiences. One where nudity wasn’t just permitted, it was
encouraged.

“Yes Mistress.”

Serena bent over, reaching down
to grasp the hem of her dress, and slowly raised it to her face. Coyly
hiding her blushing cheeks as she exposed her most intimate places.

“Why, her mound is quite bare!”

“Indeed.
Those in my charge keep themselves smooth, as a daily act of devotion.
Now Serena, tell our gentleman friend why you’re standing with your
skirts up, showing everyone your bare little slit.”

“I’m standing like this, Sir, because my Mistress has taught me that my obedience matters more than my pride.”

“My. My. How fascinating! And I assume the stool is a key part of your training regime?”

“Of course. And regular spankings.”

“I see. May I ask where you acquired this marvellous stool?”

“I have an acquaintance who is a master carpenter. He made a pair to my specifications.”

“A pair, you say?”

“Indeed.
I usually have two young ladies staying with me each summer. Serena
will have a company soon: Julienne is coming here from
France. Now the disturbances on the continent are over, her family are
eager I improve the young lady’s English. As well as her discipline. In fact, she
should be on the ship from Le Havre as we speak.”

“I don’t suppose…” he began.

Lady
Lydia could read his intentions in his face, and rang the service bell
before he could finish his sentence. Moments later, Mary reappeared.

“Be a dear, Mary, and fetch the other stool from my bedchamber. And lubricate its stems please, so it’s ready for use.”

Mary nodded, but wisely suppressed her smirk until after she had left the room. The staff lived under the same rules as her Ladyship’s guests, with self-pleasuring strictly rationed by their Mistress. It made for a household that was very eager to please.

“Now Mr Cholmondeley. Be so good as to ask your wife to remove her underwear.”

“I shall do no such thing!” Jane protested, breaking the sullen silence she’d maintained ever since she’d entered the room.

“Now, now, Jane dear. Serena was just as obstinate when she arrived, weren’t you, my love?”

Serena
nodded solemnly. Her initial protestations seemed so silly now in
retrospect, but petulance driven by her sexual insecurities meant she’d
earned herself several canings and inspections during her first few days
here. Each act of defiance had cost her an item of clothing, all the
garments she’d brought with her being held in the custody of her
Ladyship’s wardrobe. Her initial misbehaviour meant soon she had nothing
left to wear. So Serena had spent two full days walking around her new
home naked, shyly covering her chest and freshly shaved mound whenever
she encountered any of the domestic staff.

It was the promise of
winning back her clothes that motivated Serena’s obedience. That, and a
growing realisation that she secretly rather enjoyed following her
Ladyship’s instructions. Yes, they could be embarrassing, but they also
made her feel all gooey inside. Being naked felt surprisingly good.
Getting her bottom spanked made her little bump throb. And being
inspected, and having her most intimate places spread open by her
Mistress’s fingers made her feel like she was the most important little
girl in the whole wide world.

When Serena had first encountered
the stool, she thought it was a cruel and devious means of punishment.
But her Mistress had undressed her and reassured her, and she’d knelt
down as she was told, and discovered she’d been very much mistaken. As
Serena sat naked on the stool, she learned instead how it rewarded her
obedience with a deep, satisfying pleasure.

“Your husband has commanded you dear. You do remember your vow of obedience…”

Jane harrumphed in reply, folding her arms even more tightly across her chest.

An
awkward silent stand-off developed, which lingered until there was
another knock on the door. It was Mary, carrying another stool in both
hands.

Mary placed the stool as instructed, by Mr Cholmondeley’s
feet. The stems of its two lewd protrusions glistened, catching the
lamplight, luring the eyes.

He respectfully waited until the
chamberlain had left the room before beginning to scrutinise the curious
object she’d left at his feet.

“Such elegantly crafted phalluses…” he observed.

“Yes!” Lydia affirmed, “A hardwood core, with a head of finest Malay latex, and such exquisitely carved spirals down each stem.”

“And lubricated with..?”

“Glycerin. I like to add a dash of fresh ginger if the sitter has misbehaved.”

“Wonderfully inventive. And they are removable too?”

