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Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

Month

October 2017

Sex Magick – A Halloween Story

By @missfesterworth from an original idea by spankingtheatre.

Popularity doesn’t necessarily equal exclusivity.

Or,
in other words, just because you may have heard of the most POPULAR
school of Witchcraft in the United Kingdom, that doesn’t necessarily
mean its the ONLY such school that exists.

For not all witches and
wizards are created equal. Some children born into magical families are
blessed and exhibit their magical talents from an early age. Some,
sadly, never exhibit any magical talents at all.

And some witches
and wizards must wait until they come of age to inherit their magical
powers. These magical powers, once received, are some of the most
ancient and complex magical powers of them all. For they rely on the
energy of the erotic to perform their magic.

In other words – Sex Magick.

Sex
Magick is even more difficult to master than its non-erotic
counterpart. It requires a great deal more self-discipline to control
due to the complex cocktail of softly shimmering hormones brewing just
below the surface. The nature of the magick is such that it arrives just
when men and women are beginning to discover their own sexuality. The
witches and wizards must be taught how to recognise these powers, yes,
but also to contain their powers and control them before they can begin
to harness them to perform any sort of a spell. For if they don’t learn
to control their urges and contain their magic to be utilised properly,
the results can be…catastrophic.

Therefore, the education of these
so-gifted witches and wizards once they’ve come of age and awoken to
their powers is undertaken by the Amatorius Academy of Eros Witchcraft
and Wizardry.

The academy is run as a boarding school, so the
students live there while undertaking their instruction. There are
mandatory subjects that the students must study, and lessons to attend,
of both the theoretical and practical variety. Unlike most schools, the
first day of term at the Academy begins on October 31st every year, on
the day when the veil between the natural and the supernatural is at its
thinnest, and witching powers are at their peak.

Due to the
nature of the magic being performed, there are, of course, strict rules.
These rules are FAR stricter than you may even expect to find at a
boarding school, and any straying from them results in swift and
thorough punishment. The punishments are normally left to the discretion
of the Headmaster, and almost always include corporal punishments.
Chastising the flesh has been found over the years to be the most
effective manner to teach discipline and control when dealing with
erotic energies. If the Headmaster is too busy to oversee a punishment
personally, or there are multiple culprits to chastise in one session,
he may rely on enchanted canes or paddles to administer the whacking,
leaving him free to see to other tasks.

Most First Year students
are most keen to learn to fly when they enter the Academy. For flying,
of course, is one of the most common principles associated with
witchcraft. Everyone has seen the age-old images of witches riding their
broomsticks across a full moon on Halloween night. Therefore, flying is
of utmost importance, and of course one of those mandatory courses at
the academy that all first year students must take.

Broomstick flight, for those who rely on Sex Magick, is a little different in principle than most can imagine.

The
pupils arrive for their first Flying theory lesson, bright eyed with
excitement. The professor of this subject is a formidable middle-aged
wizard called Professor Roux. It is clear from his demeanour that no
misbehaviour in these lessons will be tolerated as he calls the class to
order and begins to describe how broomstick flight operates. Woe betide
anyone who isn’t paying close attention, and taking notes!

First
and foremost, undergarments are NEVER worn by a witch or wizard who
practices Sex Magick. For the power of flight can only be harnessed by
the broomstick held in-between their legs if it comes into direct contact
with their most intimate area.

For witches, undergarments would
prevent the transfer of her body’s natural lubricant, and thus the
transfer of magic, from reaching the broom and flight would be
impossible. For wizards, their brooms are fitted with a cockring. The
cockring utilises the blood flow to an erect penis for the transfer of
magic necessary to achieve flight. Arousal for both sexes is ESSENTIAL
when they mount the broom, or the broomstick can never fly. The long
cloaks worn by wizardkind preserve their modesty, hence the long
cultural association with wizards and cloaks…

Witches and wizards
have two basic techniques for transportation upon their broomsticks.
Essentially, to a person of non-magical blood, this would equate to
cruise control and ludicrous speed.

