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Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

Month

May 2017

Three Heartbeats

image

A short story

The painting captivated me from the moment I glimpsed it, like a black hole in the gallery wall, capturing wandering eyes with its irresistible gravitational pull.

It had been mounted in one of the little L-shaped alcoves off the main concourse, a gap easy to overlook as one scurried between the artist’s better known works. Two brass posts and a red velvet rope had blocked the way, but curiosity got the better of me and I mischievously stepped over it, peering around the corner, just to see what lay beyond.

I was rewarded by the sight of this little treat. A golden torso, impressionistically rendered, and behind, a figure in a sheer black mermaid dress, her lines sharper, somehow edgier. A straight line cut through the centre, seemingly a stick of some sort. My imagination stirred. It could easily be a cane. And if it was, the radiant figure was about to be whacked.

I could feel my cock now, stirring and slightly heavier between my legs. Now I was glad of my solitude, of this chance to admire this alluring image alone, the bustle and chat of the invited patrons a reassuringly distant murmur.

I stood staring, trying to unravel its strange meaning. The caption card seemed to offer few hints, merely stating its title, “Three Heartbeats.”

“I do have other paintings here you know.”

I recoiled from my reverie, I hadn’t noticed her approach, but now a stylishly dressed lady was standing beside me. I took me a while to understand her comment, to recognise who she was. She was the exhibitor, the one whose works we’d all come here to admire.

“A captivating work” I admitted. “Inspired by personal experience?”

“Perhaps.” she said coyly.

“Tell me.”

The artist drew closer, reducing her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Her scent was fresh and sweet, like a walk through a midsummer garden after rain.

“I once visited my headmistress’s office, I was going on a field trip, to paint mountains, and I needed her to sign a form. Her secretary smiled slyly as she told me she was busy. She invited me to wait, I took a seat near the door. I could hear her voice, scolding somebody. Then I heard that they were going to be caned. Her secretary was scribbling on a page, but I saw a faint smile on her face. I was seized by curiosity.”

“Then, fate intervened. The secretary’s phone rang, and she was suddenly called away. I was left in the room alone, there was a keyhole in the door, so obviously I couldn’t resist peeping through it.”

“So I knelt, heart thumping, beside the headmistress’s door. Knowing at any moment I might be discovered, and surely be caned myself.”

“That’s when I peered into the room, and saw everything.”

“A tall young lady was standing facing the back of the door, her arms folded across her back. Her naked torso dominated my field of view, I could see her mound was shaved exquisitely bare. Behind her, the headmistress had plucked a cane from the wall. She stood impassively in her tight black dress, looking like she was wrapped in a shard of night.”

“When she summoned the girl to bend over in front of her, I could see she was naked apart from her shoes and socks, her school uniform neatly folded on a nearby chair.”

“Suddenly, I was aware of approaching footsteps. I hurried stood and dashed to my seat, just as the secretary returned to the room. My face burned pink, I could feel my palms slick with sweat.”

“Through the door I heard the first faint swick, and the poor girl moan. Then 9 more whacks.”

“The secretary must have seen the shock on my face. She fixed me with her wide, sparkling eyes, and told me in no uncertain terms: That’s what happens to naughty girls.”

“A few minutes later, the door opened, and a quite contrite looking young lady emerged. I knew her, not well, but she was part of my year. I never discovered why she was punished. And I never mentioned what I’d seen to anyone. Until now.“

I looked back at the figure in the painting, and the delicate cleft below her smooth mound. I found myself scrutinising her body language, was that trepidation I could sense or excitement?

I could see the artist’s anxiety in her quick, urgent brushstrokes. As if she was trying to commit to canvas that fleeting memory before she was discovered. Perhaps the surrounding gray haze represented the stolen glance dissipating from memory, yet the central figures remained vivid.

I found myself wondering who the model was, and whether this was really a self-portrait, that I was looking at the naked form of the woman standing beside me. Whether the painting was really the artist imagining herself about to pay the penalty for her peeking, literally and figuratively undressed, and about to bend over for the headmistress’s cane.

“And what about the title?” I asked.

“A double meaning. One is there are three hearts beating in that picture, the headmistress, the girl about to be caned, and the viewer’s own.”