“Indeed,
one can simply unscrew them for cleaning or replacing. The vaginal stem
can removed during the days of the month when a girl’s slit is padded,
so she can sit on the anal stem alone. And of course the same
arrangement can be used whenever I host naughty boys…”

At that
last comment, Mr Cholmondeley arched an eyebrow. He could readily
imagine a young man kneeling at her Ladyship’s feet, his stiff cock
pointing upwards in tribute.

“Now, Mr Cholmondeley. It’s clear
your wife requires a lesson in obedience. But a good disciplinarian
knows there’s more than one way to impart their teachings.”

“Serena, dear. Fetch the leather spanking paddle and give it to Mr Cholmondeley.”

Serena
ambled towards the mantelpiece, where a long thin intimidating cane
rested horizontally against the wall. How strange, she thought, that a
bottom-whacking stick should have pride of place in so many homes.
Perhaps it was a subtle message to visitors, that this household was run
in good order, a place that believed in the highest standards and
discipline. But if that was the case, what message did the considerable
collection of disciplinary implements in this room convey? Serena was
still pondering that question as she plucked one of the black oval
paddles that hung on the wall from its little hook, returning to
graciously place what she’d chosen in the gentleman’s hands.

“Now,
Sir…” began her Ladyship, “I’m sure you’ll agree that your wife’s
blatant rudeness and disobedience deserves a good hard spanking.”

“I do…” he said hesitantly.

“Unfortunately,
your wife is in a most obstinate mood. So, Serena shall take her
spanking for her. Lift your dress please, Serena. And bend over.”

Serena
did as she was told, hoisting her skirt up to her waist until her
bottom was bared. Then to Mr Cholmondeley’s surprise (and not
inconsiderable delight) she took a step forward and bent over his lap.
The couple were sitting close enough that Serena laid with her head
resting on Jane’s lap. Then, without needing to be told, she opened her
legs as she’d been taught, exposing the long cleft of her swollen cunt
to his disbelieving gaze.

“Now, tell Jane she’s been a very naughty girl, and she must be spanked.”

He turned aside to his wife, who looked back at him incredulously.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl, Jane. And you must be spanked.”

“Place
the paddle on Serena’s bottom, Sir. A bit lower. Yes, there. Now, spank
her hard. A dozen times, alternating between her cheeks. Begin.”

He
started smacking as instructed, uncertainly at first. But progressively
harder and firmer. Serena had buried her face in Jane’s lap, whose
skirts served to muffle her cries. He felt it cruel to inflict such pain
on this innocent young lady, but he only needed to glance between her
open legs to see how excited she’d become. Besides, Lady Lydia was an
expert in such matters, he was confident she knew what she was asking of
him.

After the first dozen spanks, Lydia demanded he give a dozen
more, this time even harder. Soon, Serena’s bottom was conspicuously
pink, with her hips beginning to snake and squirm with every smack. Jane
was growing increasingly uncomfortable herself, as each whack on
Serena’s bottom not only assaulted her ears, but she could also feel the
hot breath of each accompanying cry as it was shouted into her own lap.

Jane
forced herself to look down at the stool that had been brought for her,
staring at its twin phalluses, glinting in the lamplight. They were so
tall, they’d go in so deep. Much deeper than her own little fingers had
ever been able to probe, certainly deeper than any hairbrush handle.
Deeper even than the thrusts of her dear husband’s cock.

She
didn’t want to defy him, or become a tetchy wife – she just found
running her new household so tiresome. She’d much rather take her
favourite horse from the stables, and go galloping around their
beautiful estate than do all the aristocratic chores that seemed to be
expected of her. Like writing and sending dinner party invitations, or
entertaining the well-meaning but ultimately tedious individuals who
constituted her new social circle.

But…

… maybe it would
be better to kneeling on the floor, impaled upon the stool, filled,
obedient and satisfied. Better than sitting on the sofa, frumpy, ignored
and miserable.

“Another dozen, Sir… then I’ll summon Mary, and she can take her place.”

In
the end it was Jane’s pride that broke her resistance. The thought that
her stubbornness would ultimately result in every woman in this
household having her skirt lifted and her bottom bared, before each had their turn across her husband’s knee. That wasn’t fair. His lap was her
rightful place. Where she belonged.

“Wait! Wait! I’m sorry!”

The paddle froze in mid-air, moments from Serena’s trembling pink buttocks.

“I was wrong. I’ll take my place, and what I deserve.”