To fly on cruise control, the
witch or wizard basically holds their broom between their legs at a 90
degree angle to their body. A wizard will slip their erection into the
cockring, whereas a witch will use the juices from the parting between
their legs to lubricate the broomstick as it nestles in-between her lips
lightly. The transfer of magic to the broom thus complete, they can kick
off from the ground and soar up to the desired altitude, where the
broom will fly at a consistent speed. The witch or wizard slides the
broomstick back and forth periodically. This helps them to maintain the
arousal and, in the case of the witch the transfer of natural lubricant
that is necessary, so as to not lose their momentum.

When a witch
would like to go faster, for examples when she has a deadline and has to
be somewhere lickity split, she simply angles her stick a bit past
parallel, more like at a 45 degree angle, until she can feel the
broomstick resting against the hard little knob at the top of the
parting in-between her thighs. Rubbing the broomstick against this
parting increases her arousal and so, in this manner she switches gears
so to speak and is able to fly at ludicrous speed.

Long distance
flight, or wizards who wish to fly at ludicrous speed, do so with a
curved anal plug known as a Horn. The Horn gives flyers maximum power by
dialling up the level of their arousal. The greater the arousal, the
greater the amount of Sex Magick that can be performed.

Of course,
strict orgasm control for the flyer is vital – it would be VERY
dangerous for them to come in mid-air, as this would immediately cause
the power of flight to drain and the flyer would find themselves hurling
towards the ground at top speed.

Once the class has had their
first Flying theory lesson out of the way, it is time for the practical
lessons to begin. Learning to fly by extracting Sex Magick requires
expert tutoring.

Changing rooms are provided next to the Flying
classroom. The students enter and then emerge clad only in their robes,
with no garments underneath.

Unlike any other classroom at the
Academy, the Flying classroom is fitted with special chairs. The chairs
are fitted with wooden stems that are topped with a helmet-shaped bulge
of rubber: one stem for the chairs intended for the male students, and
two stems for the chairs of the female students. The students aren’t
allowed anywhere near brooms until they have learned the self-discipline
necessary to maintain flight, and the chairs will help them to learn to
obtain that self-discipline.

After the students enter the
classroom but before they are allowed to take their seats, as it were,
they are subjected to a thorough bottom inspection. They must raise
their robes and bend over their desks to present themselves to the
Professor for this inspection. After all, he must ensure that the pupils
are relaxing and clenching the right muscles, a science as much as an
art.

Only after he is satisfied with the results are they allowed
to take a seat, easing themselves down onto the stems until their
bottoms are resting on the flat wood of the chair, the spindles buried
deep inside. Before they have learned the art of self-control and
discipline, between the inspection and the stimulation of the chairs it
doesn’t take long for the males to start spurting, and the females to
clench their thighs together and moan.

However, as their ability
to control themselves improves, they get to move from the classroom
chairs to actual brooms. They soon learn that real brooms move and
gyrate while you are trying to ride them, and thus they are much more
difficult to keep control of yourself while flying.

The class is
only passed by completing a practical test. The practical test involves
sitting a plugged broomstick and flying a low-altitude obstacle course
for an hour, without losing momentum, altitude, or crashing into any
obstacles.

Then, and only then, has a witch or wizard come into their own and harnessed their Sex Magick into the power of flight.

Halloween had rolled around once again, bringing with it a new allotment of first years.

Mortiana
Hoffmeister was one of this year’s intake. She was ‘so new the wrapping
was barely removed,’ as the saying goes, and absolutely thrilled to be
able to attend a magical academy and learn magic at long last. She had
been the only one to remain at home when her siblings all went trooping
off to learn their craft; her family beginning to despair of her ever
showing any inclination for magical abilities at all.

Until her
eighteenth birthday. Shortly thereafter she had been lying in her bed
one night when she began to feel…restless. Suddenly, there was an ache
between her legs that just wouldn’t be denied. Her hand had crept
underneath the sheets to slide down her stomach, heading lower and
lower. Surely a little, ah, ‘massaging’ never did anyone any harm?

