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Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

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discipline

Ah, my apologies. I was being vague about my ask. What I meant is that I find it quite interesting and more humiliating when, say, a teacher offers an innocent way out, like lines and exercise questions but also suggests a spanking. The student would the have to tell their preferred punishment in front of the class. I imagine the embarrassment similar to the scene in Sandalwood and Ginger. ;)

I wonder, are you referring to the following paragraphs from Sandalwood and Ginger?

… Afterwards he helped me to my feet and pulled up my pyjamas, and I retook my place beside him on the sofa, my sore spanked bottom smouldering underneath. I listened in stunned silence as my parents begin to spill my childhood secrets, revealing all the naughty things they could remember me doing. At this point Adrian took out his phone and, to my horror, started making notes. By the end he was promising that I’d be soundly spanked over the coming months for my past misdemeanours.

Rather than complain about this long-deferred retribution, I decided to hold my tongue and found myself wondering what would happen if parents really did keep a naughty book of each child’s misbehaviours. After all, there would be no need to spank a child if you could warn them that they’d pay the penalty for their misdemeanours when they were all grown up.

When would be the right time to open that naughty book? Perhaps when the son or daughter prevailed in that ultimate rite of passage: meeting someone and falling in love? Perhaps that’s when the naughty book would be finally be opened, handed over like some kind of heirloom, or a dowry. It could be exchanged at weddings, the transgressions of the bride and groom. Young children might not understand, but teenagers certainly would. I pondered how that might change teen behaviour, knowing a future soulmate might eventually discover all their laziness, brattiness and intransigence.

By the sound of it, my own future would be featuring bottom warmings I’d earned by sins committed long ago…

Just imagine if all pupils had to keep A Naughty Book.

All their little schemes, tantrums, deceits and misdemeanours, recorded for posterity. Until they meet someone strict, who’ll take care of their posterior.

I like that notion a lot. I poured a lot of great writing ideas into Sandalwood and Ginger. It really was a delight to write.

Best of all, a Naughty Book could be started at any age. A new year fast approaches, the perfect time to start keeping one. Imagine keeping a diary of rule-breaking and mischief, all your dreams, desires and fantasies.

Until one day, someone strict will begin to read its pages, and in doing so, begin to read your very soul…

I enjoy reading everything you’ve written, but sometimes I kept thinking how in reality the strict teachers and professors could just give misbehaving students extra homework or lines to write, but decides that spankings are a better way for the students to…. “improve”.

I don’t think anyone has ever masturbated to the thought of being assigned more homework.

That would be a very niche kind of erotica, I’m not sure how much demand there’d be for it.

But you make an interesting observation.

In reality, I hope all here agree that spanking is an activity to be enjoyed between consenting adults. Yet whilst we’d be horrified if teachers actually did use physical force against their pupils – many of us quite like the idea of being held to account by some strict academic authority figure, and rather fancy being in the imagined pupils’ quaking shoes.

That’s because I believe a large number of those who read this blog are what I call The Naughty Well-behaved. Genteel individuals who’ve spent their lives studiously obeying the rules, which just makes their secret fantasises of transgression and punishment even more erotic.

In their fantasies, they crave someone strict to tell them to bend over.

To pull down their panties.

To scold them for their naughtiness.

To spank their bare bottom until it’s hot and pink.

And if there’s lines to be written, what better way to write them than sitting on  sore spanked cheeks…

I’d really like for the most recent anon to elaborate on their fantasy about a sexy professor….

I find the fantasy of the sexy professor fascinating.

Because the allure of a professor is quite different from many other masculine fantasy figures.

His authority derives from his wisdom and his strict sense of duty and discipline. Those who submit to him do so as they believe he has their best interests at heart. The professor remains clothed, his libido controlled, sexy – yet strangely sexless.

His self-control and modesty only boosts the erotic charge of any disciplinary encounter. He expresses his dominance subtly, not by over-powering with physical superiority, but through unequivocal instructions and regimented discipline.

Bend over. Lift your skirt. Pull down your panties.

And now you will be spanked.

His discipline is a blank canvas, further eroticised by the recipient’s mind. Afterwards, a good professor will not fiddle or fuck his student, but dismiss them. They will walk away with their bottom throbbing, quite aware of what he could have done, but didn’t. All of which serves to make the experience even more erotic on every subsequent remembering.

Obedience to wise, righteous authority is a fundamental part of the human condition. It’s no wonder it’s such a popular sexual fantasy…

The main fantasy I keep revisiting is being in a traditional boarding school (where everyone is of age. A strict college?), and having a crush on a professor. The professor is handsome and nice, and I’m one of his favorite students. One day I get caught for something that is against school rules, and the professor has to punish me otk. It’s all very formal, and not even sexual in nature (but I might get off to the memory later that evening in my dorm). I would give anything for that to be real.

