When clouds above are dark and heavy
And the soggy air a smothering fug
When the first low rumbles echo in our ears
And tremble deep inside our tums
That’s when we share it
Just a glance, then without a word
We drop our clothes right where we stand
A puddle of garments left behind
As if we’d melted in the sultry heat
Hips sashaying as you recede
Just as the first raindrops splatter down
Bursting joyously on your naked skin
How I want to stay and stand and stare
At my cherished porcelain beauty
Now so vibrantly luminous
Under these drab battleship skies
But, I must go, and fetch the cane
Heavier drops patter on my head
As all around, the treetops writhe
Following footsteps in the cool lush grass
Until I find you waiting at the garden’s end
Already bent over the gazebo rail
Your slender legs spread so expectantly
Staring out across the golden fields
Glowing still under glowering skies
Witness the tempest’s dark stain spread
Across the sky, amid the clouds
As milk might spill into a pond
Feel the prickle of expectation
Your lover’s breath upon your neck
My fingers wet, despite our shelter
I know you love to be caned in thunderstorms
To yell your soul at the angry skies
As explained in this post, about the Physics of Spanking, if you want to be quiet but stingy you’ll want to choose an item with a thin cross section. The sound of a smack is proportional to the impact surface area, so paddles and hairbrushes tend to be the noisiest.
So the best items for quieter spankings are thin rods (especially those anchored at one end), such as canes, switches or spanking crops. A thin wooden ruler or a paint-stirrer would be slightly noisier, but still much quieter than an open palm.
Make experimenting part of the game. Download a decibel meter to your phone and start collecting data, you might find the loudest noises aren’t actually the spanks, but the moans they inspire…
Prefects who betray their responsibilities and break the school rules they should be upholding would be caned in public in front of their peers.
First, her prefect badge would be ritually unpinned from her uniform.
Then, she would address her classmates, apologising for her indiscretion and acknowledging that righteousness of her punishment. She would unbutton her skirt, handing it over to the Head Teacher as a symbol of her contrition.
Then she would turn away from the dozens of staring eyes, each widened in anticipation, and bend over to touch her toes.
The Head Teacher would then pull her panties right down to her ankles, to the sound of stifled gasps.
The cane would be placed against her bare bottom, rubbing and then stroking, increasing her awareness of where the first stroke will land. Tapping between her legs to widen her stance and reveal a bit more of her tingling lips.
And then the cane would rise, and swish, and fall.
Those assembled barely breathing, until justice is served…
A story about imagining
In the dark castle of your imagination are many rooms
You could spend a lifetime roaming its stark alluring corridors
Peeping through the keyholes
To be aroused and thrilled
By sights unseen
* * 1 * *
The opening door silenced the hubbub of two dozen voices. One of the idiosyncrises of their teacher, Mr Bowman, was he often arrived in class a couple of minutes late. As his new class would soon discover, he had a taste for theatrical flourishes, a penchant for engineering drama and building anticipation. As if the whole class was itself entering a story that had already started.
Even his clothes had the air of a showman. Today he’d dressed in a black thigh-length Edwardian frock coat. A snow white cravat bulging out from his iridescent blue silk waistcoat. He removed his tall top hat as he stepped into the classroom, doffing it respectfully to the young ladies present.
Mr Bowman’s class was incredibly popular. Always oversubscribed, it was one of only two classes in the school to have a waiting list. Preference was given to students with a strong academic record, as this was not a subject for the indolent or immature, but for grown-up minds who wanted to push their boundaries. A class of the school’s best and brightest. He entered the room to a buzz of expectation, to survey a sea of wide and eager eyes.
After all, who wouldn’t want to be able to write? To communicate, to reach out to and inspire and arouse their imaginations of strangers they’d never met. To be able to harness the most powerful creative force in the known universe, the one that covertly lurked between their own two ears.
He paused before the class, his eyes roaming his audience’s faces, nodding, as if in agreement with whatever they were silently thinking. He could sense their curiosity, the murmur of prolific potential straining to be unleashed.
Mr Bowman could feel himself being charged up by their enthusiasm, pulling off his frock coat and melodramatically flinging it over the hook of the nearby coat stand, before striding up to the blackboard. The chalk squeaked and scratched as he wrote two short words in neat block capitals.
“Erotic Writing”, he began, regarding what he’d written for a moment before turning back to face the class.
This was no ordinary creative writing class. His pupils were not silly little girls, but young ladies, each now keenly aware of their own simmering sexuality. The enlightened board of governors believed this course would help them express the powerful feelings that often surged through their febrile minds, and the pyretic urges that now surged through their burgeoning bodies.
Mr Bowman let the class stare at what he’d written for a moment. He wondered how many were fixated on just the first word, and what visions those six little letters had already conjured in their minds. He waited, then broke the silence.
“On our journey through life, each of you will write a veritable library of words. Instructions, memories, descriptions and proposals. Words of joy, expressions of sorrow, words of apology and gratitude. In your years at this school each of you has learnt how to write essays, poems and reports, the art of expressing the ideas within your head. Yet…”
“Hands up. Who’s ever imagined a scene of a sexual nature?”
A murmur of suppressed gasps swept the room. From his vantage point at the front of the class the variation in sexual confidence within his class was obvious, but unsurprising. There were the girls with their jaws open, taken aback by the bluntness of his question. Others were looking around furtively, waiting to see if anyone else had put their hand up…
Next in my retrospective of past stories is The Caning Emporium. This is a meta-story, a story about the process of writing spanking stories. It also features a scene with erotic writing class, which is an activity I’m keen to tutor and encourage in the new role-playing chat group.