As
she neared the peak of her excitement, the lamp on her dresser suddenly
began to dance. It danced itself right off the edge while she watched
with a horrified fascination from across the room. Mortiana’s family had
been so overjoyed to find out that she had suddenly displayed any sort
of magical talent that she hadn’t even been punished for her illicit
nocturnal activities. The letter announcing her placement at the Academy
had arrived the very next day.

Flying was to be her first lesson
on her first day. So eager was she to begin that she snuck into the
classroom where the practical lessons were to be held, even though
students weren’t meant to go wandering about poking their noses into
rooms and corridors. ‘After all, what harm could it do?’ she told
herself.

She looked around in awe. The chairs in this classroom
were certainly strange. How were you meant to sit on them with those
spires sticking out of them? As she stared at them, head tilted to the
side, it suddenly dawned on her EXACTLY how the chair was meant to be
sat on, and where the spires would fit. She blushed, but was intrigued
all the same. Perhaps she could try it out? No one was around. Maybe
that was the first test. Well, she would practice, and then she would
rise to the top of the class when she was the first to sink gracefully
onto the seat without hesitation.

As Mortiana headed to the first
desk with this in mind, a rattling noise from a nearby cupboard caught
her attention. Intrigued, she went to investigate. She hoped that it
wasn’t a poor little mouse, trapped and desperate for escape.

Her
hand wrapped around the handle of the cupboard. Once she’d opened the
door, she gasped as a broomstick shook itself, suddenly doing a funny
little hop forward so it was free of the cupboard. Oh. So this must be
the cupboard where the broomsticks were kept!

She reached for the
broomstick, experimentally wrapping her hand gently around the handle.
She could feel it twitch responsively from her tender grasp. She
giggled, and it twitched in response again. Maybe it wanted her to ride
it?

Even though she KNEW she wasn’t supposed to, that she wasn’t
supposed to be in a classroom let alone touching one of the broomsticks
without permission, she straddled it so that one leg was either side.

The
broomstick had started out just above her knees, but once she had
gripped it in both hands and leant forward slightly, it suddenly shot up
so it was resting underneath her skirt, nestled firmly against her
knickers.

‘Oh!’ She tried to resist the urge to rub herself
against it. Tempting, so tempting. It was just THERE. She knew how good
it would feel to have the handle sliding along her entrance.

‘Miss Hoffmeister.’

Just
as she was about to indulge herself, an icy voice suddenly spoke from
the doorway. She screamed from the shock, dropping the broom which
clattered to the floor as she spun around to see who was addressing her.
It was Miss Miller, one of the formidable professors and head of
Transformations.

‘Professor! I was just….’ Mortiana’s voice
trailed off helplessly. She just hoped she wasn’t about to be expelled.
Sent home in disgrace before she’d even begun!

‘I think it’s
perfectly clear what you were just about to do,’ Professor Miller said
coldly. ‘Come with me, young lady. We’ll see what the Headmaster has to
say about your behaviour.’

Mortiana’s heart sank. She trailed behind the Professor with her head bowed, wringing her hands with nerves.

All
too soon they arrived at the Headmaster’s office. Professor Miller
gestured for Mortiana to enter, quickly following suit herself.

‘What have we here?’ The Headmaster looked up from his desk, dark eyes glittering in the dim lighting.

‘Headmaster.
This student was caught out of bounds in the Flying classroom,
attempting to ride one of the brooms without supervision, and certainly
without permission!’ Professor Miller’s voice was grim.

‘Very
well. I shall deal with her. You may go.’ The Headmaster waved his hand.
Professor Miller departed after a curt nod. Once she had left, he
turned to look at the quaking Mortiana. ‘What do you have to say for
yourself, young lady?’