A delightful fantasy. 

I like the idea of using that setting for the new group chat forum. A college of brilliant young ladies, perhaps like the high-achievers who attend Playscape holidays.

All overseen by a strict headmaster, with a strong sense of duty and discipline.

And as you say, spankings don’t need to be sexual to be remembered as highly erotic experiences later.

I think you’ll enjoy enrolling in my school.

Hello, I’ve been having some problems lately and was wondering if maybe you could give me some advice. I have a fantastic disciplinarian (long distance, unfortunately) and when she allows me to masturbate she gives me a number of times that I’m supposed to finish. Usually 2 or 3. But lately I haven’t even been able to manage one. I’ve told Miss and she’s been so understanding, but even when I’m in the mood I just can’t there for some reason. Any ideas on what I can do to be a good girl for her?

My suggestion is that you ask Miss to be very strict, and impose a period of abstinence, when you won’t be allowed to touch yourself at all. Perhaps a fortnight is a good start.

During this week you will be expected to keep your mound and slit shaved bare, smooth and sensitive. You will not be allowed to edge, or in any way physically pleasure yourself.

For accountability, you can maintain a document in something like Google Docs, and share it with Miss. Every night before bed, write a new paragraph that states whether you obeyed the rules of your punishment during the last 24 hours, and refrained from touching yourself.

Then when you talk to Miss, you can describe how you’re finding your experience of abstinence, and thank her for being so strict with you.

It won’t take long before you’re aching to touch, and yearning for her permission to do so. Like the proverb says, abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.

And then, when she finally grants it, I don’t think you’ll have any problems climaxing…

i’ve been a bad girl recently and have been touching myself nearly everyday. i know i shouldn’t do this, but i don’t have anyone to discipline me and remind that i don’t own my body. could you help me with this ?

I’m always willing to help those who knock on my study door.

DMs are good medium to discuss disciplinary needs, though I’m currently working on a brand new story that I want to finish before Halloween, so you might have to be patient.

Just imagine you’re waiting on chair outside Headmaster’s door…

Ive been masturbating without permission almost daily and my mistress doesn’t know, should I tell her?

I believe I have already answered this question.

Of course you should confess.

It sounds like you need a reminder of why your Mistress insists on your obedience, and why she is going to need to pull down your panties…

i’ve been naughty & pleasuring myself all afternoon without my miss’s permission, but she’s out of state and would never know if I don’t tell her. should I still tell her ive been a bad girl even though I won’t get a spanking from her?

A naughty girl who breaks her disciplinarian’s rules should always admit her wrong-doing.

Perhaps you need to refresh yourself on why we are strict with you, why we set rules and and why we pull down your panties.

We disciplinarians ask for very little apart from your obedience. We set your rules for your own good, because we know you need limits, we know you crave structure.

We expect you to be a good girl. Not a perfect girl, but a good girl. One who is honest about her behaviour, and who understands that punishment is the price for rule-breaking. And one who will accept whatever punishment is decided, contritely and willingly.

A bad girl is a dishonest girl. Bad girls don’t deserve the privilege of someone strict to look out for them.

So, I expect you to send Miss a message confessing your misbehaviour, and in it, I expect you to include a link to this post. Even if she’s a thousand miles away, you are still subject to her rules, and she can decide on the punishment you deserve. 

Perhaps she’ll get you to spank yourself, or have you sit on your bare bottom and write a long essay on honesty and the importance of rules.

And by the end, I’d expect you’ll have a better understanding of what it takes to be a good girl, and a much greater appreciation of the strict lady who cares enough about you to spank your bottom…

Verso, Recto

spankingtheatre:

A spanking story

We are alone in the grand old
convent. Walking among the ghosts of the chaste and the pious. Their
home was an edifice of lichen-encrusted granite, nestling in the woods
like a miniature gothic castle, a secluded haven that did not wish to be
discovered. But years ago you found it, you rescued it and restored it,
like you’ve done with so many wayward girls. You made it your own home,
and now, you’ve invited me to visit.

You promised me a tour, to
show me its secrets. You explain how the spacious open-plan kitchen was
once the main dormitory, where dozens of young ladies would bunk
together. The biggest classroom has been transformed into your home
office, and the cavernous assembly hall is now a magnificent
timber-beamed living room.

I trail along gawking admiringly. You
escort me upstairs, our ascending footsteps muffled by the opulently
plush carpet. The rooms on either side of the long hallway were the
nuns’ private quarters it seems. You point to the door furthest away,
explaining that it was where Mother Superior dwelt. The ultimate
authority in this place, well, secondary to God I suppose.  