Lydia
nodded contentedly, and told Serena to rise and return to her stool.
She retook her place excitedly, no longer caring who was watching as the
two protrusions slid easily inside her yearning holes. Sitting on the
stool with a well-spanked bottom was always an extra special treat,
everywhere was so much more sensitive. With her sore cheeks tingling
against the soft velvet pads of the stool’s tiny seat, she could perch
on the edge of orgasm for hours, knowing just a few firm rubs of her
little bump from her Mistress would utterly sweep her away.

As
Serena was retaking her seat, Jane rose from her own and reached up
under her dress to undo the drawstring of her drawers. She let them fall
to the floor before stepping out of them, picking up her undergarments
to present to her hostess as a sign of her contrition.

Then
without needing to be told, Jane returned to stand in front of her
husband, lifting her dress to expose her bare bottom, she bent over his
lap, just as Serena had done.

“I’ve been such a very naughty girl, Sir. Please give me the hard spanking I deserve.”

Her
husband responded by rubbing the paddle across her bottom, and stroking
her hair with the fingers of the other. It was soothing and
conciliatory, his way of letting her know this would not be a spanking
delivered in anger, but a punishment she’d earned, and the proper fulfilment
of justice.

As the first whack echoed around the room, Serena
could swear she felt it through her stool. Mr Cholmondeley spanked his
wife firmly and vigorously, each smack harder and louder than any he’d
applied to Serena’s poor bottom.

Jane was whacked hard for her
defiance, her disobedience and her rudeness. And she was spanked for
cruelly letting poor Serena suffer in her place. She hoped she’d be able
to apologise to her later, to make things better. Until then, she hoped
Serena was enjoying watching her get what she deserved, as well as the
sensations of the dildoes deep inside her.

As she looked down to
the floor from her husband’s lap, the second stool returned her gaze,
the two faux cocks pointing back, accusingly. As each whack stung her
bottom, Jane came to regret her recent aloofness even more. It had been
ages since her husband had spanked her, and her natural submissiveness
had withered into haughty indifference. He’d been too meek, too distant.
But now each spank was making her realise how much she’d missed his
firm hand, and how she longed to be under his strict control.

After
two dozen whacks, Jane’s bottom was sore and smouldering. She hadn’t
been spanked this hard since her last year at finishing school. The time
she’d been found asleep in another girl’s bed – which wouldn’t have
been so bad, had not Hannah, the bed’s owner, been found asleep
alongside her. If only their schoolmistress had known just what they’d
been getting up to…

They’d watched each other bend over the
padded horse in the punishment room, each throbbing as they
witnessed their lover being caned. Afterwards, they’d walked out hand in hand,
before returning to the scene of their crime to rub cooling lotion into
each others’ stinging cheeks. Jane had learned two important lessons
that day: to be much more careful in her erotic escapades, and how much
being disciplined turned her on. She longed for someone strict to put a
stop to her nonsense, to ignore her disingenuous pleas and place a cane
against her bare bottom. Someone to give her the whackings she knew she
deserved.

Jane found herself daydreaming about that long ago
caning, squirming, but never pleading, taking her punishment with stoic
acceptance, just as she’d  always done. Her husband spanked her until his
arm was tired, until her pert little bottom glowed brightest pink, and
until her a trickle of her wetness dribbled from her slit, and seeped
onto his breeches.

“You may get up now, Jane.”

“Thank you, my Lady. I’m truly sorry for my insouciance.”

“Are you now? We shall see. Remove your clothes at once, every stitch.”

Jane
knew immediately she had no justifiable reason to disobey. She
swallowed her pride and sank to the floor, crouching to remove her shoes
before pulling off her stockings. As she stood, she gathered her gauzy
lilac dress around her waist and lifted it over her head in one swift
deliberate movement. Which meant that once she’d slipped her silk
camisole off her shoulders, she was indeed standing in front of her
Ladyship without wearing a stitch.

Her Ladyship took a moment to
admire her visitor’s nude athletic figure. Her thighs and flat tummy
toned by years of horse riding no doubt. The talk was Jane never rode
sidesaddle, that she liked to ride in breeches, scandalously astride her mount, with
the ridge of the saddle against her cunt. Jane respectfully left her arms by her
sides as she was scrutinised, declining to hide her firm round breasts
and erect little nipples, and the precisely clipped dark triangle of her
mound.