‘Sir…Headmaster…I…I got carried away. You
see all of these years no one thought I had any magic, and now we found
out that I do, and I got to come here to learn, and I just got…excited. I
couldn’t wait for the first lesson. I just wanted to see, to practice
so I would be best of the class. I wanted everyone to be proud of me,
and now I’ve gotten myself in trouble instead. I’m sorry, Headmaster. I
truly am.’ She looked at him with large pleading eyes.

He could
hear the sincerity in what she said, and had a certain amount of
sympathy. He remembered all too well what it was like to arrive at this
very Academy as a very excited first year pupil. ‘I understand that your
actions were not done maliciously,’ he said softly at last, ‘however
the fact remains that rules are rules, and are there to be obeyed. You
will have to be punished for breaking them.’

She swallowed hard. ‘Yes, Headmaster.’

He
pointed towards a small desk in the corner of his office. ‘Go stand in
front of that desk, and bend over it. Legs slightly apart.’

After
only a moment’s hesitation, she did as she was told. It would do no good
to argue, and she would have to accept her punishment. She reached the
desk and bent over it, the edge of the desk cutting into the flesh where
thigh met stomach, legs approximately shoulder-with apart.

‘Misbehaviour
is not tolerated at the Academy. As a consequence of your actions, you
are going to be paddled soundly. Do you understand?’ he continued.

‘Yes, Headmaster.’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

With
that, her skirt rolled itself up around her waist. Her knickers
smoothly slid themselves to her ankles, so fast she couldn’t even grasp
them to try to preserve her modesty.

‘If you move again, your paddling will last twice as long,’ the Headmaster warned.

She
gave a slight whimper and was still, blushing furiously as she realised
how exposed she was to his view. A moment later, she could feel the
firm touch of a wooden paddle pressing itself across her backside. Even
though she wasn’t really supposed to move, she stole a glance over her
shoulder, puzzled. The Headmaster hadn’t moved from his desk, so who was
wielding the paddle?

She was surprised to see that it was
suspended in midair. It was a large paddle that covered a large area of
both of her buttocks comfortably. Or uncomfortably, as the case may be.

The
paddle began to move of its own accord. Mortiana watched open-mouthed
as it swung itself back slowly, then snapped forward to whack her bottom
as if it were on a hinge. She gasped from the pain and shock, desperate
to kick out but heedful of the Headmaster’s warning about what would
happen if she moved.

Before she could scarcely draw her breath,
the process repeated itself again, and then again. It rose and fell as
regularly as a metronome, leaving a red imprint in its wake. She
squirmed as much as she dared, beyond caring about her modesty. Her
cries increased in intensity with each smack of the paddle against her
flesh.  

Finally, after perhaps some two dozen whacks the paddle
ceased and was still. Mortiana hung limply over the desk, but she wasn’t
allowed to stay there for long.

‘Up. Stand in the corner.’ The Headmaster’s voice was devoid of any emotion as he gave the command.

She staggered to her feet, quick to do as he’d bade. ‘Yes, Headmaster.’

‘Legs
apart. Hands on your bottom, hold yourself open. Students that
misbehave forgo their modesty. Remember that lesson.’ He might as well
have been asking her to pass the salt, from the intonation.

She
stood holding herself open obediently, both sets of cheeks blazing red.
He   hadn’t specified how long she was to stay there, so she supposed
she was to stay until he said otherwise.

It dawned on her as she
stood that she was effectively completely exposing her hidden regions to
his view. Her blush increased, if such a thing were even possible. He’d
be able to see EVERYTHING. And, horror of horrors, she realised that
the space between her legs was growing rather…moist. Dear Merlin.

He spoke at last. ‘I trust you have learned your lesson. You may go.’

Her
skirt smoothly dropped back into place as smoothly as a swishing
curtain. She awkwardly stooped to pull up her knickers so she could beat
a hasty retreat. ‘Thank you, Headmaster,’ she managed to squeak.

As she walked through the corridors, Mortiana found herself wondering where someone went to get one of those enchanted paddles.

Her lips twitched into a smile.