I nodded. The scene certainly had set my pulse racing. And my cock swelling.

“And the other?”

“It really was only the most fleeting glimpse, it must only have lasted 3 heartbeats. But what I saw has lingered with me a lifetime.”

I looked deeper into her eyes, and began to recognise a kindred spirit.

I handed her my card, telling her I hoped she’d visit my office sometime.

She ran her fingers along mine as she plucked my card from my hand. She read my details salaciously, almost teasingly. My name. My gallery. Then my profession.

“Oh, a Dealer? I’m always happy to meet those who deal with naughty girls…”

Then, before my tongue could untie itself, the enigmatic artist took a step backwards without even bidding me goodbye, and melted back into her appreciative crowd.

.

.

.


@spankingtheatre 2017

About this post – perhaps you’d like to post your own interpretation?

A Picture and 1000 Words

I’ve just posted something new, the first part of an experimental series that couples a digital image of my creation with an original short story of a thousand words.

They say a picture is worth 1000 words. But what story will the image paint in your mind? Perhaps you’ll imagine something very different to me. So if you enjoy writing, feel free to write up and post your interpretation, I’m sure many would love to read it too…

Can you please do more stories featuring inspections & thermometers? I also love it when they’re wanked off with strange things like hair brush handles & bed posts. Especially when someone else does it to them.

Oh, so you’d like a story where a naughty girl is sent to wait in her room for a spanking. She’d stand at the corner of her bed, on her tip-toes, straddling the thick round knob of her bed post. As her calves tired, she’d impale herself. He’ll be up soon, to take her temperature – and spank her bottom as she squirms.

Or perhaps she’d wait kneeling on the bed, with the smooth handle of her hairbrush already filling her vagina, the bristles of the brush prickling the skin of her buttocks. Until at last her disciplinarian arrives, to withdraw the brush and inspect her thoroughly.

Goodness, look how wet and sticky you’ve made the handle, girl.

Then he’d spank her, a dozen whacks, making her bottom hot and sore.

And then… he’d slip the handle of the brush back between her legs. Filling her up. Moving it back and forth, slowly in and out. Inspecting her closely all the while, the dribble of her wetness, the quivering wrinkle of her bottom hole, and the swelling of her lips.

Do you find that thought exciting? To be wanked off by the spanking brush? To have it pushed deep inside after every dozen spanks, only for the brush to be cruelly withdrawn just as you’re getting close. That’s when your spanking resumes again.

Is that how you masturbate?

Do you fantasise about being spanked and wanked?

Spanking your own bottom, then impaling yourself on your hairbrush? A dozen ins-and-outs, followed by a dozen spanks? The cycle repeated until that one last thrust…

What a delicious way to come…

Hello. Is it possible to find out whether a stranger is into spanking by just looking at them and observing their behaviour?

I don’t think so.

If you met me in real life you’d never guess what I get up to in the privacy of my own home. In public, I wear a completely different mask. 

If you want to know if someone likes spanking, just ask them. 

“Have you ever been spanked?”

And then…

“Did you like it?”

Having the sexual confidence to ask intimate questions when the mood is right is a very attractive trait to possess…

I never thought I would be able to experience what your stories describe. I always thought they would just stay fantasies… confined to my mind and nothing more. Surely not something I could recreate for myself in the privacy of my own home, to enjoy as fully as I can.

Isn’t it great that with just your own imagination you can find your
fantasy spanking school in your own bedroom?

The privacy of your own home is the perfect place to explore and build your own sexual confidence. An opportunity to dress up, and smack your own bottom. Or do the sit-down dance as your panties are pulled tight.

Stories can provide arousing new scenarios for your toys too, perhaps as a boarding school bedknob or a Regency era obedience stool.

These stories can provide the script, and you, the performance – in whatever way excites you the most. That’s always been my intention.

Have fun…

When can we expect a new story/continued story? :)

The finale of The Sit-Down Dance will be the next one posted. Maybe I’ll finish it this month. Have you really read all my other stories already?

Some lovely contributions last month, including a chastity belt confession and a lovely recording by Pandora Blake (speaking of whom, do watch her video diary entry too, I think it will resonate with many readers of this blog).

April on Spanking Theatre

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