“Very good. Now take your place on the stool at your husband’s feet.”

Jane
stood above the stool, and did her best to copy what she’d seen Serena
do: bending at her knees until she felt the bulge of the smaller phallus
against her bottom hole, then sinking down slowly onto her haunches
until she was fully impaled on both. It felt incredible. Like her heart
might jump out of her chest with excitement.

When she raised her
woozy head, she found her husband looking down on her admiringly. His
hand reached towards her, running his fingers through her short black
hair, flooding Jane with a feeling of sudden contentment.

It
didn’t take Jane long to understand why her hostess had called this
devious device an Obedience Stool. The tall protrusions that filled her
also served to pin her in the kneeling position, legs splayed apart and
back ramrod-straight. Jane tried shifting her weight, trying to subtly
obtain new throbby sensations, only to discover this was a stool
designed with posture, and not self-stimulation, in mind.

The
protrusions actually reminded her of Hannah’s long bony fingers – she’d
liked to fill both of her friend’s holes at once, her two longest
sliding into Jane’s vagina, and her ring finger living up to its name,
stretching and entering her tight little bottom hole. But whilst
Hannah’s skillful fingers had pushed and probed, the dildoes of her
stool were rigid and frustratingly still.

Jane’s upright posture
meant the dildo in her cunt filled her deeply, without ever rubbing
against the throbby front part of her passage where she wanted it most.
To gain any kind of pleasure on this stool, Jane knew she’d need to rise
up from her sitting position, so the bulges of both protrusions rubbed
the sensitive spots just inside her entrances. But that would be
impossible to achieve surreptitiously, meaning any pleasure would
require the explicit permission of one’s Master or Mistress. And thus the stool guaranteed its sitter’s obedience.

As if to emphasise the point, her incessant squirming soon drew her husband’s attention.

“My Lady, is there a risk a girl on the stool might come?” he asked curiously.

“What is The Rule, Serena?”

Serena turned her head to the side, so she could address their guest.

“Pleasure
on the stool is strictly at my Mistress’s indulgence, Sir. I may not
stimulate myself without permission. I must sit at the lap of my
Mistress, obediently and attentively.”

Mr Cholmondeley nodded with
satisfaction, and returned to stroking his wife’s hair, drying the
wetness that her spanking had brought to her watery eyes. New thoughts,
and exciting possibilities began to materialise in his mind.

“Tell me my Lady, how long before your French guest arrives?”

“With a fair wind and smooth carriage, I expect her here in about ten days.”

“Then may I be so bold, and ask if you’d be generous enough to take my Jane
under your care for a week? I have tedious business in London to attend.
And I think she’d be much happier here, in your company.”

Jane
looked up at her husband pleadingly, despite knowing there was no chance
of changing his mind. His request made her stinging bottom tingle.
She knew that staying here would mean a week of sore spankings and
intimate humiliations, days of strict discipline and lessons in
obedience. And hours perching on top of this infernal stool, aching
to come. But perhaps also the beginnings of erotic adventures that had
been too long denied. She resolved to obey, and trust.

“Why, I would be delighted, Sir! By the time you return, you shall find your Jane kneeling
just as she is now. And I promise you’ll find her aching for your touch,
and so very eager to please. You’ll be ever so proud of her!”

“Wonderful! Thank you, my Lady!”

“And
might I also have your carpenter’s address? I would love to pay a
visit, and commission a pair of stools for my own household.”

His wife looked shocked.

“A pair?”

“Well yes, my dear… we often have visitors…”

.

.

.

@spankingtheatre 2017

spankingtheatre at gmail dot com

Originally posted at spankingtheatre.tumblr.com.

You’re welcome to reblog and share.

A Regency Story

I’ve just finished a brand new story set in the Regency Era, two hundred years ago.

What you know of this period might have come from novels like Pride and Prejudice, but I hope to introduce you to a kinkier, more seductive side of Regency life, one Ms Austen declined to describe. A world of where lewd secrets lay beneath long dresses, and a cane lurked above every mantelpiece.

Enjoy…

Some who’ve been playing the self-spanking challenge have also been posting their reports of how they’ve improvised their own scenes. I’d highly recommend reading these accounts, as they not only provide some wonderful ideas you might incorporate into your own playtimes, but some are very arousing too…

Self-Spanking Challenge Reports

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