A round of applause for the talented @missfesterworth who took a story idea of mine, which I didn’t have time to write up, and turned it into something wonderful!

Happy Halloween!

Fall

spankingtheatre:

A Halloween spanking story

It floated ghost-like in the corner of her vision. A thin line, like a hair trapped inside a pair of glasses. Only Judith didn’t wear glasses.

It was so faint as to be almost imperceptible. If she tried to focus on it, it vanished. It was curled idiosyncratically at one end, reminiscent of a shepherd’s crook – or, come to think of it – the canes on the wall of the headmasters’ study. Judith was now a senior pupil of an old-fashioned New England school, and so had sat beneath the canes many times, always mesmerised by what they represented. A means of punishment, of ensuring obedience, of making bottoms sore. Not that Judith had ever been disciplined herself, of course. Her school record had been impeccable, her weekly visits to the headmaster had merely been to discuss school business, her responsibilities as a prefect, the logistics of field trips and the enforcement of school regulations.

Nevertheless, the canes on wall had become a secret fascination. When the head’s attention was elsewhere Judith’s eyes would be drawn, almost magnetically, back to those four thin rods, each lying horizontally in two little curved brass rests, crook handles downwards. She’d try to assess in a glance if any had recently been moved. Each cane was the same length, so usually they all lined up. But sometimes, one cane was out of position, a bit to the left or right of all the others. Which had to mean, at some time during the past week – my goodness – one of her fellow pupils had been…

Barbara interrupted her day-dreaming, “So… are you coming?”

Keep reading

Fall is a Halloween spanking story, set in 1950s New England. The spooky woods where witches were once said to dwell have since been replaced by a staid and boring suburbia. And a group of teenagers, now too old for pumpkin parties, decide to embark their own pulse-quickening adventure…

What other readers have said:

“My all-time favourite Halloween story!“

“Love how you used traditional horror story tricks, where the fear (or
fun) comes from what we don’t know, rather then what is explained. It’s a
trick commonly ignored when writing horror stories of this caliber.“

“What’s so good about this story is even now I can’t decide whether the rooms of the house represent my most cherished dreams or my darkest nightmares…”

What do you think?

Stolen Essence

spankingtheatre:

A Gothic Spanking Ghost Story

“… and as she dangled before the assembled townsfolk, the wicked witch cast her most terrible curse. Its infernal power magnified by being spat out by her dying breath. All those watching as the hanging witch choked in the noose suddenly felt a fiery grip squeeze their own throats, as if they’d each been assailed by an invisible strangler. They flailed helplessly at their necks, staring at their neighbours with panicked, bulging eyes…”

“… and then, at the very moment the witch’s feet stopped kicking: the entire population of the town fell to the ground. Stone. Dead.”

Evelyn delivered the denouement of her tale with a clap of her hands, sending a shudder through the seven other girls listening. Her friends sat cross-legged in a circle, their faces shrouded in darkness. Surrounding them was a ring of white candles, whose timid flickering flames also seemed to tremble at Evelyn’s revelation, straining as if trying to hold back the encroaching blackness.

There was a murmur of approval for Evelyn’s story – definitely the creepiest and most disturbing so far. The Ghost Story Circle had become a tradition at Jessica’s Halloween parties, with everyone expected to take their turn as the storyteller. Some even spent weeks researching, writing and memorising their stories. Everyone knew Evelyn was a perfectionist, and had chosen as her inspiration the hoary old local folk tale of The Village of the Damned.

Some say, long ago in times of old, that a band of travelling tinkers once stumbled across a deserted village. Empty of people – but full of skeletons. Their bones scattered across the town square like an abattoir floor. They told of a single vacant noose dangling from the gallows that loomed over the silent village square. But what had really happened there? An epidemic of pestilence? A bandit massacre? Who can say for certain? Perhaps there’s a grain of truth in every ghost story, and that’s what really scares us.