We pause at the top of the stairs, and you point to the ominous door at the end of the corridor.

“Go inside. You’ll find your instructions painted on the wall.”

That
comment was most unexpected, almost shocking. I found it difficult to
imagine anyone would deface such a beautiful old building by scrawling
on its walls.

I hesitated, but you sent me on my way with an
encouraging smack to my bottom. I began dawdling towards the
destination, looking over my shoulder, looking for confirmation of your
satisfaction. Reassurance that I was doing as I’d been told.

You
remained at the top of the stairs, watching silently and sternly, until I
reached the door. Then, to my surprise, you turned and left me,
descending out of my sight down the grand old staircase. Leaving me
alone to carry out your command. Trusting in my obedience.

I
gripped the little brass doorknob, twisting it until I heard the latch
click. I pushed the door open, trembling with anticipation, wondering if
we were really alone here, or whether I’d be interrupting someone
inside. Too late, I realised I hadn’t even knocked.

To my relief,
the room I entered seemed unoccupied. It was large, but surprising
austere, the plush carpet of the hallway giving way to exposed wooden
floorboards, its bare walls coated with an aged, off-white plaster. The
only decoration was a painting, seemingly a portrait of a young nun.
Contrary to my expectations, there was no writing on any of the walls.
If my instructions had been painted, I was clearly looking at it now.

The
only furniture was an elegantly carved wooden plinth that barely
exceeded the height of my knees, nearly identical to the one depicted in
the painting. Lying on top of it were what seemed like a pile of folded
clothes, predominantly black and white.

I realised this was a
test of my initiative. A test of my obedience. The garments looked like a
nun’s habit, a coarse black serge tunic, a white linen coif, a white
cotton undershirt.

I eased the door shut and began to undress,
folding up the outfit I’d chosen with such meticulous care in a vain
attempt to impress you. I placed my clothes in a neat little pile in the
corner, finishing by removing my panties, I suspected few nuns would
wear lingerie under their habits, and I strongly suspected you’d like to
check.

I pulled on the cotton undershirt first, realising this
was as close as my new outfit would come to underwear. The coif, the
tunic and stockings followed. The latter were authentically archaic,
without elastic they had to be tied around my calves by bright red
ribbons, the sole splash of colour in my monochrome garb.

Once
dressed, I knew you’d expect to find me in the same position as the
portrait, kneeling by the plinth, fingers arched. I mimicked the
position of the young lady in the picture, pondering the nature of her
prayers. Was she pleading with her God, imploring Him to forgive her
nocturnal transgressions? Those wandering fingers? Or the embraces with
her sisters that had escalated into kisses and rubbings?

How
strange this religion of love had become a global sexual denial cult.
Surely if we are made in the image of God, the Creator would want us to
pleasure ourselves, to glorify his creations by elevating each to state
of ecstatic bliss.

Despite the thick tunic, I could already feel a
faint draught between my legs. A subtle breeze teasing my slit, as my
undershirt tempted me further, rubbing across the exquisitely sensitive
skin of my newly waxed mound, in a continuous trial of my faith.

I
clasped my hands and prayed. My knees and elbows aching against the
hard unforgiving wood of the floorboards and the plinth. I found myself
praying you’d join me. Wishing you’d lift my robes and help satisfy me.

After
a while, I began to appreciate why prayers were made with clasped
hands. Had I not been clasping them so tightly, one of both would surely
have wandered beneath my thick scratchy gown and into my warm, wet,
aching cranny.

And then, suddenly, my prayers were answered.

The door creaked open, and you returned.

Keep reading

Next in my alphabetical retrospective of spanking stories is Verso, Recto. Its setting is a old convent, haunted by the ghosts of the chaste and the pious.

This story has a philosophical observation at its heart. That whilst religions might consider themselves at the opposite end of the moral spectrum to kinky power transfer relationships. But actually, the two have many things in common. Both are rule systems, with a regime of sanctions and punishments. Both are ostensibly motivated by a profound kind of love. And both require disciplinarians to enforce discipline, and show those who submit The True Way.

For those who identify as kinky, dominance and submission are as much acts of faith as any religious practice. Our beliefs shape how we see the world, how we treat others, and what sets our own moral boundaries and expectations.

Perhaps, psychologically, the human mind yearns to submit to a force greater than its own. Or to be that force, and wield that power benevolently, but strictly. For most of human history, this urge has been manifested in sacred rituals and holy books. And some choose to channel this powerful yearning into their own sexuality, in pursuit of Heaven, on Earth.

I invite you to immerse yourself in the world of Verso, Recto, and let me know what you believe…

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