If you’ve ever wondered about the process of erotic story-writing, the deep alluring mystery of sexual fantasies, or even just dreamt of buying your own cane, I think you’d enjoy your visit to The Caning Emporium…
Truants are caned.
Panties pulled right down.
At least a dozen pink stripes.
And corner time with shame displayed.
I must tell you my whole body flushed with pleasure when I saw that you responded. Im very star struck. I joined tumblr just to be able to read your stories, and I’ve enjoyed each one several times. It’s amazing you suggested the Christmas Present story to me, because it is my absolute favorite and has pushed me to introduce spanking in our sex life. Unfortunately my husband doesn’t understand how resilient my derrière is. All the same, I shall keep your encouragement in mind & try again. Xoxo
If you do have a bottom that can take a good smacking, that’s all the more reason to buy a hardy spanking implement as his next Christmas Present.
Perhaps a hard paddle or a thick strap, or a traditional school cane.
Talking of the cane, perhaps the story Control might give you some ideas on how to ask for a harder whacking…
The 16th instalment of the Self-Spanking Challenge! Newcomers can find previous challenges here.
Challenge – Day 16
A highly popular fantasy for many is imagining themselves back at school, being caned by a
strict headmistress or headmaster. In this challenge you’ll learn how to set up an implement that delivers not just the stinging whack of a cane, but one that leaves pink stripes on your bottom…
know many readers crave the satisfaction of a warm, stinging,
well-smacked bottom, but lack someone to give it to them. A hairbrush can suffice, but some will crave harder, stingier sensations.
If you’ve read my story Carrot and Stick, you’ll already be familiar with the idea of a self-administered whacking. But you might have
had trouble picturing how this would work in practice. If so, this post
should help explain how.
Part of the challenge here is procuring a spanking implement you may not yet own. You’re looking for a whacking rod that is thin and springy, as their cross-section is smaller,
they’re much quieter and discreet than slippers and hairbrushes — a useful bonus if you’ve family or housemates nearby.
need a rod springy enough to place against your bottom, which then can
be pulled back and released to deliver a hard enough whack. Fibre-glass
is springier than rattan, so better for self-spanking.
Just search your favourite sex toy supplier for “riding crop”, and you’ll be presented with lots of choices. Even Amazon sells a selection, and they’re much cheaper than vibrators.
You can also buy smooth round-section fibre-glass and
carbon-fibre rods from well-stocked craft and model shops. Various diameters are available, the wider the
rod, the less flexible it will be, but you can try before you buy, just pull the rod back a little and let it smack into your palm.
you have your rod, find somewhere to position it. You want to wedge one
end of the rod into a little gap at just below waist height, and
perpendicular to the gap, so you can bend over in front of it. This is
the arrangement described towards the end of Carrot and Stick.
key is finding the right position for the rod, it should be wedged
tight and shouldn’t rattle. The best way to do this is to wrap the cane
with something like a flannel or a t-shirt, which will wedge it firmly
in place. If you’ve done it right, it should be virtually silent, with
just a lovely faint swicking sound when you pull it back and release it.
Once the rod is firmly held, then you can pull the rod back like this:
See how much it bends back?
Once you have your rod set up, all you need to do is bend over in front of the rod (imagine yourself
on the left hand side of the image above). Then reach behind, pull the
rod backwards, and let go…
best results, you should spend some time getting into the mood for your
spanking, and imagine the circumstances of your punishment.
If you fantasise about a school setting, you might like to dress up in school uniform and
watch videos of classroom canings, before its time for you to bend over in front of your own cane. Your skirt will be lifted and panties pulled down, and you’ll feel the cane resting against your bare
bottom. You’ll imagine being scolded by Sir, or Miss, before pulling the rod back, letting go, and a moment later —the swish, and the whack, and the hot stinging stripe searing across your cheeks.
Once your caning has finished, you may like to pretend you’ve been sent to detention, where you’re told to sit down on your sore bottom and begin
writing. Perhaps you’ll be writing lines, or an essay about how you were punished.
Write by hand, and if you want to post what you’ve written on your blog, you can take pictures of the pages.
Try describing your experience –
what character did you choose to play, why were you punished and who delivered your caning? What did it feel like to be caned, how did it differ from the spankings you’ve previously experienced?
If you post your write-up, do add the tags #selfspankingchallenge and #selfspankingchallenge16.
once you have a whacking rod of your own set up, I hope it will enrich your playtimes. It’s not just a new way of reading my stories – whilst bending over in front of your cane, it’s also permits a much sorer spanking, one whose stripes and sting might linger into the morning after…
[There used to be a picture here]
Of a cane, tap, tap, tapping against a smooth bare slit.
Because canes are not just for whacking bottoms.
It can not be
coincidence that the pudendal cleft, known by scholars as the Cleft of
Venus, accommodates an interrogating rod so perfectly.
How the smooth thin stick fits so snugly in your fleshy groove, its edge faintly touching the tip of your tingling clit.
when slowly drawn back and forth like a violinist’s bow, it is
lubricated, gathering the sheen of your involuntary excitement.
How just a little pressure upwards, can raise you on your toes.
I see you shaved bare for me. Good. You will find obedience is rewarded.
But first, I have answers to pursue.
I tap on your labia. Rapid, firm smacks. A spanking in microcosm.
Spanked on your front bottom, how embarrassing that must be.
You yelp from the sting, but it’s the deep echo of the impacts that really makes you ache.
I slot my cane back into your slit.
Stroking. Slipping. Sliding. Back and forth.
You’re making my stick… very… wet… indeed.
Have you been touching yourself?
You know this place is out of bounds.
Yet, you also know the prize denial brings.
The glorious gift in my sole power to give.
I lift the cane, intruding deeper, raising you to your tiptoes.
Will you be a good girl?