Almost everyone had told their own story by now. There had already been tales of serial killers and ghost ships, dread pirates and horrific contagions that made the skin blister and bones melt. The stories had definitely been getting gorier as the friends had got older, as they’d become intimately familiar with blood and bleeding. More recently, their imaginations had assimilated new vocabularies from horror movies, and the psycho-sexual dramas of the gothic.

Now, it was Evelyn’s turn to pass the candlestick to her left, to the next girl in their circle. The storyteller would be the only one illuminated, a single flame lighting her face as her audience sat timorously in the dark, the speaker’s words conjuring sinister visions between their ears…

Keep reading

Stolen Essence is an erotic ghost story, (and you should read this if you think that’s an oxymoron, or that the macabre can’t be sexually exciting). This tale mixes the supernatural and the kinky, featuring passages that are surreal, fantastical and dream-like. Heavily inspired by the Gothic style, this is a dark, psychological story which, if you think deeply, may generate several possible interpretations as to what actually occurred.

What readers have said about this story:

“I absolutely adored this story, it certainly stimulated my vital Essence.“

“Oh, how I enjoyed the darkness of this particular tale! A perfectly
thrilling story, dancing firmly on the edge of deliciously naughty, and
unsettling eerie. Perfect for Halloween!“

“What an intoxicating darkness. Frightening. Yet so alluring.“

“You made my Halloween all the more thrilling! To set the scene, I brought my
jack-o-lantern into my bedroom to act as the only source of light. I undressed, and sat on the floor, the fanged pumpkin staring back from between my open legs, its strange candlelight making my wetness glisten. And then I read, and stroked myself into another world…”

What do you think?

How to enjoy an erotic ghost story

spankingtheatre:

Stolen Essence, a brand new Halloween ghost story, has just been posted.

So here’s a few ideas for enjoying erotic ghost stories, and creating a playtime with a macabre twist…

The Captive

Imagine you’re held captive in a dungeon. Tie a wrist, a collar or your panties to the frame of your bed. Alternatively, tie your ankles to the front legs of a chair to hold your legs open. If your chosen scenario demands you are kept quiet, put your panties in your mouth to muffle your screams. Turn off the light and read the story illuminated by just your screen.

Why are you imprisoned? Perhaps you’ve been kidnapped or captured for ransom, perhaps you’re a rebel or pirate awaiting execution. Spank, pleasure and torment yourself as your imagination demands.

The Candle

Sit cross-legged and naked, with just a single long thick candle for company. Put a condom on the blunt end, light the wick at the other, and turn out the lights. Put something underneath you (like scrap paper) to catch any dripping wax, then read the story as you masturbate with the candle – without letting it go out.

If it does go out, give yourself a 2-minute spanking in the dark as a forfeit before you re-light the candle. If you like the burning sensation of molten wax, play with the candle above you, otherwise angle the candle away from you, with something underneath to catch the dripping wax. Perhaps you’ll be creative and use your candle to roleplay a witches’ coven, or an exorcism, or a seance…

The Magic Wand

Put on your wizard/witch’s robe (a sheet will suffice), with nothing underneath. As you read the story, cast spells with your magic wand – they might be protection spells, seeing spells, or punishment or pleasure spells that allow you the magician to vicariously experience aspects of the story.

If you own one of those old-fashioned wands – a stick, ruler or rod, cast your spells with smacks to your hands, thighs and bottom. If you have one of those new high-tech vibrating wands, you may cast your spells all over your body (and not just between your legs).

You might even want to go for a ride on your broom. Have you ever noticed how witches ride with their broomsticks right between their slits, tilted upwards to press their clits?

Keep reading

With Halloween just around the corner, some tips on how to get the most out of erotic ghost stories…

Self-Spanking Challenges

spankingtheatre:

The challenges posted so far…

The Beginner’s Guide to Self-Spanking (read this first)

Day 1 – The Fascination of Spanking

Day 2 – Choices and Consequences

Day 3 – Dressing Up

Day 4 – Anticipation

Day 5 – Cornertime

Day 6 – Alter Ego

Day 7 – Being Naughty

Day 8 – Bottom Inspection

Day 9 – Pillow Hump

Day 10 – Echoes

Day 11 – Christmas Story

Day 12 – Star in a Story

Day 13 – The Proper Way to Watch a Spanking Video

Day 14 – A Note From School

Now updated with the latest challenge! How many have you attempted?

Self-Spanking Challenge #14: A Note From School

The 14th instalment of the Self-Spanking Challenge! Newcomers can find previous challenges here.


Challenge – Day 14

One problem often encountered by those who enjoy spanking alone is they miss having someone to hold them to account. In this challenge you’ll get some practice imagining your own disciplinary scenarios, and in doing so, perhaps learn a trick to find the accountability you crave…


Oh dear. You’ve been very, very naughty at school.

Naughty enough that your teacher has written a note for you to take home to your guardian to read. The note describes your misbehaviour. Perhaps you were talking in class, or lied about your homework, or were caught spying on your crush in the changing rooms, or playing with yourself in the shower.

The note is clear about the consequences you should face. You should be spanked at home, and a signed note returned detailing the punishment you received.

Begin by imagining your misbehaviour, you might find it helpful to create a persona – perhaps your alter-ego is naturally mischievous, or a seductive manipulator. Take a look at this advice on creating roleplaying characters if you need inspiration.

Once you’ve dreamt your transgression, get a sheet of paper and begin writing the note. Describe what you did wrong from another person’s point of view. Would they sound angry, vengeful or just disappointed?

Once you’ve written the note, put it in your bag or pocket and carry it around with you for a while. Perhaps you’ll write the note before going to bed, and then take it into work with you, so you’ll face the consequences when you get home that evening…

When you do get home, you might want to dress up in your uniform and play out what would happen when you handed over the note. Would you be sent straight to your room? Or to stand in the corner? Or sent to fetch the hairbrush and spanked immediately?

When it’s time, give yourself the good hard spanking you deserve…

Afterwards, sit on your sore spanked bottom and write a note to your teacher, explaining how you were spanked, and acknowledging you deserved your punishment. Add your guardian’s signature at the end, you might even like to take it into work with you tomorrow…

Once you’ve finished writing your note, you might like to post a write-up on your blog. Why not take pictures of the two notes you’ve written and post them too?

I challenge you to describe your experience – what character did you invent and what was it like to play them? What was their misdemeanour? What did it feel like carrying the note that said you deserved a spanking? And the note afterwards that described your spanking?

And how did it feel to be accountable to an imaginary disciplinarian? Did the surrounding story you’d improvised make your spanking less awkward and more satisfying?

If you post your write-up, don’t forget to add the tags #selfspankingchallenge and #selfspankingchallenge14

I trust this challenge will inspire readers to get up to all kinds of naughty fun. And if you are lucky enough to have someone to spank you, just imagine what would happen if you wrote them a note, sealed in an envelope, that told them how naughty you’d been …

Cosmopolitan

spankingtheatre:


I saw it on the coffee table in my gyno’s waiting room.

It was half-covered, almost buried by other magazines, but the stern-looking lady on the cover caught my eye. She stared out authoritatively, dressed in a black school-gown and mortarboard. And in her hands, she was flexing a cane.

A copy of Cosmo, with a headmistress holding a cane on the cover.  Why?

I felt myself needing to know. I didn’t recognise her, perhaps there was some celebrity on the hidden side of the cover. Perhaps the cover story featured the celebrity talking about their schooldays, paying tribute to some strict school-teacher whose discipline helped steer a wayward child towards hard work, fame and fortune.

Except… the lady with the cane didn’t look like a singing or acting coach. In fact, she looked decidedly kinky. And dominant. Erotic even. She gave the camera an underlook that seemed to say: I’ve had quite enough of your misbehaviour, young lady, now bend over.

My imagination began to buzz with possibilities.

I looked around the room as casually as I could manage. Three other ladies shared the room, each a polite distance apart. I wondered if they’d seen what I’d seen. One was engrossed in her own glossy magazine. The other two were gazing aimlessly around the room, as if telepathically playing a game of Eye Spy. If I reached for the magazine, would they notice? Would I reveal my darkest secret? Would they exchange knowing glances? Look at her, the one with Cosmo, she gets turned on by bottoms being smacked.

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Cosmopolitan is one of my earliest stories, an imagining of what it would be like if spanking went mainstream, if companies ran fantasy roleplaying getaways, and attendees could dress up and play being naughty schoolgirls all weekend long. You’d sign up for that, wouldn’t you?

What readers have said about this story:

“An awesomely written story – beautiful in content and style.“

“A fascinating plot and the journalese was sufficiently convincing that I wonder how many will google the name Playscape after reading this,
just to see if it’s real or not?“

“You could have been writing about me. All my life I have loved reading
these articles, but have been very self conscience about it and
embarrassed to death if anyone saw me reading anything pertaining to
spanking. Really entertaining and fun story.”

“A wonderfully well-written story that pushes quite a number of buttons…“

“OK! OK! I’m sold please tell me how I can sign up for one of these weekends!”

What do you think?

orgasmictipsforgirls:

For those of you who are fans of butt play, spanking, bdsm, and well written and highly erotic stories, I would highly suggest checking out Spanking Theatre!

A hearty thank you to all those who’ve always championed and disseminated my writing. Your support has meant a lot to me, and I hope to be back with new tales to tell in the new year!

Spanking Theatre

Control

spankingtheatre:

A spanking story

Headmaster Thaddeus Winklethorpe bustled down the corridor, his rubicund face set in a mask of fixated fury, unstoppable as an avenging angel.

Doors seemed to throw themselves open before him without so much as a touch of his hand. As his ominous shadow sped across the windows of nearby classrooms, eyes widened and mouths gawped. A fearsome cane swung in his right hand, like some ancient sword of justice. Would-be miscreants squirmed in their seats, the sight of the rampaging headmaster meant school rules had been broken – and soon, certainly, the perpetrator would receive their comeuppance. There would be no escape.

The tip-off had been anonymous, but quite specific. Mischief was planned in classroom 18A, the elegant handwriting confessed. 2.30pm – the last lesson of the afternoon. Bring the cane.

He could hear the ongoing kerfuffle well before he saw it. The unmistakable shrill shrieks of unsupervised schoolgirls, a sound rarely ever seen, so quickly silenced were they by disapproving adult scowls. If they wanted to screech and squeal, Headmaster Winklethorpe would happily oblige, they could howl all they liked with their panties around their ankles and hot pink stripes across their behinds.

The corridor’s final set of double-doors flung themselves apart, as the Headmaster seared towards classroom 18A with the incandescent inevitably of a harbinger comet. Through the window he could see it was Miss Bernadine’s Sixth Form class, but their teacher was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a rowdy ruckus that called into question the right of those involved to call themselves young ladies. Little girls would have been shamefaced had they behaved as badly.

In that moment before the classroom door thundered open, he saw everything. Every one of the students was gabbling excitedly, some sitting in little cliques upon their desks, others absent-mindedly exchanging messages, tossing scrunched-up pages across the room in long parabolic arcs. And at the front of them all, Prefect Polly Alton sat daydreaming in her teacher’s chair, her shoulders thrown back as if she hadn’t a care in the world, her feet impudently resting on the grand wooden desk…

Keep reading

Control is one of my more light-hearted stories, reflecting the reality that not everyone dreads the prospect of a spanking, in fact, many actively look forward to getting a good seeing-to…

What readers have said about this story:

“A schoolgirl caning story with a twist! Particularly sexy; particularly explicit; particularly well-written!“

“This is super high-energy writing, especially in the first section. I loved the
way the girls had to pair off and prepare their partner. A lovely image.“

“Such a fun read! I loved how the rich descriptions painted some truly memorable characters.“

“Polly will make a wonderful dominatrix when she graduates from school.“

What do you think?

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